For a brief second, something flickered in his expression—regret? It was gone before I could be sure.
“I’ll tell Candace to bring you a change of clothes,” he said simply.
And with that, he was gone.
Leaving me standing there, aching, wondering what else he wasn’t telling me.
TWENTY-EIGHT
My mother usedto tell me that a watched pot never boils, but if you were half as stubborn as I was, you would know that it eventually does boil, so slowly that it’s almost painful.
I was experiencing the same phenomena with inevitable frustration taking over my thoughts; having the undivided attention of a hot guy being ripped away from you twice in one day would make anyone lose their cool.
By the time Candace, the first friendly face I had met at the club, appeared with a fresh pair of folded clothes, I had become silently resigned, not even bothering to grab my phone and purse from the girls when I left because I wasn’t in the mood to explain my absence. I did manage a weak wave so they didn’t call the police or rig a bat call with the chandelier and bras tied together. But after a long, reflective walk to my apartment across town, anger had settled deep in my chest.
I had spent the entire walk replaying everything in my head: Jason’s hands on me, his voice in my ear, the way he made me feel wanted, owned, only to leave me behind like I didn’t matter.
Twice.
I clenched my jaw as I climbed the steps to my building. The moment I reached my door, I knocked hard.
“Mom!”
Silence.
I sighed,hoping she hadn’t turned on her ocean wave sound machine to drown out the city noise.
When no one answered, I twisted the knob, surprised to find it already open. I frowned. The lock had been getting weaker and weaker, and if you didn’t know about it, the door never fully shut.
I crept inside, the vanilla air freshener I kept plugged in to mask the old smell of the building filling my nose.
“Mom?” I whispered before flicking the light switch.
The living room was exactly as I had left it: pillows neatly arranged, a half-empty mug on the coffee table, the smell of coffee in the air. My gaze flicked to the clock beside the TV. It was much later than midnight.
My eyes landed on the closed guest-room door and came to the conclusion that she had already smeared on her night cream and didn’t bother waiting up.
Another sigh slipped past my lips as exhaustion crashed over me.
I barely made it to my bed before my legs gave out. Every inch of me ached as I kicked off my heels, the sting of the night still fresh on my skin. The dress hit the floor next, pooling at my feet as I collapsed onto the mattress.
I spent the next five minutes mentally writing out the speech that would set Jason’s ears on fire.
I was done being toyed with, done being left behind like an afterthought.
Next time, he wouldn’t get away with it so easily.
I imagined standing in front of him, arms crossed.
“Do you enjoy making me feel like I don’t matter?”
The words would cut straight through him, leaving no room for excuses.
“You pull me into your world, make me crave you, make me trust you—only to walk away like I’m nothing. Like I’m just some game you can pick up and drop whenever it suits you.”
I could picture his expression, the way his lips might part, maybe to argue, maybe to deflect. But I wouldn’t let him.
“Twice, Jason. Twice in one day you left me stranded, aching, waiting for you to finish whatever was so much more important than me. And you didn’t even have the decency to explain. You just walked away.”
