Page 2 of Need You To Choose Me

I needed Mark.

So, I figured I’d go and visit him. The two-hour drive cleared my mind a little, but when I got to Houston, his house was empty. So I decided to drive to his office instead. Mr. Rodriguez, one of the security guards I got to know in the past, was at the front desk. After a quick chat, he let me go up to Mark’s office.

The hallway was quiet as I walked; the plush rug carpets muffled the sound of my clinking heels. I was in such a hurry to leave I didn’t even bother changing after the funeral. Most of the offices were in the dark, his colleagues long gone by now.

Except his.

The door to Mark’s office was ajar, light peeking through the small crack.

I pushed the door open just as a loud moan came from the room.

My body froze as I slowly lifted my gaze and took in the image in front of me. An unfamiliar blonde was bent over Mark’s desk, his tall figure standing over hers, his face sweaty, cheeks red as he pounded into her from behind.

Just thinking about it made my stomach roll and the bile rise up my throat.

I told you so.

I could hear Grams say those words loud and clear to me in my mind. Grams wasn’t one to pull punches, and she hated Mark. Hell, she hated all of my ex-boyfriends. Always claimed none of them were good enough for me, but what if she waswrong? What if it wasn’t them? What if it was me? What if I was the problem? What if I was broken? What if I was unlovable?

Do you seriously think somebody could love you? You were a means to an end, Savvy. You had one purpose, and you blew it. If I knew how much trouble you were going to be, I would have gotten rid of you while I had the chance, but now I’m stuck with you.

The hateful words from my past are like a slap to my face. Grabbing my glass, I chug it, only to choke on the bitter liquid.

Shit.

I bend forward as I try to catch my breath when I feel a hand pat against my back. “Easy now.”

The low, raspy voice has the hair at my nape standing at attention. Following the sound, I turn to the side, but my vision is too blurry to see clearly. All I can do is feel. Feel a big hand soothe up and down my back, making the goosebumps rise on my skin. Feel the warm body sitting next to me, his knee brushing against mine. Smell the spicy scent of an unfamiliar man’s cologne.

Finally, I stop coughing and manage to catch my breath. Blinking a few times, the guy’s face comes into focus, and my mouth goes dry, but for a completely different reason.

Holy shit, this man is gorgeous.

And tall. So damn tall. You could see it even when he was sitting. How did I miss him taking the chair next to mine, I’ll never understand. Because there was nothing subtle about this man. I was pretty sure when he entered the room, everybody knew it. My tongue darts out, sliding over my dry lips as I stare at him.

It wasn’t just his physical appearance either. There is a silent intensity shining in his light eyes as he watches me. Blue or gray? It was hard to tell in the dimly lit room. His dark hair is rich, the ends curling around his ears, and a neatly trimmedbeard is covering his jaw. He’s dressed in simple jeans and a blue polo shirt that reveals his firm bicep with a full sleeve of tattoos adorning his tanned skin.

His brows pull together, a few lines marring his forehead. “You okay, Blondie?”

Hearing that nickname snaps me back into reality. Feeling embarrassed, I look away, searching for the bartender. “Fine.”

The guy is serving the customer on the other side of the bar. I lift my hand, signaling for another round, and he nods in acknowledgment.

“Do you really think that’s a wise idea?” my companion continues without missing a beat.

Seriously? Is this guy for real?

Annoyance rises under my skin. I didn’t come here for a lecture; I came here to forget, and he was making it impossible. I tilt my head to the side to find him watching me, his long fingers wrapped around a glass of rich brown liquid. “Who are you? My dad?”

Those astute eyes lock on me, and it takes everything in me not to shudder. “I could probably be.”

I let out a snort just as the bartender appears with my refill. “You’re not that old, buddy.”

At this angle, I could see a few lines on his face, mostly around his eyes and on his forehead, but he was far from old. Older? Probably. He had what? Eight years on me? Ten tops, which would put him in his mid-thirties. Definitely not more than that.

What the hell was a guy like that doing at a random hotel bar in the middle of nowhere Texas? He didn’t seem like the country type. Even with the beard and messy hair, he was still too clean-cut for this place. And there was no hint of a Southern accent either. A passerby. Maybe on business?

My eyes dart down to his glass and the hand wrapped around it. No ring. Or line where one was supposed to be.

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