Free Her Destiny by Monica Murphy Page B

“All the damn time.”
    I don’t doubt that for a second.

    Just past eleven-thirty I see Reverie leave the restaurant and I’m out of my truck like a damn bullet, running across the street, darting in front of a car and earning a blaring succession of angry honks for my efforts. The sound catches Reverie’s attention and she stops, her expression going blank while she waits for me to approach.
    I take her waiting as a good sign. I’ll cling to anything at this point.
    “You’re here,” she says, though she doesn’t sound surprised, or that happy either.
    I stop, keeping some distance between us so she doesn’t freak out or bolt. “I need to talk to you.”
    She crosses her arms in front of her chest, making the black coat she’s wearing bulge in a weird way. Doesn’t detract from her beauty though. She’s the best damn thing I’ve ever seen despite my irritation with her for telling the detective about our night together. “I want to talk to you too,” she says.
    Surprise fills me. I figured she’d want to send me packing. “Then let’s get out of here.” I take her arm and start to escort her across the street toward the parking lot but she drags her feet, making me stop and turn to her. “What’s wrong?”
    Reverie nibbles on her lower lip, the little tell that she’s nervous. “Just because I’m going to talk to you, that doesn’t mean I think we should get back together.” Pausing, her gaze meets mine. “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”
    Why is she so determined to rub that in my face? Remind me that I’ve blown my chance with her? I don’t get it. She’s not a mean person—she’s the farthest from that really. I thought at one point she was in love with me. I know I’m in love with her…still. I tried to deny it but I can’t. Seeing her, being with her again, even during these few stolen moments, reassures me that my feelings for her haven’t changed.
    But it’s a false sort of reassurance I need to get over because clearly, she’s over me.
    “Don’t worry, I get it. Whatever,” I mutter as I take her hand and practically drag her across the street. It’s hard to ignore the tingles I feel when I touch her but I do my best. “Let’s go.”
    We get to the truck and I release her hand so I can open the passenger door for her. She stares at me warily, parting her lips as if she wants to say something before she changes her mind, shaking her head while she climbs inside my truck. The scent of her perfume lingers in the air, driving me crazy, and I exhale loudly, trying not to breathe it in.
    Stupid.
    Being close to her is going to be fucking difficult if I can’t touch her. She’s said more than once she doesn’t want to be with me and I’ll respect her wishes but damn, it’s gonna be hard. Complete torture.
    But to keep her safe, to keep her happy, I’ll do whatever I can.
    I round the front of the truck and climb inside, slamming the door and trapping her sweet scent so it completely surrounds me now. I grab the steering wheel, my grip white knuckled as I start the engine and chance a glance in her direction.
    “Where do you want to go and talk?” she asks, her voice soft, her eyes luminous. My heart softens and I want to lean into her, so I can drown in her gaze. Pull her into my arms and kiss her until she can’t think straight. She’s thinking too much, I can almost guarantee that’s what her problem is and I want to convince her that two of us—we’re a good idea.
    A most excellent idea, if she’d just give us a chance again.
    “I don’t know.” She looks away, keeps her gaze fixed on her knees as she plucks at the fabric of her pants. “Where are you staying?”
    I swallow past my embarrassment. I don’t want sympathy but I’m not going to lie. “You’re sitting in it.”
    She lifts her head, her jaw dropping open as she glances around the small cab of the truck. No way will I feel humiliated by my confession. “Are you