Page 47 of A Million Times, Yes

He turned toward me. “What the hell are you waiting for?”

“The right time.”

“Don’t you run with her every morning?”

My foot hadn’t stopped tapping the carpet. “Yeah.”

“You’re playing with fire, my man.” He looked at me like I’d just told him I no longer wanted to buy the Clovers.

I guess I somewhat deserved that look.

Every time I met Maya for a run, I told myself I would say something to her. During each mile, I’d debate the different ways I could slide it into our conversation. And once I got back home, I’d be pissed at myself for not saying anything.

But goddamn it, I liked the way things were. The possibility of fucking that up didn’t sit right with me.

“It’ll be fine,” I told him.

“I don’t know how the hell you’re convincing yourself of that when we both know it’s not going to be fine.”

“The last two nights she’s worked, and this evening she’s out with her best friend. I’ll be with her tomorrow night. Maybe I’ll bring it up.”

“Maybe?” He shook his head. “Listen to yourself.”

“I don’t need to listen. I know what I’m saying.”

“Do you?” He ran his hands down his pant legs. “Because you know her schedule and you sound excited to see her ... two things that are so unlike your past—which makes me even more worried for you.”

“Stop worrying.”

“Why? You’re telling me you have everything under control when we both know you don’t.”

Ignoring his comment, I pulled out my phone to see if she had replied to the text I’d sent on my way here, telling her to have a good time with Emily.

A text I’d never sent to any other woman.

My brother wasn’t wrong; this wasn’t typically me. But I certainly wasn’t going to verbally confirm that.

Maya:Except there’s one problem. I’m missing you.

“Fuck me, I was right,” Gavin expressed. “You’re so far from having things under control, your dick is probably hard just looking at her text.”

I set my phone in my lap. “How do you know she texted me?”

“I can see it all over your goddamn face.”

“Guys, the staff needs you downstairs in about twenty minutes,” our assistant, Carrie, said, poking her head through the doorway of our suite. “Are you going to stop in the locker room first?”

“Yes,” I replied for the both of us.

“I’ll meet you by the private elevator, then.” She shut the door behind her.

“You need to put out this fire. Immediately,” Gavin warned as we stood from the couch. When I didn’t say anything, he added, “Do you hear me? This is serious, Jordan.”

Instead of replying, I lifted my phone and began to type.

Me:No more thirteen-hour shifts.

Maya:Nope.