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I’m not in…
I can’t be.
It’s too soon.
Forfucksake, we haven’t even gone on a date!
Any of us.
Besides that kick you in the dick fact, I can’t be in…whatever…with someone or someone that I can’t or don’t or won’t or am not so sure I could call my…something.
What the hell is with this need to label every goddamn thing nowadays?!
Can’t people just…be together without defining all the shit?!
Without adding all the bells and whistles and little boxes to check?!
It’s not a service form for crying out loud!
It’s a…person to person thing!
Feeling my throat begin to tighten pushes me to quietly croak, “I’mma step outside for some air.”
“It is a little stuffy in the store, huh? Probably could lower the temp.”
I force myself to nod.
“Understood!” She warmly wiggles her entire frame like an excited Labradoodle. “No worries!”
Wrong.
I should be really fucking worried.
Rationale says to pump the breaks because we barely know shit about this woman while instinct is gnawing at me that I know enough.
Do I?
Is knowing I want her safe and am willing to do anything to make that possible really fucking enough?
And what about Kipp?
I know him better than I know my fucking self, but logic says to grind everything to a stop and to not get invested because this is probably just a phase for him.
Not…whatever it is I feel it might be.
Could be…if I let it – like instinct is insisting I should.
Like I possibly should’ve years ago.
Getting suddenly slapped by the cold air the instant I step outside is perfect and refreshing; however, immediately being greeted by two suspicious looking men is not.
I don’t see badges, but considering the way they’re dressed, they’re either UCs, detectives, or whoever the fuck serves you papers when someone is suing you.
“Miles Nolan?” the rectangle headed one asks as I brace my back against the brick wall of the store.
Rather than confirm or deny, I slide my hands into my pockets. “Who’s askin’?”
“We are,” the shorter, thicker eyebrowed male informs.
