chant in my head because it seems I need the constant reminder with him standing right in front of me.
He lifts his hand, pushing back a lock of hair the wind has blown in my face. His hand lingers, his warm palm resting against my cheek.
Before I have the chance to lean into the touch, he clears his throat and takes a step back.
Although I blink up at him, the moment is gone.
I won’t press the issue. Today has been too much already, and a rejection from him is just one more thing I’ll be forced to stew over for the next two days. Damn if I don’t have enough to think about already.
“I’ll see you on Monday.” I give him a quick smile before stepping around him and climbing into my car.
He stands in the parking lot, staring after me as I pull away, and even though I tell myself I won’t, my eyes are locked on the sight of him in the rearview mirror until the night swallows him up.
I can’t go home. I’m too raw, too confused about what’s going on, feeling too disjointed to see my loving mom and dad sending each other secret looks they think no one else around them can see.
So I don’t go home. I head straight to the gas station on the corner and grab a six-pack of tiny wines. Classy as hell I know, but honestly, if no one is around to see you moping with gas station wine, then did it even really happen?
On my way back through town, I drive by the police station, a sinking feeling in my gut when I see his truck is no longer there. Maybe I had it in my head to follow him home, but I spent an hour tonight regurgitating my story about someone creeping on me so it doesn’t seem like the best idea. Plus, he’s a great detective and would probably spot me before he got out of the damn parking lot.
With that plan thankfully foiled, I head to the park instead. It’s dark, so it should be deserted but even if it’s not, I anticipate late-night teens up to no good scattering like roaches when my headlights pull into the parking lot.
I don’t think about tomorrow when I park my car. I don’t worry about what Monday is going to look like, not only the work but the awkwardness that’s sure to be there when I have to see Colton again.
I worry about nothing other than finding the perfect playlist on my phone—locking my doors because safety—and twisting off the top of my blush wine.
The first bottle goes down cold, the aftertaste washed away by the second. By the third, I’m bouncing my head to the music, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel as if I joined the band myself. When I twist the top off the fifth one, I can’t remember drinking the fourth one, but I’m committed. Exhaustion fills my bones as I sip the sixth, and my eyes won’t seem to stay open enough for me to finish it.
My phone dings, the sound echoing around me due to being connect through my car’s Bluetooth.
I frown down at the message, but my fingers work quickly with the lie to my dad about staying at a friend’s house tonight. I should ask him to come get me, but I don’t.
Judgment from him is the very last thing I need tonight. I need a fluffy blanket, a pillow, and warm strong hands all over my body.
Colton’s face flashes in my mind of course, but that’s a ship that’s never going to sail. Nope, that boat is stuck in the slip, dry docked from drought along with my underused pu—
My phone chimes again, and I’m hit with a rush of guilt with my dad wishing me a good night. I groan. I shouldn’t have to lie. I don’t actually have to lie, and I don’t know why I did.
I fire off a text because I have to let someone know where I am.
If I go missing, it’s because I have to sleep in my car at the park. I’m not going to risk killing a family of three.
The text goes unanswered, but I’m not surprised. There’s no reason for him to respond. Colton has already had to deal with me for like fifty hours this week. I shouldn’t be bothering him on his weekend off, anyway. We’re not friends. He’s sort of my boss.