I try my best to be polite and give him a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound too forced or strangled. “Actually, sir, I’m here to see your daughter.”
His smile turns apologetic. “I’m sorry, Bronx, she’s not home right now. My best guess is that she’s either at Delilah’s or still at school.”
I refrain myself from muttering out a curse, and scratch at the light dusting of stubble on my jaw from not shaving for a couple of days. “All right, thank you, Mr. McCausland.” I slowly inch toward my bike, wanting to leave, and he gives me another knowing smile.
“I’ll let her know you stopped by again,” he says, bidding me goodbye, sensing I don’t have time for small talk.
“Thank you, sir,” I call over my shoulder, jogging to my bike and speeding off again.
I decide to swing by Delilah’s first to hopefully save me some time. It’s in the opposite direction of campus, past Olivia’s house, so I head that way, praying I know which apartment complex it is. I’ve never been to Delilah’s apartment, but from what I’ve gathered, it’s just a few minutes down the road from Olivia’s home.
I pull into the parking lot of the first apartment complex I see, knowing it’s one of the more popular apartment complexes among college students. If I remember correctly, Delilah said she lived here. Now if only I knew which apartment she lived in.
With nothing to lose, I walk into the office building at the front, where an older woman greets me unenthusiastically.
“May I help you?”
I throw her my most charming smile, leaning against her desk on my elbow. “Hi, ma’am. Do you by chance know what apartment number Delilah Harper is in?”
She looks at me skeptically, a scowl forming on her thin lips. “I’m not sure I can give you that information.”
“Please,” I beg, giving her my best puppy dog pout. “I’m actually her cousin from across state here to see her. We haven’t seen each other in forever and I’d love to surprise her,” I lie.
She looks at me long and hard, but eventually she huffs and starts typing on her computer. I suppress a triumphant grin, buzzing with impatience and nervousness.
“She’s apartment B11,” she tells me, as if it was a big chore.
“Thank you.”
I exit the office and run up the stairs two at a time to the second floor, muttering Delilah’s apartment number over and over again to myself until I find her door. I knock as calmly as I can, despite my heart slamming against my rib cage.
Delilah opens the door, looking at me with a distrusting scowl. “May I help you?” Her voice is cold, colder than the lady downstairs when she uttered the same words.
“Is she here?” I ask breathlessly, looking over her shoulder to see if I can spot Olivia perched somewhere in her living room or kitchen.
Delilah stands her ground, blocking the doorway, refusing to let me inside. She crosses her arms over her chest. “She’s not here.”
“Come on, Dee,” I beg.
She squares her shoulders, uncompromising. “She’s not here,” she insists. “You can even check the parking lot for her car.”
I look over my shoulder to scan the cars in the parking lot, not finding hers. I let out a low curse, turning around to see Delilah’s door closing in my face.
“Wait!” I plead, placing my palm on the wood to stop it from closing. “Do you know where she is?”
“I don’t think she wants to talk to you. And quite frankly, I don’t want to either.”
I grit my teeth, losing my patience. “Come on, Delilah. I would never do that to her! Adrianna and Rat Boy, they set me up.”
She looks at me skeptically, interest piqued. “What do you mean?” she asks slowly.
“Adrianna and Quinton,” I clarify. “They staged the whole thing! Brennen just called me, and they have surveillance footage of Quinton pulling the fire alarm and sneaking into my room. He messed with my alarms and stole my hoodie to give it to Adrianna.”
Delilah’s eyes widen, her demeanor completely flipping. “To make it look like you slept with her,” Delilah says under her breath, more so to herself. I see the gears turning in her head, watch as she puts all the pieces together. “Oh my god!” She gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “Olivia!”
She spins around and sprints down the hall, presumably to her bedroom. I step inside, not thinking she cares anymore if I come inside or not, no longer the enemy. A short time later, Delilah reemerges, her phone pressed to her ear as she anxiously chews at her bottom lip, pacing back and forth across her small kitchen.
“Come on,” she mutters impatiently under her breath. “Liv?” She perks up, voice rushed and relieved.
