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HYDE HAS BEEN A LITTLE BIT friendlier today. He hasn’t looked at me sideways once – we’re making progress. He probably just likes me because I feed him. “Here you go,” I say as I set his food bowl on the tiled floor. “Enjoy!”
I check my phone again, awaiting confirmation from Rebecca Fry about her boss’ schedule. I need to confirm an appointment before I book my flight and hotel room. There’s no emails. To my dismay, there are no messages from Blake either.
I quickly check my Instagram. There’s Peter again. He’s in Costa Rica. He’d told me he was too busy with work for a proper honeymoon, and there he is zip lining in Costa Rica with a buddy. At least he’s not with some hot blonde. I check my Facebook, for no other reason than I’m bored. Not having a job leaves you way too much time on your hands. I need to start reading more.
My stomach drops when I see a picture of Blake on my feed. He’s sitting at a bar stool, beer in hand, looking as hot and dishevelled as ever. There’s a leggy brunette on his lap, throwing her head back and laughing. She’s wearing a tight little black dress and worn riding boots. She has a martini glass in her hand, her nails painted red. You can tell she’s one of those women men love, the kind who can rock a tight dress and heels, but also knows how to gut a fish. It’s just one picture, but it’s official… I hate her.
I want to crawl under a rock and die.
Her name is Melanie Sullivan. I remember her name. She’s changed a lot. She’s apparently tagged him in a post, taken just the night before. The caption reads:Having so much fun at The Spot with my good pal, Blake. <3 <3 <3 <3 Watsit Jig. Lol!!!
Four fucking hearts! Not one, not three. Four!Watsit jig. Lol!What the fuck does that even mean?
Next thing you know, I’m Googling it, wanting to know. It’s a fishing lure for Walleye. So what? I don’t get it. It must be an inside joke.
I’m sitting on my sofa watching lame romantic comedies and stuffing my face with popcorn while he’s out on the town with sexy fisherman ladies sitting on his lap and sharing jokes.
He played me so hard. He’s such a player. How could I have fallen for it? I’m so stupid.
Oh, let’s cat shop together! You’re so beautiful! You’re so sexy! Come and sit on my hard-on!
What a load of crap.
I throw my phone on the shag rug in the living room. Hyde peeks his head in, curious. I crash on the sofa. I’m definitely going to Chicago. Fuck this shit!
My phone pings, and I get excited. It’s probably Mrs. Fry emailing the info I need. I scramble on the floor for my phone and turn it on. Unfortunately, it’s not the email I was expecting, it’s a message from Blake. Well, speak of the devil.
Hey Freckles! How’s your day going?
I really want to ignore him but I’m too mad.
Not as good as yours probably,I reply.
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Tell me about it.
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What did you do last night?I ask.
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Hung out at The Spot with buddies. How ‘bout you?
Buddies, my ass.
Was one of those buddies Melanie Sullivan by any chance?
It takes a few seconds for him to reply. The bubbles keep appearing and disappearing, taunting me. He’s probably working on his excuse, weaving a web of lies.
How did you know about that? Are you spying on me? Yeah, she was there. Annoying as always.
My fingers are trembling as I tap, plowing ahead.
She didn’t seem too annoying when she was sitting on your lap. You had a pretty big smile on your face.
