He grabs the edge of the blanket and yanks it back before I can stop him.
My phone falls onto the mattress, lighting up once more with Reed’s name.
“Reed?” he says slowly, venom dripping from each syllable. “That freak bartender from your video?”
I scramble up, heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. “No, it’s n?—”
He lets out a low, humorless laugh. “What is it then?” His gaze darkens, his mouth twisting into something cruel. “You think you can play me, huh?”
“Brian, please?—”
He moves closer until I can smell the mix of whiskey and cologne on his breath. His hand shoots out, gripping my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You forget who I am sometimes,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a quiet, dangerous rasp. “Only I get to cheat on you.”
My stomach twists, nausea clawing its way up my throat.
“Brian, stop?—”
He tilts his head, smiling. “Relax, baby. I’m just saying, don’t embarrass me. You know how much I love you. Don’t make me prove it again.”
His fingers press into my jaw again before he releases, stepping back with a sigh that feels almost satisfied. “See? You’re okay. We’re fine.”
He tosses the flowers onto the dresser, petals scattering like debris, and heads toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower,” he says lightly, as if nothing just happened.
The sound of running water fills the silence.
I sit frozen with my heart still racing, staring at the bouquet wilting on the dresser.
reed
. . .
Ishould’ve gone home hours ago, but walking into my empty house doesn’t feel right when all I can think about is her.
Layla’s been gone for twenty-eight days.
Four weeks have passed since she hugged me at the airport, whispered that she’d come soon, and then vanished into the crowd with her gorgeous smile.
She’s been texting whenever she can—quick updates, photos of coffee cups and L.A. sunsets, but I can see the exhaustion behind her words.
She says she’s fine, but I know she’s not.
I’m buried in receipts when my phone rings with a FaceTime from Layla.
I feel a tight sensation in my chest, and butterflies swarm inside me, fluttering with nerves and giddiness—a feeling she only brings out of me.
I answer before it even rings twice.
She’s lying on a pile of crisp, white sheets, her blonde hair tousled, eyes sleepy but smiling. “Well, if it isn’t myfavorite person,” she says softly, voice warm. “You miss me yet?”
“Didn’t even try not to,” I tell her, leaning back in my chair. “You finally figure out how time zones work, or just feel like torturing me again?”
She laughs. “It’s not that late.”
“It’s midnight, sunshine.”
She yawns, stretching. “Oh yeah, I’m two hours behind. I’m home alone, bored, and couldn’t sleep. Figured you’d still be up doing something exciting.”
“Oh yeah,” I respond. “Livin’ wild, organizing receipts and going through inventory.”
