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He didn’t lie to her, though. He gave her his real name.
I heard her call him Shane.
Why did that bother me so fucking much?
Because he told you in the pool house when you confronted him that he didn’t know who you were when he met you.
If that was true… then he really was picking up a stranger that night. It was just a hookup. Which meant he liked me enough to take me up to his hotel room and do very dirty things to me, but not enough to tell me his real name.
He did give you his real name. On that note.
God, I wished I’d kept that thing.
So I could look at it right now, analyze it and obsess over it, like maybe if I stared at it long enough I could figure out if he was telling me the truth or not. I’d thought, for four years, that that note was a terrible taunt. A littlefuck youleft on his pillow for me to wake up to. He was rubbing it in my face.
That note was a dare, not a request for future contact.
If I’d actually called him, he’d just rub it in my face over the phone.
But what if I was wrong about that?
No.
He didn’t mean anything he said that night. All the flirting and chemistry…
He was full of shit.
He was playing me.
Maybe.Ugh.I just didn’t know.
Whether he knew who I was that night or not, maybe I’d never know. But he’d admitted right to my face that he would screw me just to upset his dad.
I didn’t need any more proof than that to reassure myself that the man was a raging asshole.
And here I was, following him. It had been at least five blocks now, and I wasn’t stopping. Up ahead on the sidewalk, he was still walking… somewhere. Somewhere that seemed to be in the direction of his apartment.
He was still alone.
Was he really going home alone, from a bar, on a Saturday night?
My phone jingled, muffled in my purse. I pulled it out and checked the text I’d just received.
Alyssa:Are you OK? It’s been like eight minutes. Where did you go?
Me:I’m following Shane up the street!
Alyssa:Why?
Me:I need to know!
I hurried to run across the street before the light turned red. Shane was already on the other side. As I made it across, my phone jingled again and I looked down at it.
Alyssa:Know what?
I started typing her a reply while my eyes worked back-and-forth between the sidewalk and my phone. It was taking me forever to type it out, and there was no time to check for typos or punctuate beyond whatever my phone filled in. God, it was hard to type while walking.
Me:Where he’s going what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with and what he does ona Saturday thigh and
