Run

by Byrne, Amanda K.

  I threaded my fingers through his hair. “Depends. It just so happens I need a fuck toy.”

  His scowl drew a giggle from me. “Thought we had this discussion already. Don’t know where you got the idea I was okay with that.” He stretched up, nipped into my lip, soothed the hurt with his tongue. “I guess it’d be okay. Means I win, too.”

  “Yes, yes it does.” I lowered my head to his shoulder, sleepiness creeping in. “I have to start over,” I repeated. “And I don’t want to do it alone.”

  He pulled the blankets up. “Then we’ll do it together.”

  Together with Trevor. It was a beautiful word. Together.

  Thank you for reading!

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  Prefer your romance short, sweet, and plenty sexy? Keep reading for a sneak peek at The Perfect Man, available January 2016.

  The Perfect Man sneak peek

  I had never been more uncomfortable.

  That’s probably not true. There were likely moments in the past I was conveniently forgetting about that were as bad, or worse, as this one. But standing on the not-quite fringes of the crowd, clutching a whiskey and soda like it was a lifeline, I was pretty damn uncomfortable. I never should have let Lucy talk me into this. I definitely shouldn’t have let her talk me into the long-sleeve cowl-neck sweater dress I wore.

  I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear and tried not to fidget. Luce might have talked me into covering up the tattoos, but there was no way I was re-dying my hair for a single evening. Besides, the red matched the dress, and the black looked good with my skin. I took pride in my hair — it was shiny and as healthy as it could get for being bleached to hell and back, then dyed black and blood red. The man currently giving me the side-eye as he took in my hair could kiss my ass.

  This was a mistake. A serious introvert at a drink-fest masquerading as a Valentine’s party for singles? Not only that, but I wasn’t even being me. Lucy had a point, I’d give her that. Too many people made assumptions based on appearances. Why not change that appearance to increase the chances of someone making the correct assumption?

  Except I had a hard enough time being comfortable in my own skin. Put me in someone else’s, and it only got worse.

  The country club-like venue, with its warm gold walls and dim lighting, gave the event a sense of class it didn’t deserve. Whisky burned a trail down my throat as I surveyed the room. So far I’d exchanged small talk with a couple of guys, and that was the sum total of my interactions this evening. Only one had been even remotely attractive to me, and while he’d been polite and sort of friendly, he’d deserted the field for the first woman to cross his path baring more skin than I was.

  I would have preferred to spend my Valentine’s Day at home, in my pajamas, drinking hot cocoa and watching (500) Days of Summer or some other movie starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt, but Lucy had been worried about me for far too long, and I owed her, big time. So there I was, trying to pretend I was enjoying myself, because I loved my friend and wanted to show her how grateful I was she’d let me lean on her so hard I was surprised she was still standing.

  “Hey.” A blond haired, brown eyed man wandered up to me, a faint smile on his lips. I gave him a discreet onceover. Broad shoulders, chest hard and defined under his blue button-up shirt, the fabric straining at the button holes. Little too muscle bound for my taste, but he had nice eyes.

  “Hey, yourself.” I worked up a smile for him, determined to give him a fair chance.

  “I like the hair.” He gestured with his glass.

  I lifted a brow but bit back my sarcastic retort. “Thanks. Me too.” I held out a hand for him to shake. “My name’s Hannah.”

  “Jack.” He took my hand and instead of shaking it, he lifted it to his lips and pressed them to the back. Cute. Contrived.

  We made painfully — well, painful for me — awkward small talk. He was in finance and actually seemed quite normal. The crowd shifted around in front of us, and my hopes rose when he didn’t bat an eye as a petite brunette with too much cleavage tottered by, pausing to give Jack a slow, seductive smile.

  The volume in the room swelled and rose, and the crowd parted for a second, giving me a clear view of the door. Nice as Jack was proving to be, I still didn’t want to be here. I calculated the distance between me and the door. I could make a run for it. Lucy had been snatched up early on by some overly-muscled guy. She likely wouldn’t notice I was gone until much later.

