Page 44 of Crazy In Love

“Fox…”

“Run.” She tugs the shower door open and flips the taps on, and to drive her point home, she slips her fingers between her legs and moans. “If I’m finished before you get back, I guess you miss out.”

“Fuck.”

I spin on my heels and bolt through the apartment, slamming my way through the door and sprinting down the stairs. A dull headache pounds in the base of my skull, and my thundering heart is like a bass drum between my ears.

I risk breaking my ankle.

My leg.

My fucking neck.

But I skip half a dozen steps and stumble to the main floor, and pumping my arms, I cross the bookstore and crash into the front door with a heavy exhalation of air.

Only now, I remember I didn’t bring keys. Or my phone. Or fuck, my wallet. So I spin back and sweep up the petty cash container Alana keeps under the front desk. I tear the damn thing open and steal a fifty, then I circle the desk and crash through the shop doors. I leave them unlocked—I don’t have a choice. I drop my head and pump my arms harder, clinging to the cash I stole, the robbery I committed, all in the name of sex with the one I never thought I’d get to taste.

I drag my shirt up and wipe my face on the run, since going out in public with Fox Tatum’s pussy on my lips is a tad uncouth, and sidestepping a little family on their way to fuck-knows-where, I burst into the drugstore with enough noise, that every soul inside stops to study me.

Good lord, they’re all watching me.

“Oh, hi Chris.” Barbara bustles closer. “I’m glad I saw you today. I wanted to check in about the?—”

I point to my ear in that universal ‘I’m wearing headphones’ way, blatantly lying and shoving past the old lady. Shamelessly, I make a beeline for the condoms and use every ounce of willpower I possess to ignore the eyes that follow me.

“Chris?” Eliza Darling waves from the other side of the store. “Hey, wait up?—”

“Can’t, sorry!” I don’t stop to study brands. Or prices. Flavors.Ribbed for her pleasure. What?Fuck me. I grab the first bottle of lube I find and the first box with a trojan soldier on the packaging. Sprinting to the front counter, I slap the fifty down beside an ugly belly dancer ornament the owners put on display after their honeymoon—thirty something years ago—then I lean across the desk and snatch a paper bag. I meet the eyes of the little old lady working her once-a-month Sunday. “Keep the change. I don’t even care.”

“I have to scan those first?—”

“No, you don’t. I was never here.” I bag my own things and charge toward the front door, only to skid to a stop when Mrs. Tower, an old teacher from my godforsaken high school days, steps in with her husband.

She hated me back then, but now she smiles. “Oh, hi Chris?—”

“Nope.” I circle on the fly, bursting through the doorway and onto the sidewalk outside, and because one of Alana’s mother’s friends waves from her little bench seat on the other side of the street, I shake my head and avert my gaze.

“Chris, I was hoping to talk to you about?—”

“Stop talking to me! Everyone, shut the fuck up!” I crush my semi-stolen goods against my chest and sprint toward the shop, and when Ollie Darling’s getting-older father grabs the door and attempts to step inside, I blow past him and flip theopensign toclosed. “Sorry. We forgot to turn this yesterday. Store’s not open on Sundays.”

“But, I?—”

“Catch you tomorrow!” I slam the locks into place and lower the blinds on the inside of the door, and crossing the store at a sprint, I listen for the sound of the shower still running.

The rattle of the old pipes in the wall.

I scramble onto the steps, missing the third and stumbling on the way up, but fuck, I use my free hand to help my trek. Sweat beads on my brow, and my heart threatens to give out on me. I swear to God, if she’s changedher mind about this, I might drive on over to the house I was raised and abused in and shoot myself in the head.

But I run to the top of the stairs and crash through the apartment door, locking it up to keep intruders away, then I peel my shirt off and find Fox’s suitcase lying open on the floor.

It wasn’t like that just two minutes ago.

“Fox?” With my heart in my throat and the blood in my veins hot enough to burn, I stride to the closed bathroom door and pray. Fuck, I plead and bargain and prepare to beg. “You okay in there?”

“Yeah.” She releases a groaning whimper. “Come in.”

Thank fuck!