I knew she wouldn’t call. I knew when I had woken up and found her missing that the likelihood of her picking up the phone to call me was slim to none. When I’d woke and saw her missing, I’d wanted nothing more than to find her. So I’d put on my sneakers and jogged down the street, aiming for the park, which is where I’d ran into that up and coming sports reporter. I’d seen him at a few games, and when his eyes had caught sight of me he’d jogged right up, phone held up and already recording. The impromptu video interview was already hot fodder on the cable news networks by the time I’d returned from my jog. Even if she didn’t catch it on television, it would surely go viral on social media over the next few days. Flashbacks of last night bombarded my brain. Kissing her against the front door, bending her over my kitchen counter. I’d seen that wild, uninhibited look in her eyes and damned if I didn’t want to see it again and again. By the time the sun rose on the Manhattan skyline, I knew I needed her.
