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“I miss you too,” I swallow down the lump in my throat. Pushing away the twisting ache in my chest, I turn the conversation in a different direction. “What’s Miguel getting for dinner?”
“Oh, there’s this amazing Thai restaurant down the street. You would love it! He’s getting me—” there’s a pause. “Oh, he’s back now. I’m talking to Briella. Want to say hi? Oh, sorry Briella, he’s telling me to hurry up before the food gets cold. We’ll talk soon, ok?”
I swallow hard and nod. When I realize she can’t see it I add, “Alright. G’night, Pianna.”
Just as my thumb slides over ‘end call,’ my phone vibrates. It’s the text message I’ve been dreading.
Trip: 153 Timber Valley Rd. Building 10, Apt 8. Be there in 20 minutes.
I don’t respond. I’m sure they’ve seen that I’ve read the message, that should be good enough. After grabbing a light jacket and turning off the lights, I head out. The trek across the entire complex to my car is a quiet one. Along the way, I pass plenty of empty parking spots. I ignore them, knowing that I’d never gather the nerve to park closer to my apartment. Not with all the speed bumps between here and the exit to the community.
Anytime I can avoid remembering what it feels like to drive over a body, I make sure to take it.
Finally, I climb into my sedan and, after putting their address into my phone, take off. The ride is slow. By the time I pull up to the luxury apartments, I’m already ten minutes late.
As I enter the community, I can’t help but notice howniceit is. Geez, I know Grant is Groveton College’s best running back, but this feels over the top. Does the college pay for him to live like this? Or is this his parents’ money? The modern-looking buildings have only four floors and are painted white with bright splashes of orange and blues. LED lights on the exterior light up the walkway and the numbers on the sides of the building. The landscaping is immaculate, with perfectly groomed hedges, healthy looking trees, and thick grass in just the right places. There isn’t a single car in the parking lot that’s older than five years. Most of them are trucks, but there are a few flashy BMWs, Volvos, and oh, a Bentley.
It’s ridiculous how grand the other half lives.
I start to turn down the guys’ street, but when I notice the speed bumps that line the straightaway, I decide to park in the guest lot by the front of the community. Once parked, I walk the rest of the way. When I get to the building, I have to ring a doorbell to enter the building. My finger hovers just over the button that will ring apartment eight’s door. With a soft groan of despair, I push it. A moment later, the glass door buzzes open. I step inside the air-conditioned space. My eyes go to the elevator then to the stairs. Prolong the time between now and my inevitable suffering? Yes, please! I head toward the stairs.
As I think about what’s to come, a soft trembling starts in my hands. It climbs up into my arms next. By the time I’ve climbed the steps to the fourth floor, I’m a trembling mess.
I stop just in front of Grant’s door. Mentally willing my heart to slow down and my trembling to stop, I take a slow, deep breath. I can do this. Whatever it is these three want from me, I can get through it. I set my shoulders and glare at the door.
I can do this.
Before I can lift my fist, the door opens. Trip stands in the doorway, scowling down at me.
“You’re late.”
Though his tone is annoyed, the light in the hallway behind me catches his eyes, making them flash, and a smile causes the corners of his mouth to turn upward. My stomach twists anxiously.
“Well, come on in, you’re letting the A/C out,” he steps to the side and nudges his head inward.
I can do this.
With a great deal of effort, I lift my foot and let it slide over the threshold. The next foot follows. Trip shuts the door behind me as I stop just on the other side and gape at the space around me. Nothing about this apartment screamsstudents. From the tall ceilings, spotless tile floor, a massive L-shaped couch, and the understated carpet beneath the couch, everything screams money.
It also screams impersonal.
As Trip walks by me and directs me to follow, I look for pictures of family, friends, hell, even clothes on the floor like most twenty-something-year-old boys would have, but there’s nothing. For all its grandeur, it feels… sterile.
I follow Trip around the corner, and we enter the large kitchen. The granite countertops are beautiful, the cabinets are tall, and that refrigerator… Urgh, it’s all to die for. I would love to admire it all, but my eyes land on a shirtless Jason, and all the grandeur of the apartment falls away.
His back is turned to us as he faces the refrigerator, staring at the news scrolling on the large digital screen built into the appliance. As he lifts a spoon to his mouth, the muscles in his back ripple. It’s mesmerizing how they all move as one. I don’t realize I’ve stopped walking until Trip snickers.
“You better put on a shirt, Jay, or our little doll won’t hear a word we say all night.”
My face burns with embarrassment as Jason looks over his shoulder at me. It doesn’t help when he winks.
“Admire all you want, baby doll.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t turn around. I don’t know if I could keep from drooling, even with Trip snickering at me.
“Stay here, make yourself at home,” Trip says, waving over at the stools shoved under the counter before he turns another corner and disappears out of sight.
Left alone with Jason, who still doesn’t turn around, I’m not certain what I should do. Certainly not make small talk. I don’t even know what to say at this point. Being blackmailed really kills the willingness to try to build any sort of relationship with someone. My stomach twists harder. With a sigh, I walk over to the counter and place my purse and light jacket onto a stool.
