Jude. Instinctively, my mouth opens to defend him, but the words get caught when I think of this morning. A nervous whisper leaves my lips instead. “What do you know?”
“He was bragging about getting with you that night.” She swallows, glancing away to deliver another blow. “But then his friend asked about having you next. Like, he wanted to buy you or something, and look, I wasn’t going to say anything. It’s none of my business. But I thought you should know.” She mashes her lips together, and shifts in her seat.
I bite my lip, because I’m not sure I can manage much more than a nod.
“I’m sorry, Rae.” She reaches out, her hand covering mine. “You are a good person. You deserve better.” She swallows thickly. “Don’t hate me.”
I shake my head, hating the worry on her face. “Thanks for telling me.”
She slides from the chair and lays a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.” She makes her way across the café to join her co-stars.
My eyes stare at the liquid in my cup, my gaze unfocused. My nose stings. Tears well in my eyes, but I blink them back. I can’t believe it. The Jude I know would never say those things, but do I really know him? After this morning I can’t say I do. But what reason does Jenni have to lie? It’s not as if she mixed him up with someone else, either. She saw us together the morning after the gala.
My stomach churns with an ache, and I think I might be sick. I drop a few bucks on the table and grab my purse, needing to get outside. Out of here. Out of my head. I push through the doors and make it to my car when my phone vibrates in my hand. I’m almost terrified to look, but my willpower isn’t that strong.
Jude: Missed waking up with you in my bed. Have a beautiful day. See you tonight.
The message hits like an arrow through its mark. I can’t reconcile the man I know with the one who’s been lying and scheming. I grip the phone in my hand, resisting the urge to chuck it across the parking lot. I want to throw it to the ground, stomp on its screen, and break it so he can’t send me anymore messages, or call.
Practicality wins out. I don’t have money to replace a broken phone, so I settle for the do not disturb setting.
My nostrils burn and my eyes sting. I want to curl up and cry. No. Damn it. I am not doing this. Not here, and not now. I can’t fall apart. I don’t have the luxury. I have to get to work. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I inhale all the strength I have. I made a mistake, one I won’t make again.
Tossing my bag into the car, I slide inside and turn the key, thankful when her engine roars to life. “Don’t let me down, Iron Maiden. I need you.” I pat the dashboard and give it a loving stroke. Yeah, I apparently talk to my car now.
I glance out the rearview mirror one last time and shove aside my feelings, locking them down with the resolve to deal with them after work. And thank God for this job. Without it, I don’t want to consider what I’d do.
It’s after eight by the time I swing into my old apartment complex. I had to hit the bank to withdraw next month’s rent after a long day on set. I forgot how much this drive sucks, but thankfully Iron Maiden doesn’t let me down, and I crank my tunes to pass the time. I haven’t cried once, and for that I should win an award.
It takes nearly fifteen minutes to find an open parking space, and it’s nowhere close. I slide my key into the lock with the dream of kicking off these heels as soon as I’m inside. “Hello,” I call out. The kitchen is empty, but voices from the bedrooms tell me I’m not alone. It’s weird, being here again. It’s my apartment, but I feel like an outsider.
The door to my room with Kari Ann is closed, but light shines through the space in the floorboard so I knock.
“Come in,” a voice I don’t recognize says.
I push open the door, then double-check that I have the right room.
“Hey.” A woman glances up from her book. She’s on my bed, a laptop and pile of papers to her right. She’s wearing pajamas. On my bed. “Kari Ann isn’t here.”
It is my bed. I’m not losing my mind. I swear I’m not. “Who are you?”
The woman blinks, taken aback by my question. “Uh, I’m Celia.”
But that doesn’t answer my question. Why is there a stranger making herself at home on my bed, in my room?
“Can I help you with something?” Her gaze is wary, as she shuts her book to set it down. On my fucking bed!
“Why are you here?” A laugh, almost manic bubbles from my stomach. My propriety snaps and my voice grows in volume. “No, seriously, why are you here, and what are you doing on that bed?”
Celia eyes her phone and my body with alarm. “I live here.”
Oh. That would make perfect sense, except for the fact this is not her bed.
“OMG, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Crystal’s voice is nails on a chalkboard from two doors down.
I step back to glare, all plans to mend fences and move on obliterated. “What the fuck is Celia doing in my bed?”
“Your bed?” Celia says, confused as I was two minutes ago.
Crystal steps into the doorway, a sharp lofty laugh escaping her foul mouth. “You think you still live here? Are you on drugs?”
“I’ve been gone for a week.” I say the words as if she’s dumb, because
