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“Jerk,” I huff under my breath as I approach the front door.
After the disaster earlier, I decided to spend the entire evening lounging with Mandi. We ordered take out––since my meal, pan and all, went into the garbage––and shared embarrassing stories, trying to make today feel like less of a catastrophe. She did offer me wine, but since she can’t drink with her pain medication, I opted to abstain out of solidarity. Though, I’m heartily regretting that now.
Mandi kept apologizing, but there was nothing for her to apologize for. It’s not like any of us planned for today to happen like it did. And even if it was at my expense, at least Lee got caught for being a cheater. It’s never going to be fun when that sort of shit happens, but it’s better for Aspen to know. And at least she had her brother with as support.
Obviously, I asked about the brother as soon as we heard the back door slam shut after they left.
King. What a perfect name for that man. It fits his royal bearing faultlessly.
It took a moment after they left for me to realize why they went out the back, because they’d parked in the driveway. And honestly, thank god they did. I don’t even want to think about what sort of weirdness would’ve happened if we’d pulled up and Lee saw his wife’s car, or his brother-in-law’s car… How would he have explained not wanting to go in? Would he have just shoved me out the door and ghosted me? Or would he have just kept on driving, without letting me get out? Which would’ve been terrifying. I’d have thought I was being kidnapped.
I shove that freaky thought away and let out another large exhale.
There’s absolutely no reason to think about any of them ever again. As soon as I get my keys back, Lee is dead to me. Aspen looked like she’d probably try to strangle me if she ever sees me again, and King is so far out of my league I might as well forget he even exists.
I mean, sure, he was looking at me with something akin to interest, but that was probably just curiosity because he thinks I’m sleeping with his sister’s husband. But even without that, men that look like literal kings don’t often go for the awkward, chubby girls, with paint-stained fingertips, who drive minivans.
Speaking of… I glance down the street at my pretty blue van and groan.
It wasn’t until my Uber ride over here that I realized I didn’t have my keys in my purse. And since I obviously had them to get here, they must be inside Lee’s apartment. I wasn’t in there long, but I remember my little purse tipping over on his counter while I was preoccupied trying not to drop the lasagna––oh the irony––so they must’ve fallen out then.
If it was just my car key fob, I’d abandon it. I have a spare at home, and it would be worth the cost to replace it, and another Uber ride, just to avoid ever seeing that lying scheming…liar, ever again.
I really need to work on my insult game.
But it’s not just a single key, it’s my keychain with everything––my house key, storage locker, PO Box––so I can’t just walk away.
I’m working up the courage to call Lee and ask him to buzz me in, when a group of teens come bouncing out the front door.
Pretending to dig through my purse, I keep my head down as I pick up my pace, catching the door just before it closes.
That was handy.
The door clicks shut behind me, blocking out the sounds of the city, but there’s still the low buzz of being in a fully occupied building on a weekend evening.
My memory is pretty crappy with directions, but I still have his text telling me his apartment number.
And again, I’m reminded of what a lying bastard he is.
Lee was always so polished, so expensive. The nice clothes, the luxury car, the watch… And it made this place feel off, because it didn’t fit his style.
Now I have to wonder if he stocked the place for appearance’s sake, or if the cupboards and closets are empty. If I’d have gone further into his apartment, would I have noticed there was something missing.
I try to calm down, slowing my steps, and remind myself that I have nothing to stress about. I’m just here to get my keys. I won’t even step foot across the threshold.
His apartment is halfway down the hall, and I pause in front of his door, hand raised and ready to knock.
Maybe I should text him.
I lower my hand.
Is that dumb? What if he’s not even here?
I think about it for a long second then raise my fist again and step closer. He can ignore a text, but he can’t ignore me banging on his door.
My arm is moving forward, ready to knock, when a muffled voice stops me.
Was that Lee?
