Chasing Him - Kat T. Masen Page 0,15

two… three… four… five… six, I count to myself.

“Adriana, it’s early,” he mumbles, sleepily.

Lost in my abs daze, I quickly speak, “I… uh… I came to say sorry, Julian.”

He motions for me to come inside the dark room. Walking over to the windows, he opens the drapes, then grabs a T-shirt hanging off the chair. I take a seat on the edge of the bed as he sits on the small tub chair by the window.

“What happened last night?” His voice is somber.

“I drank too much.”

“Yes, you did. But what got you so upset that you had to run away from me?”

I nervously play with the ring on my middle finger, my eyes glancing to where my wedding ring used to sit. There was a time when anger consumed me overshadowing my grief and yearning to bring my husband back. The band reminds me of a life promised, and so, in the midst of my raging emotions, I removed the ring and stored it inside a small trinket box Elijah gave me in high school. I half-expected to feel a loss when I removed it, but it never came. What came was more pain, more anger, and resentment toward a man who isn’t here to even defend himself.

“Our wedding song, it played. Your publicist… I don’t know, there was just too much going on.”

“My publicist?”

“She was all over you.”

He remains silent, something he does often because he actually thinks about his words unlike myself.

“It’s understandable that a song would upset you. Studies show that—”

I interrupt him in frustration. “Screw fucking studies. It hurt, okay! I hate that one minute there’s this ray of hope, and then, bam.” I raise my hands, the anger swelling inside of me. “Some stupid thing will trigger all the pain. I’m so over feeling this way. Sometimes I just want to forget he ever existed.”

Silence.

“And stop being quiet. Just say it… say whatever it is you want to say.”

“It’s before eight in the morning. I’m tired and mentally drained. You’re hungover and clearly tired as well. Nothing I say or do right now will please you, so if you don’t mind, I really just want to sleep a bit more.”

He takes his shirt back off and closes the drapes. Walking over to the bed, he pulls the covers off and climbs in, resting his head on the pillow, rubbing his face with his hands.

Great, what am I supposed to do now? The room is silent and dark, the jetlag settling in, not to mention I stayed up reading his book. I just couldn’t put it down.

I’m not sure why I climb into the bed beside him and nestle my head into the crook of his neck. Something draws me to him, an unexplainable magnetic force. Gently, he places his arm around me, pulling me in. There’s nothing sexual about this encounter, and for the first time in a very long time, I fall into a blissful sleep surrounded by the warmth of a man.

***

“Are you sure this is just beef?” I use the fork and knife to cut the meat on my plate.

We wake up a little past noon, and Julian decides we both need some fresh air, plus he really wants to show me around Sydney. We end up at a restaurant overlooking the Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House called the Toaster. Apparently, it’s supposed to look like a toaster, but for the life of me, I don’t see it.

“How do you like the view?” Julian asks.

“It’s beautiful. I mean, what you see in movies doesn’t do it justice.” I grab a mouthful of salad. “The weather is perfect, and the people are so relaxed and friendly. I really could see myself living here.”

“It’s beautiful. There’s something calming about this place,” he adds.

“Like the Aussie gals?” I say in my best Aussie accent.

“Your accent is terrible. Now tell me, what’s this nonsense you’re going on about my publicist?”

“She wants in your pants.”

“She wants in my pants?” he repeats.

“Oh, puh-lease! Like you can’t see that. Oh, Julian…” I mimic, “… let me touch your arm again and flash my boobs in your face.”

His laugh startles me.

I cross my arms, not seeing the funny side of this conversation.

“Aww, is someone jealous?”

I know I’m pouting, and his cheesy smirk isn’t helping me keep a straight face.

“Adriana, I don’t want Giselle—”

“Great, Giselle. She even has a supermodel name.”

He places his hand on mine. “Why can’t you see the only person I want is sitting right in front