Page 41 of Run to Me

I swallow the lump in my throat and feign boredom. “I’m trying not to sneeze and ruin your sappy moment.”

“Liar.” He chuckles and steals another kiss from Miguel before rising to his feet. “I’ll get dressed, then we need to finish packing. California awaits.”

We return to California tomorrow, where I’ll spend two nights before flying across the country to Philadelphia for the music video shoot. We have access to the Austin house for a few more days, but neither of us have a reason to come back once we leave. I could skip the California leg of my trip, but Tatum’s there right now. I miss having everyone gathered in one place and want to spend at least one night with us all together.

Rounding the couch, Graham plants his hands near my shoulders and leans over to whisper in my ear. “You can have this too. Just let go of the bullshit.”

I tilt my head back and gape at him. He only curses when he’s trying to get a point across or he’s in a heightened emotional state. We have an upside-down staring contest for a few seconds before he drops a sloppy wet kiss to my forehead.

“Gross,” I grumble, wiping his slobber off my skin as he laughs his way to the bedroom.

Miguel rests his head on my shoulder with a heavy sigh and puts his feet on the table, ankles crossed. We gaze at his ugly shoes in silence and process the whirlwind of emotions that blew through the house moments ago. The muted TV plays in the background, an accompaniment to the quiet until my buzzing cell phone pops our bubble.

Unknown Number

Hey, this is Jensen. Took Vera to the doc today. She’ll have another appointment soon. I’ll let you know when.

Dumbfounded, my thumbs hover above my cell phone screen. Several questions form in my head, jumbling my thoughts before I can communicate them.

How did you get my number?

What did the doctor say?

Why do I want to see you again?

Instead, I brush the open-ended questions aside, knowing they’ll lead to further conversation with Jensen, and do what I do best. Shut him down.

Me

Thanks.

A row of dots appears and disappears several times, and I’ll bet anything he’s as anxious typing and deleting his responses as I am waiting for one. When the dots disappear with finality, I toss my phone on the coffee table and rub my forehead.

Spending the night with him was a mistake. I’ve spent the past week trying to convince myself I didn’t enjoy being with him, taking care of him, lying next to him while listening to his ragged breathing as he slept fitfully.

Torture. That’s the word I’m looking for to describe how I felt the whole night before sneaking out at sunrise. Thinking about that night seems pointless now that I’m unsure when I’ll be in Walford again.

In my head, I groan in frustration. With Vera’s mysterious health problems and Jensen worming his way into my life, I have mixed feelings about Marzan’s project. I want to explore this career path more than anything, but the timing sucks. I also have reservations about being alone on the East Coast while my friends carry on with their lives on the other side of the country.

What if I’m unable to hold on while their world keeps spinning? What if I fall off and everyone forgets about me and moves on? I often joke about Tatum’s unhealthy fear of missing out, but I’m the one afraid to blink because I fear my friendships will vanish just as fast. Shut up, Maisy. Your friends love you and want you around. God, my insecurities about relationships run deep. I blame my parents.

“What if I add tassels?” Miguel asks, his sudden cheerfulness cutting through the sullen atmosphere.

My gaze slides to his. “I’ll disown you.”

“Your life would be boring without me, angel. Admit it.”

“Only if you admit the moccasins are a tragedy.”

He bares his teeth and hisses at me again without losing his composure. A smile tugs at my lips, and I elbow him in the ribs. I couldn’t be happier that he’s back with us, where he belongs.

Marzan is a dick. A leather-duster-wearing, ass-grabbing, narcissistic dick of epic proportions. The minute shooting wrapped today—the first day on set—I couldn’t wait to get out of the nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of Philadelphia. I mean, seriously? Everyone flew here yesterday expecting some inspirational filming location, not an old warehouse with busted windows and rusty metal like you’d find in any city in America. It makes no sense to drag us all to Philadelphia when the band and most of the crew live on the West Coast, including Marion Kazan a.k.a. Marzan. Pretentious prick.

He was always nice to me when he directed Tatum’s music videos. I may have landed this gig because of my connection to her, but I thought my skills captured Marzan’s attention. Boy, was I wrong.

Turns out, the “it” thing he admires about me is my ass, which he made the grave mistake of grabbing. Twice. I wrote off the first inappropriate touch as an accident, but the second grab earned him a very clear piece of my mind delivered by my very sharp tongue. Screw complaining to union reps or whoever drags their feet while dealing with allegations. I can take care of myself.

It won’t surprise me if I don’t have a job anymore. And you know what? Good riddance. If he didn’t hire me for my talent, I don’t want to be here. And if that grabby fucker tries to blackball me in the industry, well, I’ve got friends in high places who can squash his career like an annoying bug.