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Carolina: Leaving now. Be there in 2 hours.
James: Can’t wait.
She left twenty minutes after sending that message, and an hour and a half has passed.
How has she not realized she forgot her phone?
The phone beeps with another text.
James: Where are you?
I debate on answering when another text comes.
James: I made us lunch. How far away are you?
James: Baby, answer me, so I know you’re still coming.
I nearly puke at him calling her baby.
I want to throw the phone into the toilet and flush the fucker.
I hit his name to get the contact information and grab my laptop, doing a search on his phone number even though I already know who thisJamesis. She broke down and told me that night she cried in my arms.
My suspicion is verified.
James Cordry.
Professor James Cordry.
Motherfucking asshole.
Why is Carolina talking to him again?
All I can do now is wait for answers.
* * *
Four hours later,Carolina comes barging into the apartment.
Uneasiness lines her soft features as the lies start falling from her lips. “I’m sorry if you tried calling. I lost my phone.” Her eyes are red when she looks at me. “Can you use the Find My Phone feature you did last time this happened?”
My eyes darken on her, my pulse hammering in my throat as I take her in and stay seated on the couch, her phone gripped in my palm.
She’s fighting to look cool, calm, and collected.
Too bad I know her well enough that she’s far from that.
Guilt screams along every feature of her beautiful, lying face.
I hold the phone up. “Found it.”
She releases a sigh of relief. “Thank God. I didn’t want to buy a new one.”
This is a shitty situation, and I feel like a shitty person.
An insecure guy who’s interrogating his girlfriend about cheating.
My hand clenches around the phone, dread sinking through my veins of where this will lead. Hesitation hits me before I reply, and I take in every inch of her, searching for differences.
