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You can’t be mad.
He doesn’t belong to you.
You did this.
I was stupid and played games.
I should’ve told him how I felt. It’s too late now. He’s having sex with a woman, kissing her, and she told him she loved him. There is a connection between the two. They’ve had sex before. That’s why he’s been avoiding me—not for the invitation, but because he has a girlfriend.
Even though I can be arrested for watching them, even though it’s ripping me apart, I can’t turn away.
That changes when my phone rings, the ringtone blaring.
Everyone stops.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
This is not happening right now.
I jump backward as I shakily tug my phone from my pocket, careful not to drop it, and silence the stupid thing. I don’t look back while sprinting out of the bar as if Michael Myers were chasing me.
If Maliki pulls up the camera footage to find who was creeping on him, I’m moving out of Blue Beech for good.
6
Sierra
Three Months Later
Loud knockingon my front door wakes me up.
I yawn and check the time on my alarm clock.
Five a.m.?
No, thank you.
They can wait until regular waking hours.
Whoever’s banging on the door doesn’t agree with the waiting game and only pounds harder. I push off my blanket, expletives falling from my lips, and stomp into the living room.
“Chillax!” I yell. “I’m coming!”
I grip the doorknob but withdraw a step when my name is called on the other side.
Hell to the no.
This isn’t going down at five in the fucking morning.
I attempt to calm my breathing—failing miserably—and the knocking persists.
I’m hallucinating.
This is a dream.
Only one way for me to find out. I stand on my tiptoes and check the peephole.
Nope. Not dreaming.
