Page 11 of One Last Chance

I didn’t even tell him about the kids. I intentionally omitted it from the conversation, in fact. That makes me feel horrible, like the world’s shittiest father, but it was nice not being that for a night.

Would he be put off? Probably. He wouldn’t be the first.

If he doesn’t have kids at this age yet, he might just not want them at all. It certainly isn’t easy, and not everyone’s calling. I get that. And with how difficult Mina is these days? I don’t even know how she would react if I tried to date seriously again.

Sighing, I place the phone next to me and stare at the ceiling some more. No point in waiting for a response.

He’s probably asleep. And I should be, too.

Chapter 5

Dayton

Tapping on the corner of my keyboard, I stare at the endless Excel table on my computer screen. I should have cleaned this data hours ago. Now it’s almost the end of the day and I’m painfully, uncharacteristically behind.

Is it going to be my heat soon? It’s the only time I get like this.

I check the tracking app on my phone and…no, not for a while.Swiftly, I realize there’s another explanation for my scatterbrain the moment I catch the unopened notification on the top of the screen. I groan to myself, quiet enough to not bother people in the surrounding cubicles, and roll my eyes.

‘I hope you find what you’re looking for’—what the hell?

The truth is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that goddamn message since the moment I saw it yesterday morning. What I’m looking for is…well, I guess Rowland is honestly as close as I can get to it—is that the reason I am so damn frustrated?

Someone I have good chemistry with.Check.

Someone who seems to have a good head on their shoulders, and their life together. I promised myself that I’m done with immature, toxic douchebags. No more.Check.

Someone easy to look at. Handsome. With sexy, broad shoulders.Sigh… Checkity-check.

Someone who doesn’t intend on simply using me as a cumrag or a ‘friend’ with benefits on the side while juggling with my feelings.Check—I think.

I lean back in my squeaky chair and stare at the off-white ceiling panels above me that desperately need dusting.

Half the guys I’ve gone out with in the past few years would not last past the first few drinks and would always push to take me home. I guess I can’t put all the blame on them, since I went with it of my volition most of the time. Rowland was present with me the whole time. I didn’t see his thoughts wander, and when he kissed me before we parted, it was different. Deeper, somehow. For the first time since I could remember, a stupid kiss gave me butterflies.

Before I ran away like an idiot.

I physically recoil from cringe remembering it. I can’t believe he messaged me after that. I was so afraid he’d sense my pheromones and be disgusted that I straight-up bolted. And I don’t think he did sense them, which is why he’s messaging me now, still wanting to spend time with me. But is there a point to it? The closer I get, the more hurt I will be once he eventually disappears from my life, like the other half of my past flames.

“Your pheromones are just…off. I can’t stand them, Dayton, I’m sorry. I can’t turn that off or act like it isn’t there. I can’t spend my whole life with someone like that.”

Lowering my eyes, I feel a tinge inside my chest—a blade passing between the ribs.

Rowland doesn’t seem like the type of person to be that forward. As candid as he was, he’s a businessman—he has tact, and wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings with the outright truth. So, he’d probably be one of those guys who choose a more avoidant route. The ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’

The ‘I just don’t think we’re a great fit. There was nothing you did wrong.’

‘You’ll find someone who’s made for you one day.’

Tch, right…

I can’t keep spiraling into this self-deprecating pit of despair, so I abruptly stand and head for the kitchen to get some coffee. What I need is to get my heart pumping to finish cleaning that data and start on the visualizations.

I’m not getting paid to cry about my love life during office hours.

Walking past the printers on my way back—a steaming cup of mediocre brew in hand—I notice Joane standing there while copying something, and Drew Gray scurrying away. I pause when I see her adjusting her skirt. She seems uncomfortable and on edge, so I draw my brows together and go to her.

“Hey. Are you alright?” I ask, glancing briefly over my shoulder. Drew disappears into his cubicle, so we’re in the clear.

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