“But you did. You did have fun.”
“We all had a great time.”
“It was a good show.”
“And the shower you guys had…”
June squeezed her eyes shut. She clenched her hands tightly together in her lap and bit down on her bottom lip to keep from saying something that wasn’t kind or forgivable. “I didn’t say that he wasn’t good in bed,” she finally ground out to keep her friends from asking any more questions. “It’s just that- when it comes down to it, being good in bed doesn’t really count.”
“Really?” Jaz’s eyes were wide when she turned again. “Because if I had a guy like that who knew how to use what God gave him… I don’t think I’d be able to leave, even if he was an asshole.”
“I don’t know that he’s an asshole,” June said. “I just know that- it’s- I need to get a divorce.”
“But- but he looked like a god…” Mandy protested.
“Yeah. He was amazing. Dreamy. Oh my lord, just imagining him in a shower…”
“Stop,” June pleaded. “Please. He was sexy. We had a good time. That’s what the weekend was all about, right? Getting my shit back together. Proving to myself that I don’t have to think about my ex leaving me for a man anymore. Get under someone else to get over the trauma. That’s what it was. That was the plan. I did it. I’m good now. I can move on.”
June studied the passing scenery so that her friends would take the hint and end the conversation. Mercifully, they both fell silent. The car hummed along, eating up the miles back to San Diego. Back home. Back to her regular life. To a shit apartment and a crappy job. Back to being alone.
Back to trying to figure out what she wanted to do with her life.
Back to trying to forget about a set of haunting midnight-blue eyes and a smile that never failed to make her stomach and heart turn over.
Once again, she was alone. Despite her confident tough exterior, she knew she was completely and utterly lost. The sadness of it took her breath away, stopped her heart and churned her stomach.
Rock fucking bottom. June thought she’d hit it before when she found out her boyfriend was cheating on her with a dude. She glanced down at her empty ring finger. The missing weight of that gold band shouldn’t feel so hopeless and so heavy, but it did.
When the hell had everything gone so… so painfully wrong?
CHAPTER 21
Brock
Owen was a genius. The guy had June’s address before Brock even got out of the shower. He figured she wasn’t that far ahead of him, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d taken the rental truck out of the city and set out. The drive was going to be obscenely costly, given the kilometers he was racking up, but of course, he didn’t give a shit.
Just over six hours later, Brock stood in front of a crumbling brick apartment building. It looked like it had been built in the sixties and it appeared to have had just one renovation. The neighborhood wasn’t great, and he kept an eye on the truck, though he had insurance on it. He could deal with a smashed-out window or a knife in the tire if he had to. What he couldn’t currently wrap his mind around was just how he was actually going to get inside to speak with June.
She probably wasn’t ever going to let him in, but if he had to, he’d stand there and ring the buzzer until she called the cops. He gave the buzzer a try, number twenty-three, but of course no one answered. He rang a few more times for good measure. Maybe the thing was broken. He stepped back, staring at the panel. He honestly considered buzzing apartments until someone let him in. He could always say that he’d locked himself out. Maybe some kind-hearted soul would have some misplaced pity. He’d be able to walk right up to June’s door that way. He could listen, see if she was inside.
God, that’s creepy. And desperate. He realized that he should have had a better plan. He’d driven straight from Vegas, so worried about actually getting to June’s address that he never really considered what he’d do when he actually arrived.
Brock stepped back and glanced up at the sky overhead. It was blue and cloudless, overly cheerful. It didn’t match the fist of desperation, panic, and sadness that was lodged in his chest. His insides were so tied up that he actually felt physically sick.
He tried the buzzer once again for good measure. It made a noise on the outside, so the thing must have worked. June either wasn’t home or she wasn’t answering.
Plan B wasn’t a good plan, but he wasn’t above ringing the other apartments. He’d start at the top of the list and work his way down. It was just after five on a Sunday afternoon. Someone had to be home.