Watch Me Fall (Ross Siblings, #5)(93)
As he breezed out, he heard Ghost tell Janelle, “Fuckin’ need to rename this place Drama-mania.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Why are you sending him here?”
“You really need to meet this guy. And I’m booked up. He only wants his kids’ names in ink. You’ll be done in no time.”
Starla sighed as Janelle continued her pitch over the phone. “Whatever, send him. I’m open right now. Only because of the work, though, don’t expect any hookups. I told you—”
“I know what you told me, but never say never, right? Really, babe, this guy. Whew! Make sure you look cute, you know, just in case. Don’t go anywhere, he’ll be over in half an hour. Love ya!”
The line went dead, and Starla grumbled a curse. Look cute, right.
No.
She had on precisely two strokes of eyeliner and some three-hour-old lip gloss in the way of makeup, with her hair in a topknot to hide her two-inch-long dark roots. “Cute” wasn’t happening today, and she didn’t give a shit. “Cute” had gotten her into a f*ck-ton of trouble. And lately she was far more comfortable in a pair of yoga pants than jeans. Having her own kitchen at last was a blessing and a curse, it seemed. If she wasn’t careful, she wouldn’t even be able to fit into her jeans before long, especially since she’d stopped smoking.
She didn’t care much about her weight either. Her cupcakes were awesome. So was wine. But damn, she did miss cigarettes.
Like now. Ordinarily, she would step out for a smoke since she had some time to kill before Janelle’s hottie client showed up. That wasn’t an option now, so she went for a walk around the block instead, allowing that maybe she cared a little more about an expanding waistline than she wanted to admit to herself.
It was a beautiful evening, warm and breezy, the kind of weather that turned one’s thoughts to summer. Emotionwise, she had good days and bad, but looking up at the clear, darkening cerulean sky, she decided today wasn’t too shabby.
She’d felt a little better before that phone call, though. Hopefully, her friends wouldn’t start playing matchmaker for her. Janelle should know better than that. What the f*ck was wrong with her?
Some little kids were playing in the park across the street. Two of the girls reminded her of Ashley and Mia: one blonde, one brunette, both with bouncing ponytails. She stood there a long time on the sidewalk, watching them in the blue-gold evening sunlight while the breeze played with tendrils of her hair. The girls spun on the merry-go-round; they climbed the monkey bars and played tag. Their moms—or so she assumed—sat on a bench nearby, talking and laughing and sipping from Starbucks cups.
As Starla walked back to the shop, her melancholy was heavier on her shoulders than it had been.
Kids, she thought. Now I can’t even f*cking see kids at play. I can’t bake cookies. I can’t smoke. A softball game was on ESPN at work the other day, and I couldn’t change the channel fast enough. I look at the blue sky…and I see his eyes.
She was late by the time she reached the front door, but for a few minutes there, she hadn’t thought she would be able to go back in. The crew at Dermamania South had seen her go to pieces often enough. She refused—f*cking flat-out refused—for the crew at North to witness it too.
She was fine. It would be okay. She snatched open the door.
Jared was sitting in her chair.
If Starla had been holding anything, she would have dropped it. If she hadn’t made a solemn vow to keep it together a split second ago, she would have run back out the door where it was safe. The breath seized in her lungs and almost choked her before she managed to wrench it free.
Thank God no one else in the building seemed to be paying much attention to her. Jared got up and moved toward her, his caution evident in every step, while she stood still as a statue ensnared by that endless blue. He looked incredible. Even better than she remembered, if that were possible. Beard. Snug-fitting navy T-shirt that did wonderful things for his biceps and flat abs. Jeans that were made to show off those powerful thighs. And eyes that rivaled the great blue expanse outside.
She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to die. What she did was walk past him toward her office in the back, telling him with only a glance to follow her. Wordlessly, he did.
She was going to kill Janelle. Kill her slowly.
Once in her office, she closed her door quietly, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared at the black-and-white tiles on the floor instead of him. Anywhere but at him. He was too beautiful; it hurt too much.
“I wanted to make sure you would be here,” he began, and she closed her eyes at the sound of his voice, wishing she could close her ears too. “But I was afraid if you knew I was coming, you wouldn’t be.”
Starla didn’t trust herself to speak yet.
“But I know what you’ve been through. So if you tell me to walk out and never speak to you again, I will. It’ll kill me, but I will.”
“No.” That came out fast enough. As hard as it was to stand in front of him, watching him walk away would be impossible.
His eyes softened in relief. “I miss you,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”
All the emotions she thought she’d dealt with came surging back. The embarrassment of her hasty, outraged words. How she’d aimed them at him so that they would cause the most damage. How hurt he’d looked. Yes, beneath his anger at her, she’d seen the heartbreak. She hadn’t known she held the power to make him look that way, that she had dominion over his heart to break it.