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She reaches across and squeezes my hand. “I know.”
“We’re still gonna go to the pub today, though?”
“Yep,” she says, lips smacking together. “Albeit, your local, so we can just stumble home together later. Legless and happy.”
“Oh, god, sounds perfect,” I sigh, thinking of glass tankards, loud banter bouncing off the dark wood panelling, triple-cooked chips on the side of a big steak, plus endless rounds of lukewarm cider.
After the promised revelry, including dissecting his mother’s Instagram feed—the dreaded wedding portrait having appeared this evening—we talked crap, we stumbled home drunk, and now I’m here. Reacting as I did not dare to do in front of Kallie. Deep down, I am really not happy about any of this.
Once I’m sure she’s fast asleep on my sofa, I head to my room and open my laptop. I’m drunk but not that drunk. I’ve eaten a lot the past couple of days, plus I’m well rested. I’m used to operating on fumes because I’ve got reserves other average mortals wouldn’t understand. Even my best mate doesn’t know everything about me…
“Fuck a duck,” I blurt, zooming in again on the wedding picture his mum posted.
Yep, the bride is showing a small bump all right.
The image is bigger on my laptop screen than it was on Kallie’s phone and all I see in his eyes is boredom and apathy. He doesn’t want to be married; he’s been forced into it.
Even so, he’s a prick. World-class if I had to guess. I’m not logged in to Insta on my laptop so hopefully nothing will alert him or his family to us having snooped on them all day. Kallie’s personal account is private and doesn’t give away who she is. The woman only has it to spy on other people and also to keep a record of things she’s seen and done without it being all about her skills as a photographer. Oh, and she uses that one to follow her favourite fantasy artists, flying under the radar so to speak. Otherwise, they’d no doubt try contacting her for a collab or something, I don’t know. Plus, she’s so much of a perfectionist, she only posts stuff on her personal that she’s not necessarily happy to post on her professional photography account.
Anyway, I pick up my phone and WhatsApp tells me Miles was online two minutes ago. It’s after midnight and he’s checking his phone? On his wedding night? How many women does he have on the go?
I can’t help myself and message:Hey there, missing me and my kitty? x
He pops back online and I see the two blue ticks appear. For a moment he disappears offline and I decide he’s not going to answer, not tonight.
However, five minutes pass and my phone vibrates with a message.
I am missing your kitty a god damn lot. What are you wearing?
Rage pours through me and I smile sadistically. This one is going to be too easy.
White t-shirt and cotton panties. What you been up to today? x
Take off your panties.
Can’t. I’m on.
It’s a lie; I’m not going to continue playing his game.
Oh, bummer. And I just went somewhere quiet so I could…
Jeez, the man really has no shame. That’s why the delay with him responding.
Did you go on a Boxing Day hunt or something today? has all the adrenalin made you horny?
*sniggers* you could say that
Wish I was there. I’d nobble you off.
I bet you would.
Better go. Night x
Night, sexy x
I’m shaking when I toss my phone towards the end of the bed. I’m angrier than I could admit to myself earlier. I’m raging, in fact.
There’s no good way to deal with things like this. He’s going to be a father so she can’t be told something like this when she’s pregnant, it might cause her to lose the baby. Unless she already knows what he’s really like and doesn’t care. Maybe he’s set to inherit millions from his father and she got pregnant on purpose.
