Page 88 of Rescue Me (Forget the Past 1)

When I reach the top step, I stop in surprise. Hanging on the wall in front of me is a picture of Paige and Martin standing side by side on a beach, wearing giant flower necklaces, a fat diamond ring on her finger.

I guess the guy really did think he could win her back.

My feet start moving again, as I try not to think about the two of them jetting off on some fancy vacation together. Somewhere I’ll probably never be able to afford to go.

I locate Paige in the master bedroom, standing in front of a closet door with her hands on her hips. She doesn’t look at me but seems to realize I’m in the room because she starts talking, her voice high pitched and hysterical. “He’s insane. Completely mad. I mean, what did he think would happen?”

When I come up behind her, I get a glimpse inside the walk-in closet. One side is taken up with an array of men’s clothes. The other side, though, has a more feminine air. Colorful sweaters, a handful of dresses, and neatly lined up heels and flats on the floor.

“It’s like he thought I’d come in here, see all my stuff unpacked, and say ‘Oh well. Guess it’s just easier to stick around.” She storms into the space and starts tugging all the clothing off their hangers, tossing them into haphazard piles on the ground. “But that’s Martin for you. Arranges everything according to his plan and expects you to go along with it. I wonder if he wrote ‘seduce Paige by standing naked in the kitchen’ on his calendar.”

I can’t help a snort that escapes. Paige glares over her shoulder at me, but only for a moment. A smile pushes at the corner of her mouth, clearing the annoyance from her eyes. Cole enters the bedroom with the boxes and sets to unfolding them.

When I turn back to Paige, she’s moved in close to me, uncertainty clouding her eyes.

“I just realized; I’m just as bad as him.”

My body immediately rejects the statement, and I pull her into my arms. “No, you’re not. Why would you even say that?”

She turns her head so her lips rest against my neck. The hot puff of her breath almost distracts me from her answer. “Because I didn’t ask you about us. What we are. I just blurted out that you’re my boyfriend.” Paige pulls back enough to stare up into my eyes. “I’m not trying to control you.”

“I didn’t think you were. And I want to be your boyfriend.”

Joy splits across her face in a wide grin. “You do?”

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

Just as I’m leaning down to taste her bubblegum-colored lips, a slam of the front door practically shakes the house. My roommate abandons the boxes, sauntering over to the window to peer down at the lawn.

“Did he leave in his underwear?” Paige asks, mild curiosity coloring her voice.

“No.” Comes Cole’s disinterested drawl. “Seems like he found a shirt and some pants somewhere.”

I don’t know if it was his words, or his delivery, or just the craziness of the whole situation, but something causes Paige to crack.

She slides to the ground, out of my arms, burying her face in her hands as she dissolves into uncontrollable giggles. Actual tears slide through her fingers, and her whole body shakes with her reaction.

The sight of her at my feet, overwhelmed with laughter, brings an unfamiliar, but still welcome, warmth to my chest.

When I meet Cole’s eyes, we share a shrug, and just before he turns back to the boxes, I think I catch a hint of an approving smile.

Chapter Thirty

PAIGE

“Damn, I’m going to need a new one.” I fiddle with my pen, lamenting the fact that its ink has run dry. I’m only halfway through the book, but I guess I’ve been reading more lately.

After the unfortunate cheater and robe-theft incident, I lost interest in books for a little while. I’d go to pick one up, try reading a page or two, but I’d lose focus almost immediately.

It was like Martin broke more than just my heart. He also crushed my ability to sink into a good story.

But the past few weeks, more and more I’ve been longing to slide back into the old comforting pages.

Part of it was that night I sat on the scuffed-up floor of Cole’s bedroom as he hinted at his own tale. My curiosity ran rampant, and I had to read something else to keep from bugging him.

But that was just a small spark, and I think Dash is the one who’s been fanning the flames. There’s the fact that he constantly asks me about my past work, and I’ve spent long periods detailing my favorite stories I’ve edited. But there’s also the fact that being around him reminded me that just because something I relied on got blown up, doesn’t mean that there aren’t good hopeful things in my future.

I stick my dry pen in the pages of the book, using it to mark my place. The timing works out because as I place the paperback down and reach for my glass of cider, Dash pushes through the patio doors.

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