Page 116 of Forgotten Comeback
“Sure,” I say softly.
He hops out of bed, grabbing his boxer briefs and shorts from the floor. Pulling those on silently, he grabs his phone and stalks out.
My feet land on the floor, and I stretch my arms over my head.Owww. I’m sore, in the most delicious of ways. And what would have been a delicious morning, until it wasn’t. I frown, hating that Gavin wasn’t comfortable telling me whatever it was that triggered him.
Grabbing his shirt from the remaining collection of discarded clothes, I pull it over my head and inhale deeply. Gavin’s shirts always smell good, like him. A masculine, strong scene. Not cologne, all man.
After a much needed bathroom break, I join him in the kitchen.
Except the man’s not here.
“Gavin,” I call, a horrible sensation unfurling in the pit of my stomach.
A glance out the window confirms it: Gavin’s car is gone.
“Why am I crying like a fool? Because even though I knew he was going to ghost me, I still hate being right,” I tell Bonnie through my tears.
Chapter
Forty-Five
Gavin
I’m the one who pushed for a relationship, but dammit, I didn’t know Taylor was going to crawl in my skin and poke around inside my head.
My phone rings, and I’m relieved it’s not her, because what would I say?
Sorry for making sex weird?
Sorry for bouncing?
Sorry for proving you right?
“Whatsup?” I answer.
“Get to Inferno’s office now,” John says, each word clipped.
“Alright,” I say, ending the call. It sounds like I’m in trouble, which is actually a good thing. It’ll take my mind off what just went down.
Shifting into high gear, I let loose on the accelerator, wanting to outrun my thoughts.
I knew Taylor was trouble right from the jump. Should’ve fucked another Brit-type woman. Or Bree-type woman. Orwhatever hell that woman’s name was, and forgotten about a fiery redhead who keeps getting myhead.
Arriving at Inferno’s, I’m in a shitty mood for a man who just had the most out-of-this-world amazing sex, and yes, those are my words too.
“What’s wrong?” Inferno asks when I plop down in the chair.
“Nothing,” I mutter.
“Something is wrong,” John says, pacing. He grabs his phone from his pocket and hands it to me.
“What’s this?”
“Video surveillance of you throwing a fucking Molotov cocktail inside Fabio Mazza’s restaurant.” John seethes.
“Then maybe Fabio Mazza shouldn’t have threatened my…”Girl, who’s probably not my girl anymore. Damn, that was a short run.
“Ring girl ‘friend?’” Inferno fills in for me.
