Page 88 of Tight Spot

The thought slammed into me so fast I pulled off to the side of the road and hit the brakes.

“Fucking hell.” My knuckles ached around my grip on the steering wheel. My heart thundered against my chest.

Sweat beaded at my temples.

This wasn’t right.

Stabbing chest pain. Racing heart. Sweating. Chills. An ache growing in my gut.

I was experiencing all the symptoms of a heart attack.

Love shouldn’t feel like this.

Should it?

There was only one person who I knew who would know the answer.

I jerked my car back onto the road, made a quick left and using my car’s CarPlay, sent a quick text.

It was late on a Friday, but knowing what I knew of him, he’d be up.

And hopefully, able and willing to help.

* * *

Eden took one look at my face, the yanked-apart bow tie and my dress shirt I’d shoved up to my elbows and opened their front door.

“Cole’s out back. Said you texted him?”

“Yeah.” It was barely a grunt.

Eden’s face was a mixture of concerned and amused.

I ignored the amused part. There was nothing fucking funny about any of this.

My phone, which had been pinging with notifications the entire forty-minute drive through Brentwood and Nashville up to Cole’s house, was still in my car.

Fucking Meredith.

After I finally had Siri play Meredith’s first text, an eloquent one-word message that said “dick,” I turned off my ringer and disconnected the CarPlay feature from receiving any more. Cranking up the music hadn’t helped. Rolling down the windows to get fresh air hadn’t helped.

My heart was still jackhammering away inside my chest and my palms were so damn sweaty it was a wonder I could maneuver the steering wheel.

If this was love, I wasn’t sure I wanted anything to do with it.

As soon as I slid open the back door to their deck, Bongo, Cole’s golden retriever dog was at my feet. Jumping and sniffing, Bongo danced around me, ran in circles until I stopped moving and sank my fingers into his thick fur.

“I can put him inside,” Cole called from where he was sitting on their outdoor couch. He had a wall-mounted television on beneath his covered patio. They’d renovated the backyard as soon as spring hit and installed an outdoor kitchen, massive sitting area that rivaled the size of his living room inside, and installed a pool.

“He’s good.” I gave Bongo more required scratches before I let him go and headed straight to Cole’s outdoor fridge and helped myself to a beer.

If necessary, I’d crash in one of their three extra rooms, but getting blackout drunk would certainly help the heart attack symptoms.

“Are you?”

“Nope.”

I twisted off the top of the bottle, flicked it onto the coffee table, and plopped my ass down into one of the couch cushions. “How’s the game?”

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