Page 8 of True Hearts

“Luna.” He snags my elbow. I spin around to face him.

“The ring?” I hold my hand out for it.

“Why do you need it?” he says almost defensively.

“Does it matter?”

“Maybe.” He makes no move to give it to me.

All of the bodyguards pretend not to be paying attention to us. The same can’t be said about people passing on the street. I’m sure we do look out of place. Four giant men, all dressed in black, and then Graham. The man is as big as them and stands out all on his own.

My fingers itch to reach up and push the few short strands of hair that have fallen forward off his forehead. I shake off the thought, not sure why I'm having it. I never would have done such a thing to even Michael, but then again, he'd likely scold me. I don't think Graham would. In fact, I think it might earn me a smile.

“I want to give it back to him.”

Graham seems to relax at my answer. “I’ll keep a hold of it so you don’t lose it or someone might try and take it thinking it’s real.”

“So you’re going with me to confront him?”

“Of course.”

“Won’t that make a bigger scene?” I really can’t figure out why this man is doing all of this for me. This goes beyond being just kind because we have mutual friends. I push that thought to the back of my mind because I have to focus on confronting Michael right now.

“I’m not letting you go alone. He might get angry.”

“Doubtful. He’s not super expressive.” He’s rather dry, really. The only time I have ever heard him go off was while playing video games, and that was over the phone.

“Trust me. If you were giving me back my ring, there would be a scene. Likely a kidnapping.”

“A kidnapping.” I snort a laugh. If Graham is trying to be ridiculous to make me laugh, it’s working. I didn’t bank on him to be this funny. Even now his face remains serious. “Fine, come along. I’ll probably need you to get in the door.”

When I start moving again, I realize that Graham never released his hold on my elbow. A man opens the door for us to enter the building. At the next set are three men. They glance toward us and quickly open the doors without question.

“Is it always that easy for you to get into places?” I ask. Graham shrugs, his eyes roaming over the place. He has a clear view all the way around with how tall he is.

I glance around, having never seen a bar like this. There are rows of tables with computers on one side with big, comfy-looking chairs. The other side has lounges with giant TVs. They all have video games up on them that people are playing.

“There he is,” Graham mutters, his whole tone shifting. His hold on my elbow tightens a fraction. This must be his brotherly instinct kicking in because he almost appears like a pissed-off, jealous lover.

“Lead the way,” I tell him, unable to see what he can from up there, even on my tiptoes.

“Gladly.” He tucks me in closer to his side.

Any nervousness I’ve been feeling melts away. I’m really happy that Graham pushed to come with me, because the truth is I did need someone; I just never can bring myself to ask, but somehow he knew, and it made me feel seen.

The real me for the first time.

ChapterSeven

GRAHAM

Montclair is seated close to a PC station. Because of the high-back leather gaming chair, we can’t immediately see who is manning the controls of the game, but as my eyes swing upward to the large screens in the lounge area, the gamer’s features come into focus. The woman has a feline face, and her long hair is streaked with pink and held in ponytails on either side of her head. Her tight shirt has a keyhole cut out on her chest. Montclair’s eyes are glued to that space. He’s not the only one. The majority of the men here are either watching the girl’s projected image or, if they’re close like Montclair, the real thing. Hats off to the girl. She's working the crowd and the game at the same time.

I check on Luna, whose tight, resigned face tells me she noticed where her soon-to-be ex’s attention was centered. I move my hand from her elbow to slide my whole arm around her shoulders and pull her closer to me. “Do you wanna do this in public, or do you want a private meeting?”

Her response is to square her shoulders, shrug off my arm, and march forward. She’s so hot. Montclair could never have handled a woman like her.

“Michael, we need to talk.”

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