Page 47 of Accepting Fate
Harper told me to wear heels, but she’s fucking crazy if she thinks that is going to happen. I opt for my favorite black leather combat boots instead.
I call this looka biker’s wet dream. I may be trying too hard, but as great as I feel in this – I already know Grayson won’t be able to take his eyes off me. The way he looked at me in sweats and a t-shirt was like a lion stalking its prey. I can’t wait to see his face when he sees me actually put together.
Well, I hope he does.
Before heading downstairs, I grab a light jacket and rush into the bathroom to give myself a once over.
Smoothing a few flyaway hairs, I grab my small black crossbody purse off the bathroom door handle, which is basically just a wallet with a strap, and head downstairs.
The clock on the oven tells me that I made it with ten minutes to spare so I take my scrubs out of the dryer and hang them up to save myself from having to do it later.
Once I’m done, I check all the locks to make sure everything is secure before I head out.
Expecting to hear a knock on the door any minute, I sit on the couch and wait.
After a few minutes, I pull my phone out and check to see if Grayson texted saying he was running late.
Nothing.
Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I wait another twenty minutes. He sounded annoyed on the phone earlier, so maybe something happened at work and he’s running behind.
Getting up, I look out the small rectangle window on the front door to see if he’s in the driveway taking a phone call or something.
More time passes and still nothing.
I try to fight off the emotions flooding me, but I can’t. I’m becoming a mixture of pissed and concerned. After everything we discussed, the last thing I’d expect from him is to stand me up.
Which is why I’m concerned. What if he got in an accident or something bad happened?
I tell myself that is the only thing that makes sense and text him.
Logan: Hey. You okay? Let me know so I don’t assume you drove your death mobile and are lying in a ditch somewhere.
No response.
The anger is now surfacing. It’s an hour past the time he was supposed to be here, and I’ve heard nothing.
Saying screw it, I call him.
No answer.
Another half hour passes, and I give up. I kick my shoes off and turn on a show to distract myself.
Harper calls but I send her to voicemail and text her that I’m fine.
Hour three approaches and I give up the last remaining shreds of hope that he’s coming. I have to work tomorrow and don’t have time to stay up waiting on a fucking man.
Deciding to say fuck it, I pour myself a small glass of red wine. It’s been over twelve hours since I’ve taken any medication, I’ll be fine.
Finishing my glass, I’m fuming but also disappointed. This was the last thing I expected to happen. Especially after everything that happened last night.
I don’t get it. Why make a date with me if he is just going to not show up?
A twinge of guilt hits me. Something bad could have happened to him and here I am, pissed at him for standing me up.
This is going too far. I don’t need to be so hung up on a guy I barely know. I need to focus on myself and the life I have now. I can’t allow my emotions to get the best of me because when that happens, my guard is down and that can never happen.
Looking at the clock, it’s now close to eleven. I go through my nighttime lockdown routine and head upstairs. Tossing my outfit in the clean clothes basket, I slip an oversized t-shirt on and take my contacts out.