The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,629

sunshine blonde and voice angel soft. She reminds me of Love, whom I haven’t seen since we toured that building in Brooklyn a few days ago.

I keep wondering when I’m going to bump into her next, which means she’s constantly on my mind. Love is the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about when I go to sleep, and I’ve never experienced that with anyone before—not even the girl I dated for three years in my early twenties or the chick I dated for six months last year.

It makes no sense, but the more I try to fight my thoughts, the worse it gets.

I’ve given up trying to make sense of it, and all I can do is tell myself it could always be worse—I could hate her.

“We’re here,” the girl says as she pulls up to a train station. I grab my phone and tip her before climbing out and grabbing my guitar.

A few moments later, I’m buying my ticket and waiting by the platform for the 2:43 PATH train to Hoboken.

By the time I board, I settle into a seat in the back of the second car, hoping I’ll have it all to myself so I can catch a quick nap. Resting my head against the glass, I close my eyes and try to fall asleep despite the dull ringing in my ears from tonight’s performance, only the moment I do, all I can picture is Love.

Love laughing.

Love talking with her hands.

Love looking at me the way that she does, distracted and lost in thought.

This entire thing is fucked up.

Raking my hand across my mouth and exhaling, I push the thoughts from my mind and try to think about anything else but her: the Mets, the Killers, the Ramones, Piper and Ellie, Paw Patrol, Vinnie’s Pizzeria. Anything.

If she knew who I really was, she’d want nothing to do with me—and rightfully so.

I can’t fall for her.

I can’t.

Thirteen

Love

* * *

“Hey, stranger,” I call after Jude from our end of the hallway. He’s just about to step onto the elevator, but he reaches out and holds the doors for me. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” His emerald gaze drinks me up and I realize the last time he saw me dressed like this, I was hidden under an oversized sweatshirt.

“Going for a run?” I ask, pointing to his Dry Fit shorts-and-tee get up before pressing the button for the main floor.

The doors close and it’s just us and the scent of his shower-fresh skin.

“Thought I’d hit the trail in the park before that midday sun kicks in,” he says.

“No consulting today?”

“Nah,” he says, stifling a yawn. “Gave myself the day off. Was up late working last night.”

We arrive at the lobby and he lets me out first, fingertips grazing the bare skin on my back where my top has ridden up. My skin prickles at his touch, but I pretend not to notice.

Raymond watches us leave, giving us a nod and fighting a half-smile like he thinks he’s witnessing the beginnings of something special.

“Hi, Raymond,” I give him a wave. “How’s it going?”

He gives me a wink. “Wonderful. Have a good one, Ms. Aldridge. You too, Mr. Warner.”

Jude gives him some sort of wave-salute thing, and even as we leave, I feel him watching us.

“So nice out,” I say, taking in a lungful of clean, mid-morning air.

Today is one of those rare summer days when it’s not too hot, the breeze is just right, and the sky holds nothing but a handful of puffy white clouds that occasionally block the sun at just the right moments. Suddenly the idea of sweating it out at Soul Cycle while pop music blasts my eardrums doesn’t hold the appeal of a jog in the park with a side of fresh air, but I don’t want to invite myself along—he might get the wrong idea.

“You like to jog?” he asks, basically reading my mind.

“Uh, yeah, actually. I do.” I stare ahead, tempering my excitement. Running in Central Park was one of the reasons I wanted to move to the Upper East Side.

“I could use a partner today,” he says, one hand rested on his narrow hip, fingers tucked into the waistband of his shorts and a hint of taut skin peeking out. “Sometimes it gets boring … going alone, I mean.”

I hesitate, not wanting to seem desperate because I am desperate. Desperate for some fresh air and a sweaty, breathless, mind-clearing jog.

“I don’t know …”

Jude rolls his eyes.

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