Page 66 of Obey

Best thing I can do for both of us, is put her out of my mind, let the whole thing blow over, and never make the mistake of letting someone in. Again.

Chapter Twenty-Two

TALIA

It’s been a week.

Instead of going back to Kentucky with my parents, I chose to extend the lease on my apartment by another year. Thankfully, no one had picked it up.

I have a business degree I have no intention of using, and no idea where I’m destined to head in life. I don’t even have the first clue. But I’ve lost two hundred pounds of dead weight, Harry hasn’t so much as texted me since Jagger threatened to kill him dead in front of a room full of people.

I’ve cried more tears than I care to admit. Not for Harry, but for Jagger. His sweater doesn’t smell like him anymore, and something about my whirlwind romance with him last week has left me in a tailspin.

This is what heartbreak issupposedto feel like. It’s also how I know Harry isn’t for me. When I broke up with him, I felt relief, not like every breath entering my body was getting caught on all the broken fragments of my heart.

Has Jagger thought about me? He has no way to find me. Did he pay attention when Mama full-named me in the hotel? How would he find me even if he did? Other than the fact I’m from Kentucky, he doesn’t know much else about my life here inMinnesota. Even if he wanted to find me, I’m not sure how he could.

Does he want to find me?

The idea he might sends frissons into my fingertips.

I know how to find him. I just haven’t done it.

Yet.

I need to return his sweatshirt. I mean, it’s clearly a very important piece of his life he simply can’t live without.

Do I also want to tear his head off for being a lily-livered coward? Maybe. My tears have given way to a righteous anger that I need to get out. It’s also possible I need to get this sweatshirt out of my house. Doing that might take all these thoughts and feelings toward the man right along with it.

A girl can hope.

Today’s the day. I’ve washed the sweater and placed it in an inoffensive grocery store bag. I’m wearing my sexiest jeans, warm boots because not even Jagger, Mr. Grumpasaurus with the cute butt is worth getting frostbite for, and my nicest sweater. I’ve picked out my favorite pom beanie, a giant coat because I’m always cold, and as soon as I grab my keys I can head over to the club.

The roads are clearer now that the storm has passed. I mean, it’s winter in Minnesota but it’s not “get snowed in somewhere with a stranger” level of inclement. Have I checked the traffic cams thirty five times just to make sure? Absolutely I have.

Dad threw a bag of sand and a bag of salt in the trunk before he left, just in case I need traction, or to melt a giant snow man I guess. Mama dragged me out to buy an electric blanket for the car and made me put together a snack bag because she said the winter emergency kit in my car was lacking.

They weren’t wrong, but now poor Bessie groans when we turn corners because she’s so heavy.

Club Protocol looks different from the outside when there isn’t a million feet high pile of snow covering everything.

Okay. Okay, fine. Yes. Slight exaggeration. But my point stands. Things look different when you’re not stuck in a Hallmark movie winter wonderland.

Huh. Maybe Jagger will look different, too.

Perhaps he won’t be the tall, dark, and handsome giant I remember from last week. Rubbing my clammy palms on the thighs of my jeans doesn’t help the sweating.

It’s early evening, some cars are in the parking lot, but I don’t remember what Jagger drives. I didn’t ask him if he was here every night, which probably would have been a good plan. But I didn’t have that level of foresight.

I didn’t want to come later. I’m not sure I’m willing to witness the level of... sexy things that happen behind this door every evening.

On my way in, I’m directed to a locker and asked to place at least my phone in there. When I take my coat off, the hostess looks me up and down and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but we have a dress code.”

My jaw drops. I’m in a sex club where most people will end up naked anyway so what the heck does it matter what I’m wearing on my body? Biting back the judgy quip at the back of my tongue, I shake my head back at her. “I’m not staying. I just need to see Jagger, uh,” Shoot. I don’t remember the man’s last name. But there can’t be more than one Jagger working here, right? That would be a weird coincidence. Matt, or Brad, maybe. But surely not Jagger?

“You’re here to see Jagger?” A gorgeous blonde steps into view, from her accent, she’s a southern girl like me, and when she smiles, I want to be her friend.

“Yeah, I have something of his to return.”

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