  I was composing my excuse to Jack when the door opened and a man ducked inside, head down as he shook the snow off his coat. He lifted his head, and I almost dropped my glass.

  Jonah.

  The noise disappeared, along with the crowd. It was replaced with an almost silent whoosh in my ears, and Jonah stood at the end of a tunnel.

  “Hannah?”

  Oh. Oh dear lord. I absolutely had to get out of there.

  I mumbled something to Jack and edged farther into the back of the room, toward the hallway that had to lead to a back exit. I’d walk home. I could come back for my coat.

  I thought I heard my name over the noise of the crowd, and I all but ran for the hallway, desperate for the first door I could find. It didn’t have to go anywhere at this point, just give me a place to hide for a while.

  The first door was locked. The second one was not. I pushed it open and slipped inside.

  “No, don’t let it—”

  The door clicked shut.

  “Close.” The voice, the very, very masculine voice, sighed behind me, and I stiffened. I turned around slowly, my heels clicking on the polished cement floor. A man stood about two feet from me, and when he saw me staring at him, I backed into the door.

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize someone else was in here.” I reached for the doorknob and twisted. The door stayed shut. I tried again. Still closed.

  “Fuck,” I whispered.

  “Yeah. That’s pretty much what I’ve been saying for the last ten minutes.” I turned back around to face the man. Tall. Dark hair. Slim but not overly so. Holy crap. He had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. Dark, sleepy-looking, heavy-lidded eyes with long lashes, eyes that immediately made me think of sex and the morning after.

  Heat stole over my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. I slumped against the door. “How’d you get locked in here?”

  “Looking for a place to hide.” He grimaced. “There’s an over-enthusiastic blonde out there, and she wouldn’t stop pawing at me. Thought about hiding in the bathroom for a while but found this place and figured it was just as good, and there wasn’t anyone in here.”

  “Hiding? Why didn’t you just leave?”

  He shrugged. “Hey, I paid a hundred bucks to be here tonight. I wasn’t about to waste it in the first ten minutes because some woman wouldn’t leave me alone. I tried walking through the crowd, finding someone else to talk to. She followed me like a damn dog. So I ducked in here. Didn’t realize until I tried to leave a minute ago the door locks from the outside.”

  I frowned. “Didn’t you try yelling? Or banging on the door?”

  He stared at me. “Do you think if anyone had heard me over the noise I’d still be in here?”

  Good point.

  “I was looking for something to jimmy the lock open when you came in,” he continued. Great. If I’d made just a little more noise, neither of us would be in this position. He slouched against the wall. “You?”

  “Hiding as well.” I assumed that’s what he was asking, anyway, why I was in here and not out there. “Saw someone come in that I’d rather avoid and I panicked, tried to find a place to hide instead o
f searching for the emergency exit.”

  His gaze skimmed over me, and the heat returned. I stared at the floor. “No offense, but you don’t look like the sort of woman who’d willingly attend one of these things.”

  My head snapped up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He snorted. “C’mon. You’ve seen the women out there. Calling some of those things dresses is a stretch. You…” He waved a hand at my dress. “You’re too classy for something like this.”

  Really? Unsure if it was a compliment, I shoved one sleeve up to my elbow. “Yeah, well, there don’t seem to be a lot of these out there, either.” I held out my arm, displaying the script rolling across the inside of my forearm.

  Those whom the gods wish to destroy they first make angry.

  I’d gotten the tattoo after Jonah told me he wasn’t coming back. “I could never marry you, Hannah,” he’d said. “I was trying to give you what you wanted, and it’s not working for me.”

  With a single sentence, he destroyed what little confidence I had. I thought someone had finally seen past my gawky, gangly exterior, and instead, I’d been pushed aside. Again. I was tired of being overlooked, tired of being hurt by it. That was when I started therapy. And then I got the tattoo.

  It’d been a slow, hard year, and I’d finally, finally started to feel good about myself.

