Push Me (To The Edge series, #1) by Jill Macintosh Read Free Book Online Page A

in the field were “selling snake oil.” So I knew that there was no point in suggesting it.
    It reminded me of Tom Cruise’s Today Show outburst on the same subject. In fact, it was almost identical to that, the only difference being that Ian wasn’t a Scientologist. Well, at least as far as I knew he wasn’t. I’d never heard of Utah being a bastion of Scientology, but as secretive as Ian was, he could have been the leader of the Church of Scientology and I wouldn’t have known it.
     
    .  .  .  .  .
     
    I woke up about 4:15 the next morning, shortly before Ian’s alarm would go off. The room was completely dark. We were tangled together on the bed, the top sheet twisted through our legs. Restless sleep was the norm for us.
    The room was cold, but I was warm next to Ian’s naked body.
    He stirred as I got out of the bed and went over to the dresser. Shortly after he arrived last night, he went into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. I took the opportunity to turn my phone off. I could have simply put it on silent, but there was still the risk of the screen lighting up and it catching Ian’s attention when Sam called. I could have ignored it, sure, but in the off chance he saw it and asked if I wanted to answer it, I would have said no, and who knows what kind of questions that would have brought up.
    Thinking I must have seemed like a real bitch for ignoring Sam, I wanted to turn on my phone and check for missed calls and texts.
    Before I could, though, t he room lit up. I turned and saw Ian sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes.
    A n empty condom package was on the nightstand on Ian’s side of the bed, a bottle of lube next to it. Scarves hung from the corners of the headboard that was attached to the wall. My leather locking hasp corset, which Ian had brought with him, was on the floor on my side of the bed, and on top of that, the red eye-mask that I wore to bed often, but never for sleep. The aftermath of our sex.
    “Morning, Sweet . What are you doing over there? Come here.”
    I went back to the bed and sat down beside him. He reached up and ran a finger along my cheek, then tucked my hair behind my left ear.
    “What would I ever do without you?” he said.
    I hated when he uttered things like that. A sentence like that was supposed to be one of those romantic, heartfelt, breathtaking things a man says to the woman he loves. I used to long to hear them, but now it did nothing for me.
    Sitting there next to him, I was naked and totally exposed. Ian was naked, too, but had the top sheet covering him. Hiding him. A perfect metaphor for the dynamics of our relationship. And it was in those quiet few moments that morning that I knew beyond any level of doubt that it was over, if there was even a shred of doubt to begin with. I had planned on ending it when I arrived back in New York, but sitting there, I almost did it right then. Something stopped me, though. I wasn’t quite ready to do it, and decided to stick with my original plan.
    When Ian went down to the hotel gym, I turned on my phone. There were three texts and one voicemail. Two texts from Sam, one saying he left me a voicemail, the other saying he was sorry it didn’t work out. The other text was from Rachel, sent around 1 a.m., that read: Did you meet him??? Need details!
    I listened to Sam’s message. He addressed me as Claire, of course, and I was feeling more and more guilty for misleading him. It was short and simple—“Give me a call if you’d like to meet. I’ll be up late.”
    Dam mit. I’d made things so complicated. I didn’t need any more problems, especially at this point in my life, when I was on the verge of leaving Ian.
    It was early, and I knew she wouldn’t be awake yet but I texted Rachel: CRAZINESS down here. I’ll call you later.
     
    .  .  .  .  .
     
    Ian’s plan for the day was to look into a potential business acquisition in Atlanta. At least, that’s what he told me last night.