Page 38 of Ewan

So, no more getting-serious-with-anyone stuff for me.

I’m done.

My smirk dies out, and a layer of ice grows over my eyes as I pick up my duffel bag and exit the bathroom.

Once I set foot in the hallway, I notice the light above the exit door in the back. A short walk from there, I could be in my truck, heading home.

Not my Long Island home. I rarely go there. That’s a place for ghosts.

Despite taking ownership of that house after Margot had passed, I never lived comfortably in there.

It’s just too cold in that house, even for me, who I love cold. And I’m not talking about the air temperature.

Yeah, I could go.

Leave.

Where the fuck should I go?

Christmas is around the corner, and things get weird for me this time of year.

It’s the time you count your blessings, hug your loved ones, and hope for better things in the coming year.

I could go to a motel. There’s a nice place about half an hour from here. I know the owner. He knows me.

Or I could drive back to Manhattan.

The only place I wouldn’t go to is the bar I spent the evening in. I can’t have another woman coming on to me like that blonde.

I’m too wired up to handle anything like that well.

With that being said, my legs surprise me when, instead of turning left toward that back door, they move to the right and carry me to the event room.

What the fuck am I doing?

Do I want to seeMiss Scarlettagain?

No way in hell.

The only way I’m seeing that woman again is if she’s naked in front of me and scolds me because I didn’t do my homework.

I almost laugh, which is a rare occurrence these days, and as I near the door––she’s probably gone by now––I think twice about seeing her again.

And then I stop.

I’ll fuck her tonight if I don’t pull away from her right now. Like right the fucking now. Sighing with frustration, I give up on the idea of her and walk to the back of the building.

I push the door open and make a beeline for the truck, pretending I didn’t notice that the only other car in the parking lot is hers.

It must be hers.

So, she’s still here. Maybe she’s watching me leaving just about now.

I pick up the pace, holding onto my determination to make it to my car, leave her and her little world––I don’t need to ruin––behind, and find something else or someone else to do this evening.

Moments later, the truck roars under my firm foot, and I slowly steer it out of the parking lot, unease licking at my resolve.

Maybe I should make sure she gets home safe.

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