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“Two guys.”
“Are you serious?” I get out of bed.
“You get down here and tip a fucking drink on his head for standing you up.”
I drag my hand down my face. “What’s he wearing?”
“Who cares. He looks like a walking vibrator in whatever he’s wearing.”
“Are you sure it’s him?”
“I’m sending you a video.” She fumbles with the phone for a few seconds. “I’ll call you back.” She hangs up, and I go to the bathroom and walk out into my living area. My phone beeps a text, and I hit play.
Henley is talking to two men. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt and talking and laughing. He’s looking all relaxed while drinking a Corona beer. A hot girl walks past, and his eyes drop to her behind. And then he says something to his friends before turning his attention back to her behind.
My heart sinks.
Wow . . .
My phone rings again. “Hi,” I answer.
“See it?”
“Yep.” I sigh.
“He’s a fucking asshole,” Chloe spits.
“Whatever, I don’t care what he does.” I act unruffled.
“Can I tell him what I think of him?”
“No,” I snap. “Forget him like I have. I’m going back to bed.”
“I’m sorry, babe.”
“Don’t be. I’m not,” I lie.
“Breakfast in the morning?” she asks.
I can’t believe this.
I really don’t want to spend all day tomorrow listening to disco tales of Henley James, and seeing Chloe tomorrow will open the gates for that. “I can’t. I’m seeing my parents,” I tell her. “Catch up next week?”
“Sure, babe.” She hesitates. “You okay?”
No.
“Of course I am.” I smile sadly. “Bye.”
I hang up, and with my heart in my throat, I torture myself and watch the video of Henley again.
The way he’s all relaxed and happy. The way he looks at that girl’s behind.
The way it makes me feel.
As reality sets in, an old proverb runs through my mind: If something seems too good to be true, it usually is.
Asshole.
