Page 9 of Let Me Love You

And this? Eleanor’s accusation? It wouldn’t rock the boat. It would fucking obliterate it.

I can’t let it happen.

935.555.4246

Colt, I know I messed up, and I should’ve told you. But ignoring me isn’t going to make your son go away. Will you please call me so we can talk about this?

Shaking my head, I block Eleanor’s phone number and delete the conversation without giving myself a chance to second-guess my actions. But it doesn’t erase the swell of regret settling into my bones.

What the hell am I gonna do?

3

BLAKELY

Drenched in sweat, I look both ways and run into the crosswalk when a loud honk makes my bone shake. Tires squeal, and I barely dodge the bright red Camaro as it slams on its brakes.

Slapping my hands against the hood, I yell, “Are you serious right now?”

Logan grimaces, looking almost apologetic behind the wheel. When he recognizes me, he simply shrugs one shoulder. LikeI’mthe one in the way.

“You almost hit me!” I shout.

“Sorry,” he mouths blandly, motioning for me to move so he can be on his merry way.

Asshole.

It’s not the first time I’ve almost been run over while exercising, and it probably won’t be the last.

Then again, I have a feeling being nearly hit by a car was the cherry on top of a craptastic morning. At the start of my run, Gertie cornered me on the sidewalk and demanded to know if I was planning to renew my lease, so I told her the truth. And now, I’m gonna be homeless soon.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

Desperate for coffee—and Theo—I make my way across the last stretch of asphalt and over the grassy hill, heading to The Bean Scene.

After our little movie session the other night with Kate and Macklin, he promised to meet me here when I finished my run. Usually, he’d join me, but Mama Taylor needed his help with a few things around the house, so I’m on my own this morning.

Lucky me.

The sunshine kisses the back of my black tank top, and I slow my pace, stretching my arms over my head as the birds chirp in the trees. I’ve been running more lately, too stressed to do anything else. Between debating the lease debacle, creating new activities for the youth program I’m spearheading, and registering for the fall semester at LAU, I’m beat. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. I catch my breath and reach for the swinging door stamped with a giant coffee mug, the words “The Bean Scene” scrawled across the cup. As I step inside, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee hits me square in the face, and I breathe it in, letting it fill my lungs.

Mmm…coffee.

“Blake!” a low voice calls.

Theo is at the table in the far corner of the coffee shop, with two iced lattes and a tall glass of water in front of him. I smile, wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, and head toward him, weaving between the line of customers waiting for their drinks.

“Hey.” With a quick peck against Theo’s stubbled cheek, I collapse into the chair beside him. The coolness of the metal seeps into the back of my thighs and makes me shiver as I reach for my cup of coffee.

“How was your run?” he asks.

“Good.” I lift the iced drink in a silent cheers motion. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Don’t mention it.” He leans back and stretches his legs wide, making him look like every girl’s fantasy laid out on a silver platter. “Did the run help your stress?”

“Nope.” I pop the ‘p’ at the end and give him a syrupy sweet smile. “How are you doing? How are your parents?”

“Stressed,” he admits with a smile. “Mama and Papa Taylor wanna sell the Taylor House since I’ve officially graduated, insisting they, and I quote,‘don’t need a frat house full of idiots.’”

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