Rush - Page 67

In between his calls, I compulsively check social media for any sign that my private trauma has leaked onto the internet. There’s nothing new about me, though, and why would there be? Rush isn’t the sort of man to talk publicly about us, and he surrounds himself with decent, hardworking people who have nothing to gain from plastering social media with shitty things about me.

A pang goes through me as I wonder what’s happening at Rush’s house. My apartment feels quiet and cold in comparison.

Two days later, I’m trying to force some lunch down when my phone rings for the third time that day, and I brace for the familiar guilt and confusion to wash over me.

But it’s Jasminta’s name on the screen, not Rush’s. When I pick up the call, I barely have the chance to say hello before she’s exclaiming, “Babe! Oh my god, babe. The video looks amazing.”

It takes me a few seconds to realize what she’s talking about. “The video? Rush’s video? For ‘Not Only’?”

“Of course for ‘Not Only.’ Rin and I were having drinks last night and we ran into Rush. If I’d known you were back, I would have asked you to join us.”

Jasminta seeing Rush in London makes his presence here feel heart-achingly real. I glance at the window to the leaves stirring in the sunshine. He’s within a mile or two of me right at this second.

“He showed it to you? How did the video look?”

Jasminta makes a sound like she’s pressing her hand over her heart and draws in a deep breath. “Amazing. He took us to his car so no one else would see it. You should have heard me scream when I saw you. Why didn’t you tell me you were dancing in it?”

“It, uh, all happened so fast.”

“I couldn’t get you to dance in my video. Some silver tongue that man must have.”

“He does,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

I get off the phone as fast as I can after that.

After that, my phone stays silent. Rush doesn’t call. I check it. A lot. So much, it’s pathetic, really. I’m a big girl and could call him, and he’d take the call. He wouldn’t be a jerk about me ignoring him. So, what’s stopping me, pride?

Or fear?

I take a deep breath and reach for my phone. With a trembling finger, I send a text.

I’m in London. How about that dinner?

Not to Rush. To Dad. Maybe it’s about time I talked to someone impartial about everything that’s happened. I could use some perspective on this.

My phone beeps a moment later. Can’t, sweetheart. The kids have the flu and Janice is away for work. Soon xx

Oh, well. I’m not sure how insightful Dad could have been, in any case. He’s not the greatest at listening and usually replies to my questions with, Whatever makes you happy.

I place a call, and when the person at the other end answers, I say, “It’s me.”

“Dree, are you all right? You sound strange.”

Of course Mum noticed right away that something’s up. “I’m fine. It’s been a strange week. I…got involved with someone.”

There’s silence on the line, and then a short sigh. “Let me guess. He dumped you.”

I wince at her blistering words. When it comes to dance, Mum supports me ten thousand percent. When it comes to men, not even Prince Charming on a white horse could earn her good opinion. “No, it’s not—”

“Didn’t I tell you, sweetheart? If you’re going to fall apart the moment someone looks at you the wrong way, then you’re not ready to get involved with a man. Men can smell vulnerability. If you let him see any weakness then he will walk all over you.”

I grip the phone tightly. “Rush isn’t like that!”

“Who’s Rush?” Suddenly she’s suspicious. “It’s not the man you’ve been working for, is it? Dree—”

“Mum, I have to go.” I hang up as fast as I can.

I stare straight ahead, trying to construct a mental barrier between my heart and her words. I’m trying to be ready. I want to be ready. I want Rush so badly, but what if Mum’s right?

I can’t make sense of this anymore. I let my head fall into my hands, and start to cry.

Two days later, the morning is clear and sunny when there’s a knock on my door. When I open it, Rush is filling the doorway. He’s eyes are obscured behind aviator sunglasses. He’s wearing black jeans and a black shirt. He looks so damn good and smells so fresh my mouth waters.

The sight of him, so sudden, looking so sexy, wipes all conscious thought from my mind.

“What—” I begin.

Without even saying hello, he leans down, wraps an arm around my waist and hoists me up on his shoulder. Not in one of the graceful holds I taught him, either. In a crude fireman’s lift.

Tags: Brianna Hale Erotic
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