My heart pounds as I leave the room.
Once I’m out of his view, I bolt up the stairs and down the hall. My eyes are fixed on the closed door.
Was she here? Did she come over while we were gone?
I open my door and slip inside, shutting it behind me. I inhale deeply, then exhale.
But her scent isn’t in here.
Disappointment hits hard and fast. I spin around, looking at my bed. It’s still exactly the way I left it, bed still perfectly made.
My eyes drop to the floor. My sweatpants are still crumpled up where I left them.
I tear off my shirt and throw it at the hamper. Irrational anger rolls through me.
Taking my phone from my pocket, I sit on the bed and pull up the camera feed. I rewind it to the time we left, watching intently.
The doorknob doesn’t even turn the slightest bit.
I keep watching.
Nothing.
No sign of her.
I must be going fucking crazy.
I toss my phone on the nightstand and rub my forehead, debating if I should attempt to sneak over to her house tonight.
Part of me hoped she knew it was me tripping over the trash can and that she’d come over. It stings that she didn’t.
I should’ve gotten cameras for the downstairs. But I didn’t.
Not that it would matter. She wasn’t here.
It was just wishful damn thinking.
With a sigh, I put on my sweatpants and a sweatshirt, then head back to the kitchen. Drew is still there, staring at the picture of his new pool table on his phone.
“I’ve got a few things to do for work. I’ll be in my office.”
“Cool,” he says, distracted. “Have fun.”
My voice is dry. “Yeah. Loads.”
I glare at the bottle of wine before putting it away, then stomp to my office. Drew is oblivious to my tantrum. He was stroking the damn picture like he could feel the wood and velvet.
Dude needs a girlfriend.
I brood in my office for a bit before opening up Instagram and typing in her name. My breath hitches when I see her profile picture.
She doesn’t have anything set to private, which seems damn risky. Not that she posts often. She has some pictures of the garden behind her house. A few of her in an office… I squint and click on one. I study the bookshelf behind her.
That’s right. She mentioned writing books.
I zoom in on one, then pull up another browser window and type the name into Amazon. Paperback will take two days to get to me. I don’t have that long.
I check the app store on my phone. Sure enough, there’s a Kindle app. I download it, and create an account.
