Page 47 of No More Bad Boys
“Right. See you then. Goodnight.”
I barely break a sweat by the time I arrive on Blake’s quiet street. His place is a lovely brick-covered duplex surrounded by mature trees and mostly single-family homes. One side of his building sits in darkness while warm lamplight shows through the front window of the other.
And I can’t remember which side is his.Great.
I almost decide to keep running. What if he’s not even home?
What if he is and he’s not alone?
This is stupid.I’ve never even come close to doing anything like this.
But I really want to see him.
Hedidinvite me over for tonight. He’ll be happy to see me, right?
Before I can think about it too much I step onto his front walk and brace myself for the consequences of my completely illogical decision.
Whoisthis girl who leaves a date with one guy to see another, who drops in unannounced to visit a twenty-four-year-old single man at night? I hardly know her, but I do know I feel more alive than I have since I can remember.
Standing on the front step, my gaze goes from one stately front door to the other. He could be doing anything behind that door—cooking dinner for another girl, sleeping… showering.
It’s the mental picture of a wet, naked Blake that impels me to lift my hand to the doorbell.
Because I don’t know which belongs to him, I ring the bell of the duplex side with the lights on.
Hopefully it doesn’t belong to some young family with infant twins they just put to bed. I hear someone approaching the door, the sound of the deadbolt turning. It opens.
And there stands a beautiful woman.
She’s not one of the reporters from the station, but someoneshouldput her on camera somewhere.
Long, chestnut hair, perfect pale skin—she’s simply stunning, and I’m willing to bet the delicious dinner I smell through the open doorway is being prepared in her honor.
By the guy I came here to see.
“Hi,” Perfect Girl says with a friendly smile.
“Hi. I’m sorry. I thought my friend lived here, but…” I back away, ready to hit the road for the long jog home.
At least I wore running shoes for my date. It’s only nine miles or so. In the dark. No biggie.
A crack of thunder splits the night and makes me jump.Beautiful.A long jog in a thunderstorm is about what I deserve for this monumental act of idiocy.
“Do you mean Blake?” the girl says. “This is his place. Blake, honey, there’s someone here to see you.” She cranes her neck and peers back into the duplex.
Honey. Great. Perfect Girl is not just his dinner date. Hedoeshave a girlfriend.
I back away further, preparing myself to turn and sprint if necessary to keep from facing him in this uber-awkward situation.
And the sky opens up as if someone pulled the zipper on a giant bag of water overhead.
I reach up to wipe a fat drop from my nose. “Oh no. I don’t want to disturb your dinner. I was just in the neighborhood—running—going for a little run, and I—”
Blake appears over PG’s shoulder. “Cadence?”
Now Perfect Girl whips her head back in my direction.
“This is her?” she says, and Blake pokes her side. Her lips roll inward, as if she’s trying to hold in words.