  The guy stepped closer and took my arm, the gentle press of his fingers sending a shiver through me. “Nice.” He grinned. “Got any more?”

  I blinked, stunned by the charming smile. “Um. Yeah. I’ve got a couple more, on my hip, my leg, my foot, another one on my back, and one on my neck.”

  He released my arm, his hand drifting toward my neck, stopping in mid-air. “Can I—?”

  I nodded and turned around, pushing at the cowl of my dress. The small tattoo at the spot where neck met back had been hidden by the thick fabric, and his fingers skimmed my nape as he tugged it down. “Crianacht. What’s it mean?”

  My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth. The feel of his fingers on my skin sent sparks dancing through my veins. It was kind of incredible — and a little frightening. “Wisdom.” Heat of a different kind spread over my skin. Heat I wasn’t ready for. I stepped forward and moved my collar into place. “Find anything that might bust open the door?”

  We searched the tiny room, bodies brushing on occasion in the confined space. A toolbox, buried under a pile of rags, produced a screwdriver. The hammer was missing. “We could try removing the doorknob,” I suggested.

  He shrugged. “Worth a shot.” Screwdriver in hand, he bent over the knob while I poked around the shelves, looking for anything else that might be useful.

  The screws were in tight, and there was much cursing involved before the first one came loose. The second one was mostly out when we heard footsteps and a drunken giggle in the hallway. He glanced over his shoulder, stuck the screwdriver in his pocket, and started banging on the door. I hurried over and added my fists to his, the door vibrating under the blows.

  The knob rattled loosely, then turned, and I stumbled back, bumping into the guy trapped with me. His hand landed on my waist, hold tightening as my heels caused me to sway. I opened my mouth to thank whoever opened the door, and the words died in my throat.

  Jonah stood in the hall, a tall, curvy blonde wearing a scrap of metallic fabric draped over him. His mouth dropped open in shock. “Hannah?”

  No. I was seeing things. This was not happening.

  The door started to close, and the guy holding me up lunged forward, with me still in his arms, catching the door before it shut us in again.

  The four of us stood there, awkwardness spreading like honey, sticky and slow and surprisingly heavy. The blonde recovered first, her eyes narrowing. “You know, it wasn’t very nice of you to lead me on like that. Make me think you were into me and then go off and spend seven minutes in heaven with her.” She jerked her head at me. It wasn’t until the her that I realized she wasn’t talking to me, but the man behind me.

  Jonah’s mouth was still gaping open like a fish. “What are you doing here?” Like he just realized the blonde was clinging to him like a monkey, he pulled at her arms and shuffled to the side.

  I, however, did not. The hold my fellow captive had on me had softened and morphed, from a brace meant to steady and hold me upright to a source of comfort and protection. His front was flush against my back, his arm across my tummy, and his free hand on the door. “Lucy made me come,” I said.

  We stared at each other, and my vision blurred. Why? Why was he here? Now? He was supposed to be in Berlin. Thousands of miles from here.

  Lips brushed the tip of my ear, and sharp tingles shot down my spine. “Ready to go?” he murmured. I nodded, and we edged through the doorway and into the hall. The door slammed closed behind us, and I shuddered.

  I nodded to Jonah and the blonde. “Have a nice evening.” Still secure in his arms, the man and I shuffled down the hall and into the fray, which had gotten louder and drunker in the ten or so minutes I’d been gone.

  “Shit,” I whispered. Jonah had been here for mere minutes compared to me and had already snuggled up to someone new. Although maybe “snuggled” was the wrong word for it. He’d come in, took in the room in a quick sweep, picked off one of the herd, and, unless I was totally mistaken, was ready and willing to hook up with someone he’d met probably seconds before.

  And I’d loved him. I was going to marry him. Obviously, my judgement could not be trusted.

  Numbness crawled up my legs, and I started to sag. My new friend swore and tightened his arm, preventing me from collapsing in a heap.

