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I didn’t think I was the type of girl who becomes obsessed with a guy I’ve only known for a week, but here I am every day checking the tabloids.
Googling him.
I actually had to stop myself from setting an alert on my computer to tell me when a picture is posted of him or when his name is mentioned.
That’s next-level obsessed, and even though I could chalk it up to the fact that I’m writing an article about him, I know I’m full of shit.
Even now, if I close out the open Word document on my computer, a picture of Cain Archer is staring back at me from the monitor. It’s from the last night I was there. Yep, that’s how pathetic I am.
It’s my screensaver. Well, no, not really, but I was staring at it before, and it’s still there now.
I can’t help myself.
In the picture, Cain looks down at me, and a genuine smile lines his face.
I have spent countless days searching the internet for any other picture where he’s smiling like this, and as of yet, I haven’t been able to find one.
I actually haven’t been able to find a picture where he’s smiling at all.
And trust me, I have looked.
The thought that the smiles were just for me makes me happy. It does things to my stomach that I shouldn’t even want to admit.
It makes my heart skip a beat. I feel like one of those hopeless romantics in a romance novel, but that was only on the first day. When I still had false illusions that he would reach out to me.
That he would want to see me.
But seeing as it truly has been radio silence and not one text all week, now those damn butterflies dancing in my stomach are dead. Replaced with slugs.
“Is this about Cain?” Mara’s words pull me out of my endless mental rambling.
“What? No. Of course not.”
“So, it’s not about the picture from the event last night?”
“What event?” I have no idea what she’s talking about. “What picture?”
“Um.” She goes quiet for a second, and my heart thumps harder. “There was an event for potential residents.”
“There was?”
Thump.
Thump.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“It looks like it was in some swanky clubhouse.”
Our clubhouse. There is no us in this clubhouse. There is just him. This is his clubhouse.
“Yeah, it looks like an adult playground.”
I swear my stomach drops. Yep. It has to be the clubhouse he took me to.
Reaching my hand out, I start to type into the browser of my computer.
The idea of seeing what she’s talking about has my stomach knotting and my back going ramrod straight.
I don’t want her to be on the phone with me when I do this. “Can I call you back?”
“Are you all right?” Concern is evident in her voice.
“Yep. Fine.” I sound way too chirpy, which probably gives me away. “Call you back.” I hang up before she can object.
That’s when I find the picture she’s referring to. The place is immaculate, and it reminds me of when I was there with him. The way we played together, how he looked happy when we did. I scroll through more and more of the party, and then I freeze.
I see a picture, but I need to zoom in to see what I’m looking at. There’s the woman I saw at the model home, the same woman disguised under a hat, oversized sunglasses, and holding a camera. I zoom in just to confirm, and yes, it’s her. She’s standing next to a few people, but she’s not paying attention to them.
No, she’s looking in the opposite direction. I follow her line of sight to see what she is looking for, and I see it.
On the other side of the image, a group of people are talking, and in the center is Cain. She’s looking at Cain.
Who is this woman? And why is she always around?
Obviously thinking of buying at The Elysian, since she was with the realtor, but it feels like there is more to the story than that. It feels like she knows him. That her being around is personal. The part that makes my stomach bottom out is that by the way he reacted to her, it feels like he knows her, as well.
I feel sick.
The smart thing to do is to open my Word document and stop this crazy pursuit of the truth of their relationship. But then I wouldn’t be me, so I don’t. Instead, I return my attention to the picture, zooming in once more to look at her features.
The way she looks at him has a chill running down my spine.
Is that anger?
Or fear?
She looks rattled and unnerved. I can’t pinpoint it. There must be a history there. I continue to scroll more images from that night. Maybe there will be more of this mystery woman.
