Page 135 of Cross Check

Me

Do you ever feel like you’re surrounded by so many good things in life, but still feel wildly alone?

My phone lights up a second later. I can’t help the smile that blooms across my face at the sight of his name.

GE

Yes.

Sometimes I sit in my apartment and feel like I’m the only one in the world.

Me

That’s a good way to put it.

GE

Are you okay?

Am I okay?

I don’t know how to answer that honestly, but my fingers type without thought.

Me

I’m fine! Just feeling lonely tonight.

GE

Are you sure?

Me

Totally :) Thanks for listening to me. See you tomorrow at the arena!

It’s bullshit enthusiasm, but it’s easier than explaining why I’m feeling this way.

Him.

Him, who I like. Him, who I want to spend time with. Him, who I can’t fucking have.

Grant doesn’t respond, and I’m sure he fell asleep. It’s late in Denver, and being on East Coast time makes it even later. I put my phone on my bedside table and strip out of my dinner clothes. A long shower helps soothe the sting that won’t leave me alone. The warm water reminds me that Grant isn’t the only man out there, that this Mason guy might be incredible, and I need to give him a chance.

I’m better by the time I slip on my pajamas, but the knock on my apartment door scares the hell out of me. I frown and head to the foyer, not sure who might be here. A quick glance through the peephole shows me I have a visitor, and I practically rip the door open.

Grant Everett, in the flesh.

His cheeks are pink. His hair is messy from the beanie he pulls off his head. The glasses he’s wearing tilt sideways, and he fixes them with long fingers.

Goddamn my wretched heart for picking him.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper.

“I need you to know that you’re never alone, Lia.” He steps inside. The door slams shut behind him, and he puts his hands on my cheeks. Cold palms, smooth skin. “Not while I’m around.”

My breath comes out as a tangled rasp. I lunge for him, enveloping him in a hug he returns without thought. I stay there, my face buried in his sweatshirt that smells like clean sheets and the hint of cedarwood. My eyes prick with tears as his hands move across my shoulders.

Steady, strong.