Page 84 of Heartsmashed
Any sane person would’ve changed, or at least recognized the fact that putting on another man’s clothes the morning after was treading into dangerous emotional territory.
I’d never claimed to be sane, though.
The air was cold, but I brought a blanket out with me, forgetting I’d left one out there last night. Along with the bottle of wine and half-empty glasses.
I smiled to myself, remembering the urgent need to get Beckett inside the cabin—and inside me.
Yeah, fuck the wine.
There was a sliver of sunlight on the horizon, and I moved over to the railing, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders. The fresh air felt good in my lungs, and the view was worth the early hour, just this once, as slowly the sky began to lighten over the lake in streaks of gold and pink.
The only thing that would’ve made this better was coffee, but I wouldn’t wake up Beckett by making one yet. I’d make some for both of us once the sun was up.
I took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and with it all the anxiety I’d been feeling for weeks. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t thinking about what Peter had done to me. I was thinking about what came next, in all aspects of my life. My show. Beckett…
A runner appeared on the path near the lake, and my first thought wasugh. Early-morning fitness people were a different species, of that I was convinced.
I barely glanced their way, watching the squirrels as they began to rustle through the trees chasing each other, but something niggled in the back of my mind that had me glancing back.
And that was when I realized what was so familiar. He slowed his pace, glanced up at my cabin, and then stopped.
Peter.
Of course.
Because the universe couldn’t let me enjoy a peaceful sunrise without bringinghiminto it.
I looked away and my first instinct was to go inside. Not because I was scared of him. Because I was tired. Tired of thinking about him and seeing him, tired of the looks he gave me and the little comments he made. He kept poking me on purpose to get a reaction or to make himself feel better, I didn’t know which, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I cared.
Mostly because I didn’t anymore. Also, I’d had the best sex of my life last night and I’d be damned if he ruined my mood.
I should’ve known he’d jog up to the porch, that he couldn’t just run on by.
When the hell had he started doing that? He definitely hadn’t left my apartment every morning to go for a jog, so that was new.
His footsteps slowed on the packed dirt, closer now, and then he said, “Sawyer.”
Inwardly sighing, I looked down at where he stood at the bottom of the porch steps in running shorts and a fitted long-sleeve shirt, breathing fast, his hands on his hips. His eyes flicked over me, his brows turning down as he took in the pants and sweatshirt of Beckett’s I’d thrown on.
Oh, he’d noticed that, had he?
“Early morning for you,” he said.
“I could say the same.”
“Didn’t know you’d taken up watching sunrises. You hate getting out of bed before noon.”
“Says the guy who apparently runs now. Or is someone chasing you?”
He let out a short laugh and inclined his head. “Right.”
I hadn’t let myself look at him this week, really look at him, but now that he was there—and in a pair of shorts, no less—I could see the way he’d toned up since we’d been together.
But he wasn’t on Beckett’s level by any means.
I felt kinda proud to be able to acknowledge that.
He nodded at my shirt. “You didn’t go to Columbia.”
