Straight Flushed (Hot Pursuit #1)(25)

I grabbed the note poking out from a clear stick, nestled to the side of the flowers. It read:



Diana,

I’m sorry for what I said and did. I’ve been a wreck this week without you. Please forgive me.

Always yours,

Gabe.



Warmth rippled under my skin and lifted me up. He wanted me back, to forgive him. I folded the note and laid it on the table. I ran my fingers over the small, rectangular apology and smiled then regret punched me in the stomach—Stephen. How could I look Gabe in the eye again? I wanted him back so badly it hurt.

I couldn’t think about it.

I let out a huge breath. I needed a distraction. Laundry…I had laundry to do. I unzipped my suitcase and sorted my dirty clothes. Thank God for light summer wear; I could get everything finished in two loads. I had a stack washer/dryer unit at my place, but the washer had decided to take a slight hiatus right before I left. I still had to call a repairman to come and take a look at it, so unfortunately I needed to go to the laundry room on the first floor.

I hated doing laundry down there; it was a dimly lit pit of despair. Wet weather encouraged bugs of all persuasions to come out and play. I can handle lots of things, but bugs aren’t one of them.

Downstairs, I flipped on the fluorescent bulbs and they buzzed to life. I went over to one of the sets of machines. Standing in the bright yellow light, I got the heebie-jeebies. I constantly scanned the floor for anything moving.

I threw the first load into the washer, and while grabbing my white dress from the bottom of the basket last, something fell out of the pocket with a tiny tink and hit the plastic. The small shell from the parking lot lay in the bottom of the basket. It was a souvenir all right. I picked it up, rolling it back and forth between my fingers, and heat radiated from every pore.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow. I slipped the shell into my pocket and heaved my basket onto the folding table. No creepy crawlies, dirty or clean, were getting into my laundry and coming into my apartment. I shoved my quarters into the machine. As water poured, I heard a noise come from outside the doors.

Someone was there; I sensed it. I wasn’t the only tenant who used this room, so I waited for whoever it was to enter. But no one came. I straightened my body, put my shoulders back and took a deep breath. I walked around the center folding area and toward another set of washers and dryers, staying out of sight. I hugged the machines with my back, staring into the small concrete alcove outside the glass door, but saw no one. They were waiting in the other direction.

I yanked the door and stepped back, holding it open with my foot. The tip of a white shoe with a thin, brown leather sole peeked out. I lunged forward and led with my elbow, hoping to make contact with a face ideally, but given my shorter stature, I’d settle for ribs.





Eight



I made contact with his chest and heard a pained grunt as a mad rush of wind left his body. I had a split second of an advantage. I was level to his chest. He was tall and oddly familiar, but there was no time for thinking—it was time to act. I stepped into his body, but he caught my arm and spun me around. With my back to him, I forced my full weight against his torso then he went down with me landing on top of him. His arms enveloped me in a bear hug.

“Stop it, Di! Jesus. It’s me,” Gabe’s winded voice said from beneath me.

“Gabe?” I wriggled free and stood up. “What the hell is the matter with you? Are you trying to prove some kind of a point by sneaking up on me?”

“Christ, I’m sorry!” he coughed, standing up and holding his ribs. “I was on the street and saw you walking down here. I came to see you.”

“And then you chose to stand out of sight like some kind of creep waiting to jump me? Are you freaking serious! God!” I put my hands on my hips and was one step away from tapping my foot and turning into my mother. I quickly righted my hands at my side.

“No, I got a text from my brother. I stopped to answer him and was slipping my phone back into my pocket. I was a half a second away from walking in,” he said, wincing and shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

I sighed and began to think that perhaps, I might have, just slightly, in the tiniest way, maybe overreacted. A little. Bugs make me edgy. “Are you okay? I got you pretty good.” I grimaced.

He camouflaged his pain behind a smile. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Remind me not to sneak up on you again.”

“Still think I’m getting sloppy?” I felt how much I’d missed him in my bones, but a resurgence of anger reared its head when I saw him. The words he’s said to me continued to ring in my ears.

He smiled crookedly, and his dimpled cheeks hypnotized me, but he said nothing. I took a second and looked him over from head to toe. He looked good. Really good. His mousy hair was carefree and windblown, and he had on the pale green Lacoste shirt I’d bought him for his last birthday. It also cut him perfectly at his biceps, which happened to be bobbing and dancing in front of me as he reached up to assess the damage to the back of his head. He’d likely smacked it pretty hard against the ground when we landed.

“How’s your head?” I asked.

“Fine, I guess.” He laughed.

“Did you play the back nine?”

“Yeah, it was a beautiful morning for golf.” Then a breeze blew and carried the scent of something sweet in the air, like a vanilla cupcake. It was him. I breathed him in, and it weakened my anger, but it was still present.