Page 67 of Dirty Player
He just followed the same path Serena had taken moments before, like a man trailing after the woman he’d lost once and refused to lose again.
“Shit.” Rudolph groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I gotta go get him. See you later?”
He looked at Beaux, and I assumed he nodded, but I didn’t hear if he said anything. Blood rushed through my veins as I sat there, frozen, wondering what in the hell had just happened.
Chapter SIXTEEN
SHANNON
I turned off the electric handsaw and rubbed my eyes, squeezing them closed. It was late and I knew I’d been in my workroom for hours, but I couldn’t stop working.
I had to stay busy. After the festival had ended, I’d packed everything up and closed down. I should have been grateful for the amount of sales and new contacts I’d made, and I was, but I was also still thinking of the moment Oliver had turned to me, a distance in eyes like he didn’t really see me, and then walked away. He’d hurried after his ex-wife, followed her like he still wanted her.
It stung more than it should have. I was trying to trust a man who not only had a reputation of being a huge player, a man who tossed aside women after only one night, but after I’d been cheated on.
My trust in men was shaky at best.
I had turned off my phone hours earlier, choosing to avoid the possibility of a reality that I didn’t want to face.
Immature? Yes.
Necessary to my mental health? Most definitely.
I had a pair of pliers in my hand, twisting a braided copper design around another wide, dark-chocolate-colored leather band, when a loud bang sounded from the front of my building.
I jumped and turned toward my closed office door, dropping the pliers, before I moved to the counter and grabbed my phone.
As I turned it on, another thump hit the door, quickly followed by another.
I cursed and stared at my phone, willing it to restart faster in case I needed it, only to have it begin blowing up with texts and missed calls.
Almost all of them from Oliver. Three voicemails. Four missed calls. Seven text messages, each one becoming increasingly irritated.
Want to talk. Call me when you can.
Where are you? Tried calling. Call me back.
Damn it, Shan. Call me.
Then there was one from Beaux.
Hey, fucking call Oliver. He’s trying to reach you and now I’m worried. Where are you?
Dread sank into my gut as the pounding increased. I opened the door to my office only to hear my name being bellowed.
The sight of Oliver forced my breath to stall in my chest like it always did. His one hand fisted and pounded on my front door while he shouted my name, looking into my building.
It wasn’t his rage that I caught in his eyes first. That came after I couldn’t help but notice the way he was dressed so casually. Khaki gray shorts hung fitted on trim hips and curved around his muscled thighs. Leather flip-flop sandals showed off perfect calves and feet, and a red-and-blue Captain America T-shirt, faded with that vintage look, stretched across rolling pecs and abs. A frayed black hat pulled down low over his eyes so I could just barely see the wisps of his dirty blond hair peeking out from beneath it as he pounded on my building window beneath the street light.
“Where the hell have you been?” he shouted as he saw me frozen in my spot in the hallway.
Two perfectly arched brows disappeared beneath the bill of his hat.
Adrenaline buzzed in my ears as I became unstuck and hurried to the front door, unlocking it.
“What do you want?” It was snippier than intended, less rude than it could have been. Irritation couldn’t be hidden at the way he’d lit up my phone, angry that I would have the nerve to avoid him after the crap he’d pulled earlier.
“You didn’t answer your phone.”
