Page 31 of Texting My Valentine

Things got heated last night. As we kissed, it was like I let out the beast inside me. I just couldn’t stop.

I might not have if she hadn’t looked so panicked. She stared at me as if she wanted to get as far away as quickly as possible. Suddenly, it was like she was terrified by what had happened between us.

Is it because she cares more than she wants to admit, more than she wants to, full stop?

She hasn’t texted back. Dammit.

I feel like a lovestruck teenager waiting for his crush to reply. I’m a grown man with a hospital to run. Angrily shoving my cell phone into my locker, I get back to work.

I work my body hard in the home gym after my long shift. Elliot was asleep when I got home, the nanny telling me he’d had a good day at school and had completed all his homework. To say that I sometimes feel like an absentee guardian would be an understatement.

I need to work on that, but my job is what keeps me sane. My job will make sure Elliot never has to want in life.

I’m not avoiding anything, anybody, because of the affair, dammit. Because of the betrayal.

When my cell rings, cutting through the metal music I use to block out my thoughts—or try to—I click the button on my headphones, which answers the call.

Julian sounds extremely pleased with himself. “Ask me how my night went.”

“Do I want to?” I say between heavy breaths.

“Whoa, you burying a body?”

The only thing I’m burying is any notion of a relationship with the only woman I’ve cared about since… no, there’s no fuckingsince. This is aneverkind of deal.

“On the assault bike,” I growl.

“You sound very happy about that.”

“Get to the point.”

“Jesus.” He chuckles. “You sure you’re interested?”

I settle myself down. “Sorry, Julian. I’m being rude.”

“No argument here.”

“So, what happened?”

“I met with my secret Valentine. We went back to her place—and get this—we’re going to have a second date.”

“That’s great,” I say, ignoring the petty voice whispering in my ear that I’m jealous. I refuse to let that brand of weakness twist me up. “What’s her name?”

“Cynthia. She’s a yoga instructor. We bonded over our shared love of the unusual shapes the body can make.”

“Ha ha.” The laughter is forced, but I’m not going to drag my buddy down with me.

“Your night didn’t go well?”

“I think I came on too strong. I hinted that she was the woman I’d been waiting for. We kissed, and she ran.”

“Ran?” he echos.

“She looked scared. At the time, I thought she was scared of her feelings. Like, hell, maybe she’d been waiting for me as much as I’d been waiting for her. Now, I wonder if I came across like an overbearing jerk.”

“Not everybody is looking for love,” Julian says. “Have you spoken since?”

“No,” I reply, not liking his answer at all.

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