Page 80 of Meet Hate Love
It does make it worse.
When do you get back from the urinal museum?
Friday at four.
The dryer beeped. I grabbed my load of clothes from it, sniffing to ensure the smell of urine was gone from the dress. It wasn’t. Back into the washer it went.
Dinner at Junoon at six?
Junoon was an upscale Indian restaurant near Madison Square. It had incredible reviews, but the prices were out of my budget. Margot and I had pulled up the menu at work countless times, toying with going for an extravagant girl’s-night-out, but we’d never followed through.
I hear they have an amazing mushroom ghost chili korma.
My mouth salivated at the idea of that food.
I’ve been dying to go to Junoon just for that dish.
The eavesdropping has really paid off…
If I didn’t like you so much, I’d think you were a complete stalker.
I’d suggest that “skulker” or perhaps “pursuer” is a more appropriate word.
Yeah. I was pretty sure I loved him.
ChapterTwenty-Four
VANCE
Gravel crunched underneath the tires of the rental when I turned off the dark county highway. I followed the drive, pulling up in front of the single-story white house with the wrap-around porch. The past few days of going back and forth to the hospital, coupled with the jetlag, had worn me out.
I cut the engine and got out of the car. The headlights went off before I’d made it around the side of the house, leaving me to stumble through the dark, muggy Alabama night to the side door.
Thank God for the glow-in-the-dark gnome Grandma kept the spare key hidden beneath.
I opened the door, flipped the kitchen light switch, and made it two steps inside before the scuttling tap of claws shot across the linoleum. Cowboy skidded around the corner, ready for his dinner. The dog was at least ten pounds overweight because Grandma fed him two cans of dog food in the morning and two at night.
I grabbed one can from the pantry, and I swore Cowboy growled. “I’m not overfeeding you,” I said, dumping the food into his bowl.
By the time I’d washed my hands, he’d scarfed it down, burped, then started up the stairs. When I opened the door to my bedroom, he shot inside and hopped onto the bed.
It had been nearly ten years since I’d moved out to attend college, and Grandma had kept my room just the way I’d left it. Same dresser. Same clothes hamper. The weird-ass tapestry of a female minotaur Theo had given me for my fifteenth birthday still hung over my headboard.
Every time I’d visited, I’d offered to make the room over into a guest room, but Grandma had refused to let me. She said she always wanted me to feel like I was coming home when I visited and that she didn’t give a “diddly squat” about anyone else staying the night.
I undressed, got into bed, and scrolled through my phone’s photo album. Pictures of the Arc de Triomphe, of clothes hung out to dry from wrought-iron balconies. When I came to the one I’d taken of Blake in front of the Eiffel Tower, I stopped. She really was stunning. Her dark hair was a little wild in the photo, and that smile… I was pretty sure that smile could talk me into damn near anything.
Blake felt like the real thing. Like someone I could wake up with and never tire of saying good morning to. As crazy as it sounded, I couldn’t remember what my life was like before Blake because I couldn’t think about it without her.
She was the one.
I swiped off the photo, then texted it to her along with the message:You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Bubbles floated across the screen.
You’re not so bad yourself.
A candid picture of me wearing that damn Avo-Cato bandage followed.
