Slinging my dance bag over my shoulder, I make it to the door in three strides and let myself out of her office. I give a polite nod to the receptionist on my way past his desk. He barely notices, just shoots his hand up in a quick wave while he continues to bob along to the beat.
I take a deep breath and push open the office door. Time to finish out the day of rehearsals. Hopefully, some answers, along with the person who can give them, will be waiting for me at home afterward.
17
JOLIE
When I get home, there are no messages and nothing is out of place. I spend fifteen minutes scouring my room before curiosity turns into frustration and eventually disappointment.
Jax hasn’t been back.
I built myself up the entire trek home, mentally preparing myself to not startle when he visited again. I was ready for answers. Now, who knows when he’ll return?
I undress and shower, peeking my head out of the steam every so often to glance at the mirror in case there’s a message for me, worried he’ll pop up any moment without warning.
While I rinse my hair, I wonder if he’s been in here while I’ve showered. While I’ve changed.
What has he seen?
Once I’m done showering and getting dressed, I walk out to the living room. Delilah is out there watching hockey, and while I’m not a huge sports fan, I am a fan of Delilah. She makes Lark happy and humors us through all our ballet shenanigans. If she can’t catch a Richmond Redhots game live, she’ll record it so we can watch it together, preferring not to watch alone.
She sticks the big bowl of kettle corn mixed with chopped up Twizzlers between us. Her Redhots good luck snack. It sounds strange, but it’s actually the perfect mix of sweet and salty.
“Get it together, Winston!” Delilah shouts, standing up from the loveseat and throwing her hands in the air. The Redhots are down by four. Delilah continues flailing her arms, so animated that I’ve stopped halfheartedly following the game. She’s far more entertaining. Her red curls bounce around her shoulders as she jumps, grabbing at her crimson Redhots jersey. Proscella is in big, bold letters across the back, right above the number fourteen, matching the goalie sliding into the splits on the screen, blocking the puck from entering the net.
“Yes, Frankie! That’s my boy!” She circles her arm in the air, rooting for him with hoots and cheers. I shovel some popcorn in my mouth, then take a bite of a Twizzler, enjoying both shows taking place before me. Lark comes out of her room in a robe, her wet hair wrapped up in a towel. When she sees her girlfriend, she chuckles, heading into the kitchen to grab some water.
An hour later, and about fifty glances toward my bedroom, the game finishes with the Redhots in the lead by one.
“I’m going to turn in. Big day of rehearsals tomorrow,” I say, stretching my arms out.
“Night, Jojo.” Lark tucks herself onto Delilah’s lap, waving goodnight to me. They’ll likely watch the last few minutes of the postgame show, but something else is consuming my mind.
Jax.
Could he be in there waiting for me?
I start down the hall, bracing myself for anything—
Knock, knock, knock, knock.
My attention snaps to the door behind me.
“I’ll get it,” Delilah says, shooing Lark toward her bedroom since she’s in just a robe.
Hinges whine and the front door opens, but I can’t see who’s there. Not until Delilah turns around and rolls her eyes.
Blake steps into the entryway.
“Hey, baby.” He shoots me a dazzling smile full of pearly white teeth, his blond waves bouncing with each step. He’s still in his dance clothes, his bag strapped to his back.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, brows furrowing. He blew me off when I asked him to keep me company last week and now he’s suddenly here in my apartment?
“Can’t a guy just wanna visit his favorite girl?” He continues forward without hesitation, bringing his hand to the base of my spine and guiding me toward my room. His fingers trace back and forth along the valley of my low back. It’s something I usually love, but right now, I’m just annoyed. I should be excited that he showed up, but I was really hoping to get some answers.
“I mean…yes, but—” I hold my breath, my hand hovering over the doorknob.
What if he opens the door and Jax has left me a message?
