On the Run (Whispering Key #2) - May Archer Page 0,100

outcome, then? I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “I don’t suppose Beale has, um, mentioned me, or…?”

“Not since the day after the party,” he said sadly. “But I told you, I haven’t seen him. And he did seem really shaken that Saturday morning. And regretf—”

“No, no. No need to elaborate. At all. Something Littlejohn said seemed to indicate that Beale might still be harboring some unresolved concerns, and I was concerned. About those concerns. But all evidence suggests that he’s fine, so that’s… good. Great. Perfect.”

My stomach churned, and the air in my apartment felt stale.

“Toby,” Mason sighed. “As your oldest friend, I’m telling you to call Beale—”

“And I will! Goodness, Mason, I certainly will.” I waved a hand, though Mase couldn’t see me. “His birthday is coming up next month, and I will…. I will call him. I may even sing.”

“Today.”

“Ha. What? No. Absolutely not.” Any confidence I might have had this morning was gone entirely now. In fact, I couldn’t believe I’d ever considered that Beale would see my column, let alone that he would be… what? Moved by it? Nonsense. “I can’t, Mason, as a matter of fact, because I’m going out to… um…” I hesitated, then decided on the spot. “A club. I haven’t been in weeks. Men are probably wondering where I am.” I was confident that was not the case.

“Toby,” Mason said wearily. “Maybe instead…”

“Remember me fondly to everyone down there!” I interrupted cheerily. “Make sure to let anyone who asks know that I am doing well and having just a really, really remarkably wonderful time. I’ll speak to you soon, darling. Kisses to Fenn, and tell him he’s my favorite.”

“Speaking of which, remind me to tell you about Fenn’s competition with my new brother-in-law.”

I was nearly swayed—nearly—but I shook my head. “Next time! Really must dash if I’m going to be beautified by this evening.”

Especially since I could sense I’d need a good cry first.

At nine, after a hydrating mask and a bubble bath, I got dressed in my tightest jeans—the ones that showed my bulge to perfection—and my black Berluti Scrittos. I took twenty minutes to fix my hair. And I was stepping out of the Lyft in front of Dive before I realized I was being an idiot.

I didn’t want to go to a club. I didn’t want a hookup with someone like freakin’ Aron, who had started my life down this ridiculous path in the first place. The gorgeous men who thronged the late-summer streets left me cold.

I wanted Beale.

And yet the second my feelings touched the edge of potential hurt, I flinched and ran like an animal bumping up against an invisible fence, because I was nothing if not consistent.

My family disowned me? I ran from expectations and hid behind Hagatha.

My heart got broken? I ran from relationships.

Paparazzi came out of the woodwork after the Jayd debacle, and I got scared? I ran away from home to bury my head in the sand.

I fucked things up with Beale? I ran back to the city.

My one attempt to repair things didn’t hit right? I was going to chuck everything away again.

Except I wasn’t. Not this time.

It wasn’t enough to simply fight hard when things seemed hopeless. I was pretty sure you had to keep fighting over and over, which sounded exhausting until I remembered that Beale was the prize, and that was worth anything.

So what if he hadn’t read my article? So what if my grand gesture had, in the end, fizzled? This wasn’t the final nail in the coffin. It was not the end of the line if I didn’t allow it to be. I would go back to Whispering Key and sort this.

First thing in the morning.

I pulled out my phone and ordered myself another Peanut Butter Party delivery, stat, vowing it would be my last, no matter what happened. Then I got a chicken phall roll from my favorite Indian place on Macdougal and ate it as I walked home, pausing to watch the kittens in the window of the pet store just a block from my building. None of the felines were as antisocial and weirdly adorable as Marjorie, but one was a pretty ginger who sort of reminded me of her, and…

Okay, fine. I was a mere mortal, and no more could I take. I couldn’t wait for the next day. I couldn’t wait another minute. I got out my phone—which was Beale’s phone—and dialed his number with a mouth gone dry. I