She’s in the same city.
What better sign is there than that? She could’ve been anywhere in America, but she’s only a thirty-minute drive away. I know the chat disclaimer said my advisor was local.
But this was meant to be.
“I can tell her, boy,” I say, my voice giddy, my lips shaping nearer to a smile than they have since I was a kid.
I believe the last time I was this happy was in the pit with bloodied knuckles and Uncle Aaron laughing and clapping and patting me on the back when a fight went well.
“I’ll tell her she belongs to me. I’ll tell her I fell for her the first second I saw her picture.” Rusty grins up at me as I scratch his chin. “And she’ll say she feels the same and…”
I trail off, my hand dropping away. Rusty gives a low whine as though he can sense the instant change in my mood.
It’s all lies. She won’t tell me she feels the same.
I can’t tell her.
But can I meet her without letting this all out? Can I keep it casual?
“Come on, boy.” I walk into the living room, striding into the hallway and grabbing Rusty’s leash.
He patiently sits as I get him into his harness and attach the leash, looking up at me, head tilted, tongue hanging out.
He’s silently asking me why I’m taking him for a walk when we just returned from one. But the weather isn’t too warm, and he’s always ready for some exercise. It won’t hurt him.
“I have to move,” I tell him quietly. “I can’t sit still, waiting around until….”
The date.
That’s what I was going to say, but the term seems too small to fully describe what we’re going to share. It’s our first meeting, the first time I confirm everything I feel for her. It’s the first time I’ll have to fight it, the ever-present pull, the hunger drawing us, me, closer.
“She might not feel the same.”
I’m ranting to Rusty now as I rush us out of the door.
“I need to calm down, boy. I can’t act like this at the park.”
I quickly lock the door, turn and stride down the hallway. Rusty walks patiently beside me as I lead him into the elevator.
It pauses on the next floor down, and a woman steps inside.
I’ve seen her around here a few times. She’s short and blonde, sort of curvy. But I’ve never felt anything when I look at her. She has a glamorous air, almost like she’s trying too hard.
I can feel her eyes on me.
“He’s such a nice doggie,” she says, tossing her dyed and glittery hair. “So well behaved.”
“He’s a good boy,” I say, nodding.
I stare ahead, but her eyes fix on the side of my head as though there’s something else she wants to say.
My mind is too full of Rachel to care what that is, to even take the time to speculate. All I can see is Rachel, waiting for me at the park, maybe with her hands crossed over her middle, shy and innocent and young and mine.
She’ll look up, and smile, her eyes glinting playfully.
I’ll finally hear her voice.
It feels like I’ve been waiting forever.
“I’m sorry?” I say, realizing the lady has been talking to me.
She huffs. “I said… is your boy quiet when you’re – you know? I’ve watched all your fights. You were – are, excuse me – an animal. A real beast, if you know what I’m saying.”
A shiver of distaste runs through me, making my hand clench around the leash handle. She reminds me of the countless women who hit on me during my boxing career. It’s the look on her face like she’d let me do anything to her, even if we don’t know each other, even if she doesn’t intend to be my child's mother.
Maybe I’m an old-fashioned bastard. Charley had casual flings. I don’t judge him.
But it’s not for me. It’s not even about me.
It’s about Rachel, our family, and our future.
I turn away, shaking my head, saying the first thing that comes to me. “I’ve got a girlfriend.”
“Oh.” She takes a step away. “She’s – uh – yeah, a lucky girl.”
The elevator doors open, and I stride out, Rusty padding along next to me. I don’t want to turn and let that woman see the look on my face, the distaste that’s probably evident.
It’s not her fault there’s only one woman for me, one I’ve been waiting my whole life for.
Rachel.
I step out into the fresh air, the sun blazing down.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rachel
“I should’ve brought a weapon.”
I groan as I look over at Autumn. She leans forward on the park bench, her elbows resting on her knees, wearing denim jeans and a baggy blood-red top.
Countless bracelets jangle at her wrists as she waves her hands.
“I don’t like this,” she goes on.