  He guided me through the mass of bodies toward the coat check near the front. The attendant was leaning on the counter, head bent over a phone, thumbs flying. “Hey, you got a chair in there?” Without waiting for an answer, we shuffled into the stuffy room. Another closet. A giggle bubbled up and burst out, the lone giggle cascading into hysterical laughter. The attendant took one look at me and abandoned her post, phone in hand.

  I kept laughing. I laughed because if I didn’t, I’d start bawling, and Jonah didn’t deserve my tears. I laughed until my stomach ached with it. My laughter subsided, leaving me with the hiccups and a stranger holding my hands like I’d break at the slightest provocation. The concern in his eyes was hard to take, so I glanced around the room. Coats lined the walls, the lighting as dim as the rest of the place. “Another -hic- closet, huh?” I smirked. “R. Kelly would be proud.”

  He burst out laughing, and my smirk widened to a grin. “Probably. But at least we’re not on the fifth floor.” He squeezed my hands. “So you’re Hannah? Alex.”

  Alex. Simple. One syllable. “Hi -hic- Alex.” He stroked a finger over the back of my hand, and I drew in a breath. “Thanks for -hic- everything. You know.” I shrugged and lowered my gaze.

  There was a commotion on the other side of the counter, and we both glanced over. Jonah stood on the other side, surprise written all over his face. “Hannah? Hannah.” He darted through the door and practically knocked Alex over in his haste to get to me. “Baby, are you okay?”

  Alex sidled up and dropped a hand on my shoulder, and I wondered how I’d managed to earn so many good karma points, that a gorgeous man I barely knew had my back, with nothing in it for him. I reached up and fisted a hand in the front of his shirt. “Hey.” Hic. “Could you get me some water? Please?”

  He regarded me steadily, carefully, then nodded once. After he left, I turned to Jonah. “What -hic- do you want?”

  Jonah knelt in front of me, and the gesture was discomfortingly similar to how he’d proposed. “To see how you’re doing. You didn’t look too good a moment ago.”

  And here I’d thought I’d handled it quite well. “How was Germany?” Hic.

  For the first time since he walked through the front door, he looked uncomfortable. “Fine. Look—”

  I held up a hand. “No.” Hic. “We’re not going to pretend everything’s
all well -hic- and good between us. You left, decided you didn’t want to come back, and -hic- you didn’t want me there. It fucking hurt. A lot. I got over it.” Mostly. I was firmly in the kicking myself and regretting him stage. “Our story’s over -hic- and I wish you the best with whatever, and whomever, you want. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to -hic- sit here and listen to you.” Alex appeared in the doorway, holding a glass, and I almost wept with relief. I wasn’t lying; there was nothing left to say to Jonah. I held out a hand for the glass, and Alex stepped forward, pushing it into my hand.

  I drank it in one, long gulp, then stood, locking my knees to keep from stumbling. “’Night, Jonah.” I placed the glass on the chair, flipped through the coats until I found mine, and walked out of the tiny room.

  “Hannah. You can’t just leave.” Jonah’s voice followed me. “We need to talk.”

  Got a Spotify account? You can listen to the complete Run playlist here.

  “Sorrow” (acoustic) Bad Religion

  “Afraid” The Neighborhood

  “Rooster” Alice in Chains

  “Trembling Hands” Temper Trap

  “Short Change Hero” The Heavy

  “Hurricane” Ms Mr

  “Blue Moon” Beck

  “The Pit” Silversun Pickups

  “Bleed Like Me” Garbage

  “Rain King” Counting Crows

  “Pendulum” Pearl Jam

  “Line of Fire” Junip

  “Me and the Devil” Gil Scott Herron

  “Woke Up in a Car” Something Corporate

  “Another Shot” Lostprophets

  “Breathe Me” Sia

  “Pour It Up” Rhianna

  “The Only Way (Is The Wrong Way)” Filter

  “S & M” Rhianna

  “Midnight City” M83

  “Breaking the Girl” Red Hot Chili Peppers

  About the author