Page 111 of Body Shot

She thinks I’m a lightweight, a play dude who’s all about the fun and the adventures.

That’s what Iwantpeople to think, though.

This thought pops into my head and gives me pause.

I don’t want people to know that I really want to matter, somehow. That I want to make a difference. So I act the playboy bartender, flirting with customers, racing go-karts, sailing.

How can I blame Hayden for thinking of me like that?

Despair makes my lungs burn, and the city lights blur in front of me.

I love her. I can tell myself it was just fun and sex, but it’s become so much more than that. She obviously doesn’t feel the same, though, since she dumped my ass.

“I can’t control how Hayden feels about me,” I say aloud into the night air.

Which fucking sucks. I take another swallow of tequila.

At the very least, I owe her an apology. For lashing out at her when I was hurt. For insulting her with my offer of money. And I guess for not telling her about my money. I probably should have done that sooner.

That’s what I’ll do. I’ll apologize.

Nowthatscares the shit out of me. But do I want to be like Devereux, and let my fear turn me into a coward?

Fuck, no.

Saturday night. She could be out with Carrie. Or on a date . . . though that doesn’t seem likely, since she ended things with me to focus on her work. I’ll take a chance and go over to her place.

Now that I know my next move, there’s no looking down. Or too far forward. Which is scary as fuck. Just focus on the next move. That’s in my control.

I stride into the condo, slam my glass down on the counter in the kitchen, and jog out to my car. I make the short drive to Hayden’s complex in record time, park, and tear up to her place. I ring her bell and wait. The faint sounds on the other side of the door tell me she’s home, probably peering out the peephole. I wait for her to decide whether to open the door to me, my heart pounding, my hands sweaty.

“Hayden.” I say her name quietly, leaning my forehead against the wall. “Let me in.”

The lock clicks and the door opens. She stands framed in the opening, her hair glowing like a halo in the light of the room behind her. My gaze roves over her face, taking in the shadows under her eyes, the tightness of her mouth, her pale skin.

“Hi.” I want to touch her so bad I’m shaking. My hand lifts, but I stop myself.

“You’re back.”

“Yeah.”

She continues to gaze at me.

“Can we talk? Just for a few minutes. I have a couple things I want to say to you.”

She hesitates, then steps aside. “Okay. Come in.”

Her laptop sits on the coffee table with a spreadsheet open on the screen. A folder of papers is open on the couch, and a movie plays on TV.

“Hey. You’re watching Netflix.”

“Yeah.” One corner of her mouth lifts. “Which you purchased and set up for me.”

I duck my chin briefly. This is true. “And working at the same time. Multi-tasking.”

“Yeah. Have a seat.” She picks up the folder of papers to set aside, then the remote to stop the movie.

“Sorry to interfere with the movie.”

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