“Felicity! Felicity!?” I shout frantically. “Are you here?”
“Would you chill the fuck out and get out of my house?” he shouts, phone in hand.
Breathe Roxy. Something’s off.
I calm down and take a minute, taking in everything. I messaged him from Felicity's phone and he never answered. Never questioned the odd message that was coming from her number. He has the phone in his hand, and he’s yet to question it. To try and call her. Find out if she's okay.
Odd.
He hasn’t called the cops yet either. He’s larger than me, stronger, he could’ve kept me from barging into his house. He hasn’t once questioned how I know where he lives.
He’s glaring at me, his eyes burning a hole right through me. The corner of his lip turns up in a sneer and suddenly things start to click into place.
Oh God.
“Hello, Roxy.” His voice cold, body rigid.
I take a half-step back before catching myself. I can't show fear. Not now.
“You know who I am?” My voice stays steady, but inside, everything is buzzing—heart pounding, skin prickling with awareness.
“Yeah, you’re the woman who tried to steal my girlfriend.”
I swallow hard, adrenaline spiking. My legs are screaming at me to run, but I hold my ground. I can’t leave her here.
“Why haven’t you asked why I’m here? Why there was an odd message from her phone to you? Hell, why I’m screaming for her? Aren’t you the least bit concerned?” I fire the questions off like bullets, trying to keep him talking—to keep him from noticing how close I am to falling apart.
He just stares at me, his eyes so cold they look like death.
He’s not the guy she thought he was. He’s not the guy I thought he was.
Silence. Tension. The room is flooded with it. Stifling, consuming.
That smile. That smug, knowing smile. I want to fucking end him.
“Why would I be worried when I know she’s okay?” He says smugly, moving over to the chair and sitting down, leaning back like he’s a king on his throne.
I clench my fists to keep them from trembling. Every instinct I have is screaming that I shouldn’t be here—but I need answers. I needher.
“Where is she?” I demand, inching forward, careful, like approaching a wild animal. I lower myself onto the couch across from him, but my spine is straight, ready to spring.
“Why are you so concerned?”
“Because she’s my girlfriend.” The words come out firm, louder than I expected. I’m proud of the authority in them, even if I’m shaking inside.
I see it. A slight falter.
“Hmph,” crosses his arms.
“I know you were meeting with her tonight. To apologize for being a fucking dick. An utter moron. You abandoned her because she confessed her feelings.” I can see the crack in his demeanor and the words working their way up his throat, ready to spill, but I have more to say.
“You pushed her into this. Thinking that being with a woman was better than a man. Hell, you could’ve done it with her. But you were too fucking concerned people would notice. That someone you know may be on the site and notice your tattoo. Your very specific tattoo, the portrait on your forearm.”
“You think you know everything.” The smugness wafts over him.
“I know enough. Enough to know that I love Felicity. And that she loves me too. And yeah, maybe she still loves you, even after everything. She deserves to have what she wants.”
He sneers. “And what—you thinkthat’s both of us?”
