Page 99 of Right Man, Right Time
“I’m not fucking thinking about her,” I shout. “Now get off my back.”
Posey holds up his hands and takes a step back. “I’m just looking out for you.”
“No, you’re driving me nuts. I want nothing to do with Sarah.”
“You sure?” Posey asks and then glances around the nearly empty weight room. “Because . . .” He pauses and takes a step forward. “Because I overheard her at the ice-skating event after you left. She was excited to have the job so she could be close to you again.”
I lift my head. “She said that?”
“Yes, and the last thing I want to see is you getting back together with her. Hell, man, she hurt you so bad you still haven’t told us the truth about your breakup and everything that went down. I’m not sure you told anyone.”
I haven’t told a soul.
“It’s none of anyone’s business.”
“And then this summer, when you started talking to her again—”
“That was brief and won’t be happening again. Seriously, we’re done. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Okay, well, just watch your back because I don’t want you to get into a bunch of trouble because of Sarah.” He pats me on the back and returns to the bike, where he continues to warm up. See . . . he likes the burn.
As I rest the bar on my shoulders and take a step back from the rack to start my squats, all I can think about is how Sarah will be at that event tonight and that I don’t want to be alone with her. I know how Sarah can be. Hell, I experienced it this summer. She can be incredibly convincing, and for some stupid-as-shit reason, I’m easily convinced. But one thing I do know for sure? I amnotin love with her anymore. I will never love her again.
* * *
I know this is stupid.
I don’t need anyone judging me for what I’m about to do, but I thought about it all fucking day, and I don’t have any other options. So as I head off the elevator, I go straight to Ollie’s dorm room, ready to force her to go with me tonight.
And knowing her, she’ll put up a goddamn fight.
Have we spoken since our fight at my place?
Nope.
Not even a text message.
So she’s not going to be expecting me or my request.
Or my lack of apology . . .
Standing in front of her door, I give it two loud knocks, then stick my hands in my suit pockets. I went with a forest-green suit tonight with a white button-up shirt and brown shoes with a matching belt. I paired the outfit with my favorite brown leather-wrapped watch and my signature Tom Ford cologne.
It takes a few seconds, but when she answers the door, I’m subjected to another one of those goddamn crop tops . . . and an angry scowl.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“We have an event to go to, sweet cheeks,” I say, but my voice sounds more menacing than anything.
“You can fuck right off,” she says, attempting to shut the door, but I stop her and push my way into her dorm room.
She stumbles backward, shocked by my brazenness. Hands on her hips, she says, “Oh no, you did not just charge your way in here.”
I shut the door behind me and adjust the cuffs of my sleeves as I say, “A deal is a deal, Oliana, which means you need to get yourself dressed and come with me.”
“You said you didn’t want me to come with you tonight.”
“My plans changed. Now get dressed.”
