Page 12 of Tight End
A note sat on the pillow beside me. Folded, neat, and with her name scribbled in loopy, feminine handwriting at the bottom.
The paper crinkled between my fingers as I sat up against the headboard, and I stared at it as though it had answers. Like I could read between the lines and decode how long she’d be gone or where she was. She hadn’t said. Only that she was flying out for work. And yeah, I got it—she was a reporter. Travel came with the gig. But I didn’t like not knowing where she was. Didn’t like waking up alone when I’d already gotten used to her sleeping beside me.
My head fell back, and I stared at the ceiling. One night, and she’d already gotten into my bloodstream. Now she was gone, and I was supposed to go back to normal? What the hell even was normal after last night?
I forced myself out of bed and trudged into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. This morning felt off. The silence stretched out in a way that it never had before. My apartment was too damn quiet without her in it. Even the city noise filtering in from twenty stories below couldn’t fill the space.
My jaw clenched as I pushed back from the kitchen island and set the mug down with a dull thud. I had no appetite for breakfast, which felt ironic considering I’d been starving last night. Then she fed me something I’d never tasted before, and now I was stuck trying to figure out how the hell to function without it.
I walked back to my bedroom and picked up my phone.Son of a bitch.I didn’t have her phone number. But I knew who could get it for me…and keep it on the down low.
Jonah Carrington was a local billionaire who owned one of the best, if notthebest, security companies in the world. Cybersecurity was their specialty, but they also had a division for human security.
I knew him through my boss, Lennox, so he’d given me his info a couple of years back in case I ever needed it.
As I padded into the bathroom, I shot off a text asking for her number and explaining why. I received several laughing emoji and a jibe about how he’d become the go-to guy for stalking. He wasn’t exactly wrong since he’d helped several guys I knew keep tabs on their women, even after they’d married them. Himself included. But that wasn’t an open service. He only did it for a very select group of people. One that I never thought I’d join until I met Marissa.
Not two minutes later, he sent me her number and asked for payment in the form of a signed jersey for his grandson. I chuckled as I sent back a thumbs-up.
Before hopping in the shower, I sent her a quick text telling her to wake me up next time. I wasn’t sure if she was on the plane yet, though.
I showered in silence and dressed like a man going through the motions.
The rest of the day dragged, and by the time I got to the steakhouse in SoHo where I was supposed to meet Micah and two potential suppliers for the deli, I was already on edge. I hadn’t heard back from her yet.
I barely registered the names of the guys Micah introduced me to. They both had decent reps, and this meeting had been on the books for weeks. We were supposed to be finalizing sourcing for specialty bread and meat. But as I sat at the corner booth, nodding along to a conversation I didn’t hear, I kept checking my phone under the table like a damn teenager. Still nothing.
Luckily, Micah carried most of the conversation, sharp as always, holding court like the born negotiator he was. I didn’t contribute much besides grunts and the occasional “Sounds good.”
Micah shot me a look, but I ignored him and typed a text.
Me
Where are you now?
My thumb hovered over the screen while I waited. Finally, the little dots appeared.
Marissa
On the plane. Still have over 5 hours to go.
I frowned. Sounded like a long-ass flight.
Me
Where will you be when you land?
Her reply came quickly.
Marissa
Seoul
Seoul? I muttered a low curse and opened my world clock on my phone, then groaned under my breath. Time zones were going to be a bitch.
Another message popped in.
Marissa
