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And it did not matter one bit what he thought of last night or of me.
I was taking a page from Dani’s playbook on this. It wasn’t about him. Last night was about me.
It wasforme, and it was over.
ChapterFourteen
Jolie
The next morning as I was brushing my teeth, the ongoing mental spiral about the best sex I’d ever had—which really hadn’t stopped, even when I’d tried to drown it out with margaritas—was interrupted by the sound of a high performance car revving in the driveway just outside my windows.
Foaming at the mouth, I raced to a window and looked down at the yellow ghost that had haunted me all weekend. The scissor doors on the Lamborghini were up and it was running.
And there was Shane. He walked to the garage beneath my room and disappeared from view, leaving the car running.
I dashed back into the bathroom to spit, took the stairs two by two as I raced downstairs, through the kitchen and the back hallway, and into the attached garage. Too late. Shane wasn’t in there. Three cars were parked in the four-car garage, because Jacob had taken one to work; the garage was all closed up, and from beyond I heard the Lambo’s engine rev.
Like it was about to pull away.
I did the only sensible thing possible and raced back into the house, flew upstairs, grabbed my purse, raced back downstairs, shouted at my Mom, who’d wandered into the kitchen, “Borrowing your car!” as I dashed into the back hallway, grabbed my shoes, grabbed the spare key to her Benz off the hook on my way back into the garage, then peeled out in her car in my bare feet. The gate at the bottom of the drive had just closed, and I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as my heart drummed in time and I waited for the gate to reopen for me. Then I pulled out into the street, figuring I could catch up with him.
How hard could it be to tail a bright yellow Lamborghini through a winding residential neighborhood?
As it turned out, tailing a Lamborghini was incredibly difficult, when said Lamborghini was driven by a testosterone fueled adrenaline junkie who sped at every opportunity. There weren’t exactly a ton of cop cars cruising around Margot and Jacob’s upscale neighborhood looking for troublemakers on a Monday morning. But I preferred to stick to the speed limit rather than risk a ticket I couldn’t afford or an accident in Mom’s beloved Benz.
What are you even doing right now?
I really didn’t know. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I definitely didn’t know what he was doing. Just that he’d come to pick up the Lamborghini without coming in to say hi to me or anything, and I desperately wanted to know where he was going right now and what he did with his days.
Because discovering the answers to questions like those will be just great for your mental health.
Whatever.
I couldn’t stop.
Maybe Alyssa was right. I was obsessed or something.
Luckily, since the Lamborghini in questionwasbright yellow and pretty loud, I managed to find him again whenever he had to slow down for a stop sign. He finally slowed to an almost-stop in front of a gated estate that was less than five minutes from Mom and Jacob’s place.
I rolled up to the curb a couple houses down and watched. Like the legit stalker I’d apparently become.
The Lambo turned into the drive and rolled slowly up to the broad iron gate. The car and the gate were partially blocked from my view by beautiful trees that stood like green waterfalls along the grass in front of the estate fence. I saw the top of the iron gate as it slowly opened inward. The Lamborghini rolled on through.
I put on my shoes and got out of the car. I could see the gate slowly closing.
I strolled along the quiet residential street all casual like, and then ducked into the trees along the edge of the estate grounds when I was sure there was no one around to see me. Past the trees was a tall iron fence with big stone pillars all along it. The fence itself, which would’ve been see-through, had a thick, well-trimmed hedge basically embedded with it, making an impenetrable wall. It was beautifully maintained, and obviously meant to keep randoms out.
But the trees provided cover from the street, and if I found the right tree… I could get myself over that fence.
I started walking along the fence, away from the front gate, looking for just the right tree.
Then I stopped, realizing that I was weirdly undisturbed about doing this, and that I probably needed to bounce this—whateverthiswas—off a reliable sounding board. So I called Alyssa.
“Hey, you,” she answered cheerily. “I just picked up my dress for the wedding—”
“Alyssa. I am just about to do something potentially ridiculous and I need a sanity check.”
“Okay. Where are you?”
