Page 23 of Broken Ice, Mended Hearts

SVEN: I’ve been a waste today. What have you been up to?

Not a good idea. I shouldn’t mention what I’d been doing because that implied he’d be interested, and asking about his day could be bad because it was none of my business.

SVEN: Should we set up a workout schedule?

Pass. It would be better to bring that up in person because it’s much easier to say no by text message.

Ugh—why was it so fucking difficult? After more thought, I thumbed in a fifth try, the most neutral one I could think of.

SVEN: How’s it going?

After five minutes with no reply, I moved to the den. It was smaller than the living room and looked out on a park in front of the building. On edge and wondering why Pip hadn’t replied, I shook vodka with ice, then poured it into a martini glass with four olives.

I sprawled on the couch and settled in for aParks and Recreationmarathon. When I finished my drink, there was still no response to my text message. Irritated, I rose to mix another martini. Then another. It became a pattern—lie down, sip a drink, and confront the blank phone screen. Was it really that hard for him to type a simple, “I’m good. You?”

Maybe he doesn’t want to have anything else to do with me.

By then, I had a serious buzz, and the alcohol coursing through my system made my mind race. If the bastard could enjoy having sex as much as he obviously did, only to cut me off without a word because of some stupid freakout, I was better off without him. He was thirty-five goddamned years old, and he said he’d been with a man before. He should do better.

Oh, shit. Maybe the fact that I’m a man isn’t the problem. What if he just doesn’t like me?

I raised my martini to toast that encouraging thought, then bumped my elbow on the edge of the couch and spilled the drink all over the floor. With a loud curse, I got up and made another. Thinking about Pip might kill me before the night was out, so maybe more vodka would silence the thoughts.

After settling back on the sofa, I picked up my phone yet again. Nothing. My buzz had evolved into being seriously drunk, and I wondered if I should text him again. Had he been away from his phone before and not heard the alert? It was getting close to seven o’clock, so he might be having a drink with the phone nearby.

Since when do you beg someone to talk to you? Not your style, Holmer.

All I want is to hear from him, not rush over there and hook up again.

If he doesn’t text you, he can fuck off. Where’s your pride?

Where indeed? I set my phone on the table and turned up the TV volume. Then, a few minutes later, I reached for the phone again.

SVEN: What’s up? Is everything okay?

With a frustrated groan, I got up and stumbled into the kitchen to make a frozen dinner. The situation was ridiculous. I hadn’t known Pip for a week, and my crush on him was stupid. I usually liked to take time to get to know a guy, so what made Pip so different?

After a meal of microwaved lasagna, I went back to the den.Godfather,one of my favorite movies, was on, so I set a bottle of water on the table and lost myself in the film. Hours later, I woke with a pounding headache. After I got my bearings, I reached for the phone, and there was still no message.Fuck him.

Ugh! The sun is too damn bright for early morning. And why do I feel like shit? What the hell did I do last night?

I groaned. My head was fuzzy, and my mouth was as dry as the Sahara. When I glanced at the clock on the nightstand, I was surprised to see it was after eleven a.m. Fuck, I couldn’t believe I’d drunk about a thousand martinis all by myself.

Though I felt like sleeping all day, I had to piss. After a quick visit to the bathroom, I staggered to the kitchen and downed a bottle of water. My stomach churned, and from hard experience, I knew the remedy was grease, more grease, and plenty of toast to soak it all up.

I was tending bacon in the skillet when I thought about Pip. Surely he’d texted back by now. I went in search of my phone, but when I found it in the den, the screen was still blank. I almost hurled the damn thing through a window.

“Goddamn bastard!” My neighbors probably heard me yelling, but I didn’t give a shit. Whether Pip was having a nervous breakdown or playing hard-to-get, I was done with him.

After hurrying through breakfast, I showered and threw on some clothes. I could spend the day waiting for a message that might not come, or I could go live my life. A walk seemed like a good way to clear my head. Braving the ninety-degree heat, I headed for the park across the street from my building and sat under an old oak tree, enjoying the relief from the beating sun.

A few years earlier, yoga had been part of my rehab after a shoulder injury. Shifting positions, I did a few poses and some deep breathing. I was feeling much better by the time I finished. Pip was still on my mind, but to hell with him; giving him control over my happiness was stupid.

Abandoning my shady spot, I walked around the building to the marina. The water sparkled in the blinding sun, but many of the boats—some of them small yachts—were gone. It took me a moment to realize the walkway was so crowded because it was the Fourth of July, Independence Day.

That meant there would be fireworks tonight, and since I lived on the top floor of my building, I’d have a bird’s-eye view of the show. Post-pyrotechnic plans began forming in my mind. A friend back home once said the best way to get over a crush is to fuck someone else. Since it was a holiday, the bars should be buzzing with potential obsession-killing men, so I’d go out and find one.

If I’d be up late with patriotic shenanigans, I needed to sweat out the alcohol still in my system. I went back home and headed to the gym for some time on the treadmill. An hour later, I’d just gotten out of the shower when I froze, towel poised in midair.

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