Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
But thinking about her scent is dangerous.
It brings me close to the edge again.
It attacks the numbness with which I’ve shielded myself, the lie that I can just be a regular man having a regular conversation.
“Why don’t you give me your cell number?” I say. “I’ll text you the address.”
“You’re not going to be there?” she asks, eyebrow raised.
If I do, you better be ready to take everything I have to give. You better be ready to take me, Ruby, all of me. Your young body better be fucking ready.
I swallow, pushing away these words.
“I’ve got some stuff to do,” I say. “But Jerry should be there. He’s the manager. I’ll let him know you’re coming.”
“Okay,” she says, taking out her phone. “Thanks, Ramsey. Seriously. I mean that.”
She gives me her number. I have to retype it a second time, with my body trembling so hard. A ghostly sensation moves up and down my spine, as if getting thicker, the way all my bones do when I change.
My eyes shimmer, and instinctively, I close them.
Get your act together.
When I open them, Ruby’s looking at me strangely.
“Anyway, I’ll let him know you’re coming,” I grunt, turning away and stalking out of the park, away from her scent.
It’s not any easier, leaving her this time.
I don’t think it ever will be.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ruby
I am not going crazy.
I’ve got a small notepad next to the phone on the desk, perfect for doodling as the hours pass.
Except I’m not doodling.
I’ve written the same phrase six times.
It’s as if, with each repetition, I can try to believe it more deeply. I can try to convince myself again and again.
First, the wolf staring down at me from the rooftop, then the scene in the park with Ramsey. Even three days later – even if this, today, is my third shift at the gym and I haven’t seen Ramsey again – I can’t stop thinking about him.
Ramsey has spent his time at different gyms. Every day, he texts me telling me which gym to go to.
But he’s never there. It’s like he’s purposely avoiding me.
A customer approaches, jolting me from my thoughts. I smile and offer a friendly greeting.
After he’s paid, I look at the notebook again. It looks so pitiful and silly and pointless. In fact, it looks like it’s admitting the exact opposite of my point.
Because really, writing I’m not crazy over and over in a notebook, it’s sort of a crazy thing to do.
I flip it over, hiding the words as I lean back in the chair and let out a short breath. This is by far the easiest job I’ve had since leaving the cult.
All I have to do is sit here, greet customers, answer the phone and take bookings.
It gives me plenty of time to think.
About the park. About Ramsey’s eyes.
About the way they changed color.
It was difficult to focus as this tall, handsome, rugged forty-two-year-old loomed over me, his intense features flitting between rage and hungry desire. And even if I knew I was imagining the latter – he wouldn’t really want me – it was difficult to accept.
My mind made me think about how firm his arms would feel, about the sensation of his breath whispering hotly over my skin. Even when he was distant and seemingly pissed, my thoughts wouldn’t stop flurrying.
Even as he seemed to get angrier, his features tighter, his eyes...
They were a pale shade of blue, dreamy, making me wish I could do nothing but gaze into them for a long time.
But then, as the conversation went on, I was sure I saw them flitting to a darker color. First a darker blue, then a hint of red, as though his rage was burning up through him.
It’s impossible. It’s not like he was quickly putting contact lenses in and out of his eyes.
But there was that moment when he closed his eyes. It was like he knew something was wrong. He had to hold himself back.
He knew his eyes were changing color.
I flip over the notepad again, staring down at the declaration.
I’m not crazy; people can’t change their eye color spontaneously.
Which means Ramsey’s eyes didn’t change.
They were the same pale blue. I wasn’t seeing things the way they were, just what I wanted to see.
I don’t have to think about it or address anything. I don’t have to drive myself crazy wondering what happened.
Nothing happened. That’s the whole point. I was just tired and stressed.
I look up when a customer approaches. With a smile on my face, I help them and then glance again at the notepad.
Quickly flipping it over, I decide the best tactic is to not think about it anymore. I can’t keep going over and over what I saw or thought I saw. Not when I’ve got to take care of Mom.
The simple fact is I can’t afford to go crazy.