Page 1 of Back to Me

CHAPTER ONE

SARA

Sprinting down the sidewalk on Sylvan Avenue, I wince in pain as my toes continue to squeeze toward the narrow tip of my black stiletto heels.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself.

Since I had to park almost a mile back, just off the exit to Interstate 30, I’ve been hauling ass trying to make it to The Fabrication Yard in time to meet up with Graham. Tonight is the first night he has been able to bring himself to display his art on the giant brick wall located in Dallas’ most popular graffiti park. For months I’ve begged and pleaded for him to gather up the courage and show off his art.

Of course, as with most things in my life, I’m late. Even if it wasn’t particularly in my control, I feel terrible for missing one of the biggest nights of Graham’s life. Clutching my phone in my hand, I glance down to check the time. “Fuck,” I breathe out. I’m twenty minutes late. Running past the sea of cars parked along the street, listening to the clicking of my heels meeting pavement, I find several unanswered texts from Graham.

Graham: Just got here. I’m so nervous.

Graham: I feel like my stomach is dissolving from its own contents, and I’m going to vomit all over the park.

Graham: Are you almost here? I don’t see you.

Graham: Sara, where the hell are you? I need you here.

I feel those last four words stab straight into my heart. He needs me. In the six years I’ve known Graham, I can only think of a handful of times where he said he needed me. One of those times was when he asked me to move to Dallas from our hometown, two hours away. I didn’t even hesitate when I told him I would. And ever since, we’ve lived together, shared the same apartment, yet never allowed ourselves to be anything more than roommates and best friends.

I have been in love with Graham since the moment I met him, all those years ago. But in that time, I’ve come to realize he may never love me the way I love him. It’s moments like these where I’m sprinting down a busy sidewalk, in five-inch heels and a dress that barely covers my ass to meet the one man I can’t seem to get over. Because truth be told, I would do anything for Graham Ward. Including risking a rip in my dress or a quick snap of my heel breaking off into one of the many cracks in the sidewalk.

Looking down at my phone, I stare at those four words, convincing myself they don’t hold nearly as much meaning as I think they do when I run into a wall. Well, it’s not so much a wall as it is a man, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit.

He grips my arms, steadying my body, preventing me from falling face first onto the concrete. I glance up at the man who saved me, catching myself staring into his bright green eyes. The sky is pitch black, not a single star shining, but the streetlamp beaming down on us illuminates every shadow and line of his body.

“Are you alright?” he asks. Concern spreads across his face as three lines crease the smooth skin of his forehead.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” I struggle to catch my breath, pulling myself away from this well-dressed stranger.

Adjusting my dress, I take a step around him, seeing the entrance to the graffiti park ahead of me on the right.

Barely making it a few steps, I feel a hand wrap around my arm, stopping me.

“Wait. Why are you in such a hurry?” he asks, curiously.

“It’s not really your business, is it?” I gently pull my arm away, breaking his hold on me.

“You’re right, it’s not.” His mouth curls up into a small smirk, his blonde hair dancing across his forehead in the wind. “But considering you’re running in those heels and that dress, I have to assume it’s for something important.” His eyes dance across my body as he examines every inch of me. “A woman as beautiful as you dressed like that causes me to wonder why you’re even here at all.” Already feeling self-conscious for wearing a cocktail dress in the most casual part of Dallas, I wrap my arms around myself. As I stare back into his green eyes, I can’t help noticing how out of place he looks as well.

Mirroring him, I look up him and down, darting my eyes from his polished black shoes to the deep blue tie wrapped around his neck, resting against his crisp, white collared shirt.

“I could ask you the same thing. You don’t look like you belong here either.”

He laughs, shoving his hands into the stiff pockets of his pants. “I came to check out a few artists. I like to come down here occasionally.”

“Okay.” I lift my hand over my shoulder, pointing toward the Fabrication Yard. “I really do have to go.”

Backing away, he pulls one hand from his pocket, holding it out to me. “Wait, can I at least buy you a drink? Maybe take you out?”

Thinking of Graham and wondering how I’ll come up with a way to explain to him why I was so late, I slowly shake my head.

I don’t say another word as he returns his hand to his pocket, disappointment washing over his face. He doesn’t break his eyes away from me until I turn back around and run into the front entrance of the yard, leaving him standing on the sidewalk under the bright, yellow street light.

When I’ve finally reached the far end of the park, I find Graham bent over in the corner, angrily shoving cans of spray paint into his duffle bag. A crowd of people surrounding the wall begins to disperse. Several people are still standing in front of it, holding their phones up, taking pictures of Graham’s piece. Without stopping to even look at the wall, I walk up to Graham and nervously cross my arms, knowing how upset he is with me.

“Hey.” I stand a few feet from him, waiting as he keeps his back to me and watch him pack the rest of his supplies with his paint-stained hands. The fabric of his grey hoodie stretches across his sculpted back as he shoves the last can into his bag and drags the zipper across. Bent down on one knee, he rests his arm against his leg and hangs his head low, refusing to turn around and face me.

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