Page 67 of Desolation

I roll my eyes and pack up the pieces as I see one of the nurses tapping her watch. “Believe what you want. We both know I beat your ass, fair and square.”

Mr. Cartwell mumbles under his breath as he slurps down the rest of his tea.

“Betty is giving me the eye. Think it’s time for your meds and then bed.”

“The meds don’t do shit.”

I laugh at that. “Yes, they do. You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Stop being a grumpy old man.”

He grumbles as he gets up. I forgo helping him because I know he hates it. “You are grumpier than me and I have sixty years on you.”

I frown at that. “I’m not grumpy.”

“Then why the hell did you show up here on a Friday?”

I stare at him keeping my features cool. “I was bored.”

“Bullshit. Something is bothering you.”

I shake my head. “Nothing more than usual.”

He eyes me, giving me that all knowing stare between his squinted gray eyes. “Whatever you say, boy.”

I walk him over to Betty. “I’ll see you on Sunday, Mr. Cartwell.”

“I’m busy that day.”

I raise a brow at him.

“I know for a fact I won’t want to deal with your grumpy ass.”

I belly laugh at him as he walks away with Betty.

I feel lighter as I drive home. Thoughts of Mariela have faded. Mr. Cartwell always does a good job of making me forget what’s weighing me down.

I park my car and head to the stairs, climbing my way to my floor.

I’m walking down the hall with a cheap fast food sandwich in my hand when I see a head of blond hair leaning against the wall outside my door.

What the hell is she doing here?

Her head is down, hunched over her phone as she texts wildly across it. I take the time to look her over. Her hair pin straight and hangs just past her shoulders. She’s wearing a light pink top that stops just above the waistline of her high-waisted skintight white jeans. Her left foot is propped against the wall showing off a bit of her olive skin where the jeans are ripped at the knee. My eyes wander higher to that ass that makes me want to dig my fingers in just like I did last night and the night before.

So much for getting her out of my head when she is standing right in front of me.

She lifts her head and her eyes meet mine. Those fierce golden whiskey eyes that I could spend all day staring into. Suddenly I don’t want to get her out of my head. I want to get her on my body. I want to feel the heat of her curves pressing into mine. Taste the sweetness of her body. Kiss the sassiness off her lips.

“Thought you might be hungry,” she says pointing to a large bag on the ground.

I’m hungry all right. Just not for food.

“What are you doing here?” I manage to get out, keeping back the strain in my voice.

She turns fully to face me and I clench my fist at the sight of her. She’s fucking perfect.

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