Page 67 of Pumped

Are you coming back for lunch?

Should we order something for you?

Nothing. Fucking nothing. Worry gnaws away at me, mixing with anger. Anger at him for running away instead of communicating like a goddamn adult. Anger at myself for making him want to run away in the first place.

If I’d just dealt with my shit faster. If I’d just given him the attention he needed.

The food arrives and Dad and I bring it back to our table. Everyone else immediately digs into the burgers and fries, and chicken nuggets for Ivy. I barely touch my food. The few fries I manage to choke down sit like rocks in my stomach. I keep tapping my phone to keep the screen awake, as if I might miss a message or a notification if I let the screen go dark.

Across the table from me, Dad catches my eye. “No word?” he asks quietly.

I give him a small shake of the head.

“He’ll be back. I’m sure everything’s fine.”

Still, my stomach threatens to eject the minuscule amount of food I’ve fed it. I have to clamp my hands over my knees to keep them from bouncing up and down.

Fifteen minutes. Twenty.

The table is littered with the remnants of lunch—balled-up burger wrappers, half-empty cartons of fries—but Everest still hasn’t shown his face.

Fuck it. I’m going to go look for him. I’ll fucking call security if I have to.

I stuff my phone into my pocket and extract myself from the picnic bench. But when I turn around, I practically collide with the man himself.

My initial shock of relief quickly gives way to outrage. “Where the fuck have you been?” I only just manage to keep myself from shouting.

Everest flinches like I hit him, but I don’t let myself get distracted by my guilt. I grab his arm and drag him away from the restaurant’s patio area.

Everest doesn’t fight me, but he doesn’t cooperate either. He stumbles lackadaisically wherever I direct him. “Nowhere. Just made a couple loops. Needed to clear my head.”

I push him behind a shrub. “What happened?”

He crosses his arms and sighs like he’s exhausted. He drops his chin to his chest, gaze glued to the ground between us.

My heart twinges at how defeated he looks. Where is the overconfident, über-cocky Everest I know and apparently love? Where are the eye rolls and the snarky jabs and the taunting smile? Worry makes my words come out too harsh.

“What the fuck happened?” I hiss at him.

“Nothing.” His bottom lip sticks out in a pout.

Seriously? He’s going to be like this? Reverting to the same old teenage bullshit? “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, I don’t want to talk about it.” He tries to step around me, but I shift sideways to block him.

“Why not?” I demand, hands curling into fists so hard my nails bite into my palms. “Why can’t you just talk to me like a goddamn adult?”

His gaze snaps up to mine, flashing with anger and irritation. We’re both running high on emotions and the air crackles around us.

Rage bubbles up inside me. No, not rage, something stronger, more primal and unvarnished. It’s raw and potent and visceral. I want to grab Everest and devour him. I want to tie him up and shove him into a hidden, secret place where no one else can find him and nothing else can hurt him. I want to shake him until he understands. I want to pull him inside me so he can feel what I feel—the debilitating intensity of it, how it knocks me off my feet and sends me reeling.

Doesn’t he know? Doesn’t he get it? I fucking love him and it’s fucking killing me.

I can’t breathe. I can’t move. My head is spinning and the ground tilts under my feet.

“O.” Everest’s breath brushes across my lips a split second before his mouth fits over mine. His arms come around me and I circle mine around his waist. We plaster ourselves to each other from knee to chest, like two magnets, inextricably drawn together.

My body melts into his. My lungs gradually expand. All the disorderly thoughts ricocheting through my brain settle into one single idea.

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