“Evan’s solid. You won’t even know he’s there—unless you feel like being nice and want to invite him in, so he doesn’t have to sit out in the heat.”
“I’m never inviting him in,” I whisper to myself, but Jax hears me anyway and chuckles, probably thinking I’m being dramatic.
“He’s not that bad. I’m sure he’d even help you set up your furniture if you’d ask him to.”
He laughs again, and my eyes squeeze closed as I whisper, “I gotta go,” and hang up, without even saying goodbye. Just the idea of Evan anywhere near me sets my teeth on edge. “He can roast for all I care,” I tell myself, even though I know it’s a lie. Love sucks. Love sucks, because sometimes even when you don’t want to love someone, you still do. No matter how many times I’ve tried to convince myself that what I shared with Evan is over, I still hurt. I hurt because I still love him, and I do not want to love him.
Not at all.
Pressing my fingers into my eye sockets, I let out a groan of frustration. I need to get to the store and pick up some groceries. That’s what I planned on doing when I went to leave and saw him standing outside next to his truck, looking more beautiful than ever, which doesn’t make sense. When we were together, I knew he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, and it sucked big that he hasn’t changed in our time apart, that he hasn’t grown a third eye or turned into a slimy green alien with big bulging warts covering his body. He’s still the same beautiful Evan Barrister I fell in love with the moment our eyes locked.
His dark hair and warm brown eyes, that glittered when he smiled, were what caught my attention. But the first time he held me in his arms, the first time I sank myself between his broad shoulders, I knew he was it for me. I knew he was everything to me. It wasn’t about the way he looked, even though I knew he was the kind of man most women fantasized about. The kind of man you would see on the street and stop to stare at, because you knew you had never seen a man like him in real life and needed to remember every detail, since you would likely never see his kind of beauty up close again. It wasn’t about that at all. It was the fact that when I was with him, I knew it was where I belonged. Right down to my bones, I knew that, I was meant to be his and he was meant to be mine.
Pulling my fingers away from my eyes, I open them wide, not wanting to remember the feelings I felt for him, even knowing there’s not one damn thing I can do about it. He’s ingrained in me, a part of me I know is gone forever, but wake up everyday thinking will come back.
“You are not going there, June Mayson,” I scold myself as hot tears burn the backs of my eyes. Blinking rapidly, I pull in a breath through my nose, toss my cell to the counter, and head for the front door. There is no way in hell I will let him take over my life again…no way I will stop living.
Not again.
I did that when he went away. I did it when he had his mom deliver divorce papers to me, too. I died inside when I knew there was no longer an us, and I just fricking finally got myself back. So no way will I allow him to stop me from moving forward with my life.
Not a chance.
Swinging open the front door, I plow down the steps to the sidewalk, keeping my eyes to my feet as I go. Just because I may be over him, doesn’t mean he doesn’t affect me, and he can do that, but I don’t want him to ever see he does.
I don’t want him to have even one single piece of me.
Pressing the button on the remote in my hand, I hear my doors unlock at the same time I put my hand to the handle, swinging open the door to my platinum grey with chrome everything Beetle R-Line 2.OT SE and slide in. I love my car. It’s a chick car, but it’s the first real thing I ever bought for myself with money I earned. My dad shook his head when he saw it, but my mom, she was a whole different story. She hopped in, and we went cruising around town with the windows down and the music up to the perfect decibel—loud.
Sadly, the cops felt differently about the volume of gangster rap coming from my car and informed my mother and me of that when they pulled us over. They went as far as to explain exactly what a “trap queen” was, only doing it smiling as they wrote me a noise violation ticket. I didn’t care about the ticket one bit. I was with my mom, and we were having a good time being silly. As soon as the cops were back in their car and out of hearing distance, my mom turned the volume right back up, smiled, and then yelled, “Drive, June Bug!” over the music pumping from my car’s speakers. I did, and we drove around for another half hour before my dad sent a text to my mom, telling her to get her ass home. Then we giggled all the way back like two kids. It was a blast.
Coming out of the memory, I smile, put my car in reverse, glance over my shoulder, and back out of the drive and onto the street—all the while avoiding looking in Evan’s direction. I don’t even have to peek in my rearview mirror to know he’s following. His truck’s so loud, the sound of it rumbles through my car like a constant reminder.
When we were together, he had a car. It was a small two-door Honda. It was old, but it was reliable. His dad, who hadn’t done much for him, helped him rebuild the engine the summer he graduated high school, and he cherished that car, because it was one of the few good memories he had with his father.
Now, his Honda is long gone to parts unknown, and he drives a truck. Only his truck doesn’t look like any run-of-the-mill truck. It is huge and black, down to the rims. I have no doubt he could turn out the headlights at night and go invisible. But I’m not going to think about that, even if I really want to know what exactly he is doing working for Jax.