Page 148 of King of Pain
Why else haven’t I kissed anyone in all this time? It’s like some part of me has been waiting. Guarding that one thing I still had to give. Like I knew Chance would come back, and I couldn’t give it to anyone else.
Not even Jason.
He’s sitting across from me right now—tall, built, clean-cut—and incredibly attractive. The kind of guy people fawn over. He’s been flirting for the past fifteen minutes, making it increasingly obvious this isn’t just about sponsor contracts. But all I can think about is Chance.
Jason’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
“Anyway, I thought I’d get a condo downtown.”
I blink. “Here?”
Jason laughs. “Yes, here, Anthony. Your offices are downtown, are they not?”
“Oh, um. Yeah. Yes, they are.”
He gives me a look, then reaches across the table, placing his hand over mine. “As much as I’m in town, it will be easier to have a place. Also, I think there could be something here.”
He starts rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand, his voice soft. “I know you’re gun-shy, but I’d like to spend more time with you. See if this can go anywhere.”
I’m frozen for a second, trying to find words. “Jason, I—”
But I stop as Jason’s eyes widen.
I feel it too—the presence.
Then the voice.
“No.”
I snap my head up and see Chance standing beside our table. He’s soaked from head to toe, rainwater dripping from his hair, his t-shirt plastered to his chest. His fists are clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. His eyes are locked on mine, burning with rage and something even more painful.
“Chance,” I breathe. “What are you doing here?”
He shakes his head, his voice tight. “You know what? Fuck this. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m such a fool.”
Then he turns and bolts.
“Chance, wait!” I shout, standing so fast my chair scrapes loudly against the floor.
I can feel Jason watching me, his stare boring into the side of my face.
But I don’t care.
I don’t care about the dinner.
I don’t care about Jason.
I don’t care about anything except the man walking away.
And I follow him, right out into the pouring rain.
“Chance, wait!” I yell again, chasing after him as he stalks away from the restaurant, rain pounding down on both of us like it’s trying to wash away years of pain.
He just shakes his head and keeps walking, fists still clenched at his sides.
“Chance Sullivan, stop walking, right fucking now!”
He freezes.
