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The pastel colorsof the sunset are dissolving into the night when my dad drops me off at the loft.
Gage hasn’t called or texted, the driveway is void of his truck, and he’s not in the loft when I walk in.
What happened?
Does he regret having sex with me?
My thoughts go to the worst-case scenario.
Gage made it clear that he hated me when I got arrested, and though I thought we’d moved past that, maybe he hasn’t.
Maybe it was for revenge, to make me fall for him, so he could then give me the bigfuck youfor leaving him.
No, he’s not that spiteful.
Correction: the old Gage wasn’t that spiteful.
This new Gage is different—a rougher version on the exterior yet more vulnerable inside.
I check my phone again in case I missed something and collapse onto the couch. I reach for the remote at the same time I hear a car door slam in the background. Lucky for me, the blinds are open, so I don’t have to creepily peek through them.
The floodlights beam down on an unrecognizable four-door sedan, spotlighting the young blonde getting out of the driver’s side and circling around to the passenger.
Sierra’s skinny frame leans down, nearly on her knees, to wrap Gage’s arm around her shoulders, and surprisingly, she takes his weight.
He is wasted.
Can barely stand straight.
With another woman.
A combination of fear and confusion seeps through me, drowning out any thoughts that we could reconcile. Now I know our time together was nothing but a game to him.
He went to her. Drank with her. No doubt shared his problems with her.
She’d asked if he was single, and I’d stupidly told her to go for it.
I don’t bother hiding my stalking while watching their every move.
I’m silently begging for him to see the disappointment and disgust on my face.
His head is tipped down, his view locked to the ground, his feet dragging against the ground on their way to the front door.
Look up. Look up. Look the fuck up.
My heart sinks when he finally does.
It’s a fast look, brief, and it only lasts a glimpse of a second as his eyes catch mine, and they’re void of emotion, shut out, out of order.
He lowers his head in shame, and I stay there, looking pathetic, while Amos lets them in.
It isn’t until they disappear into the house that I throw my hands up and snatch a blanket to sleep on the couch.
Joke’s on me.
* * *
Now that I’vespent time in the bed, Gage was right; the couch is nowhere as comfortable as the bed is. Not that I got much sleep. I tossed, turned, and contemplated marching into that house and kicking his ass.
