Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Mina
I’ve googled some dodgy shit in my time. For writing, of course. Like how to build a bomb. How long it’d take for someone to die from a stab wound to their armpit. And what type of ropes are best from an anti-forensic perspective.
My current search history would send me to prison with no way out.
My girl?
My. Girl.
Who the fuck is his girl? It sure as shit wasn’t me in that goddamn photo.
Jesus fucking Christ, I feel like I’m going to have a brain aneurysm from stress ever since he posted a photo of him holding hands with some girl two nights ago.
It’s constantly at the forefront of my mind, and I’ve been wholly incapable of talking to Leo ever since because I’m afraid he’ll say something that will have me googling more things I won’t get away with.
Because what the ever-loving fuck is he talking about?
My.
Girl.
That’s what Leo calls me. Does he call other people that?
I’m losing it. If I spend any longer stewing over this, I might develop a nicotine addiction again.
My eyes burn as I trudge down the street, texting Sabrina my ETA. I throw up a little in my mouth seeing a message from Thomas pop up on my phone.
Thomas: I hope you have a good day today.
I’m not replying; it’s a problem for future me. He’s lovely, but he’s not Leo.
Maybe I should give him a chance, though, since Leo is . . . potentially in a relationship with someone.
My stomach cramps—whether from my endo or from the anxiety of seeing Leo’s message thread at the very top of my inbox, unopened so he doesn’t have a read receipt.
It’s been four hours since he sent me a good morning text, then a couple follow-ups of unrelated things, and I can’t bring myself to respond.
Or answer his call. Any of them. Not yesterday’s, and most definitely not today’s. I can’t even bring myself to listen to his voicemail.
I haven’t been able to act normal around him because every time I see his name, the only thing I can think about is the fact that he’s flirting with me while he’s with someone else.
What if I did that to him? I’m sure that fuck face wouldn’t appreciate it.
God, the anxiety this is giving me will probably send me to a grave before I manage to kill him for all the emotional damage.
Blowing out a breath, I scrub a hand over my face, trying to focus on the blaring from my headphones to tune out the sea of people filling the sidewalk for the brunch rush—or whatever the hell they’re doing.
I canceled meeting up with Sabrina last week out of my sheer inability to deal with human interaction, and I doubt she’d be forgiving if I pull out at the eleventh hour when I’m already fifteen minutes late because I “couldn’t find a parking spot”—I was having a mini breakdown.
Because what if this was all for nothing?
What if Leo is actually in a relationship and I’ve been obsessing over a lying, cheating asshole? That’s months of my life wasted. My gut tells me that he wouldn’t do something like this, but what if I’m wrong and just creating excuses to make myself feel better?
Blowing out a terse breath, I shuffle up to the café, lower my headphones around my neck, and say a silent prayer that Sabrina is in the type of mood to take control of the conversation and do all the talking, so I can try to gain some sense of composure over all my emotions.
“Tala,” a shrill voice calls from behind me.
I turn toward Sabrina and internally cringe at the fake name. I truly am an awful person—an idiot too. How do I explain to her that Tala isn’t my name if Leo and I miraculously end up together?
The way Sabrina beams at me makes the guilt curdle in my stomach.
Whatever gene is in the Duval bloodline that makes them all look like godly beings needs to be studied.
Her green eyes shine brighter than the glitter swept over her lids, and gloss glistens on her immaculately lined lips.
Her cheeks are perfectly rosy, jaw utterly symmetrical, contour the textbook definition of flawless.
The thick, cream-colored Miu Miu dress that cuts off mid-thigh complements her pale skin that’s a couple shades lighter than her brother’s. Her long lashes flutter as she studies me with concern etched into her silky smooth, freshly Botoxed forehead—if the tiny, raised bruise is any indication.
Her blown-out hair bounces as she runs up to me and uses all five foot seven of her body to pull me into a spine-realigning hug. Then she holds me back by the shoulders to study me like she senses I’m losing my mind. “Are you okay?”
For all intents and purposes, fuck no, but it’s not like I can tell Sabrina about it.
“You look exhausted.”
Oh good. So my attempt at using a concealer must be trash. Just what I want to hear.
I force a reassuring smile to my face. “Insomnia is a nasty bitch.”
“Here, here.” She snorts, falling back into the cushioned booth right beside the front window.
I shuck my puffer jacket off and hang it on the back of the wooden chair before taking my seat, trying to ignore the anxiety clawing up my throat. The pastries and the two cups of coffee sitting on the table between us make for an immediate distraction.
“It’s my turn to pay.” I glare at her.
Because her world-renowned hugs aren’t bad enough, this is another thing she always does: pays for both of our meals.
It’s like rubbing salt into the wound.
I’m going to Hell for using this beautiful, perfect creature. There’s no doubt about it.
Sabrina flashes me an innocent grin. “Was it? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You ass. This is the third time in a row.” I spear her with a playful accusatory look that hides the guilt beating me up.
The least I can do is treat her to brunch, considering I initially befriended her to reach her brother in case he never responded to my message. I’ll have to make it up to her somehow. She can be my second maid of honor or something.
“Sorry, I have short-term memory loss.” Sabrina shrugs and sips her iced coffee to hide her grin.
“I’ll beat you to it next time.”
“That means arriving before me.”
She’s got me there. I hold my hand up in defense. “I’ll have you know that I’m either half an hour early, late, or MIA.” The latter is my preference.
“I think it’s a miracle whenever you don’t cancel.
” Sabrina doesn’t mean it as a dig, but it sure as hell feels like it.
She waves me off, probably sensing the sting.
“I know you’re a full-fledged introvert, and I can be a lot to handle.
I don’t hold it against you, I promise. I’m just happy whenever we get to hang out.
You’re a good friend who shows up for me every time I need it. ”
I’m just feeling worse and worse.
Navigating the murky waters I’ve filled with lies is getting harder and harder the more time I spend with her because she’s so nice.
At least, one thing I know for certain is that if it turns out Leo is using me to cheat on someone else, I’d still stay friends with Sabrina.
But I have to draw the line with him somewhere, and cheating is just too far.
It’s all so confusing. Beyond the photo, I have no evidence that he’s been seeing other women. For Christ’s sake, I break into his house every couple of days, and the only other woman that’s been there aside from Sabrina is me.
A few weeks ago, I found a strand of hair on his bedsheets, and after a quick breakdown, a cry, and an angry investigation, I came to the conclusion that it was my hair.
But what if I was wrong, and it was someone else’s?
God, I need to think of something other than him. Like my book, perhaps. The one that’s due soon, and I’m currently behind on. The same one with over two thousand preorders. That’s releasing soon and I still haven’t finished writing.
I chug half my drink. I need something exponentially stronger than this.
Sabrina’s phone lights up on the table. Her forehead pinches as she reads the notification. My mouth dries at the sight of Leo’s name on the screen, and no amount of coffee gets the acidic taste out of my mouth.
What if . . . Should I ask? Leo’s sister would know about his relationships. I’ve made it a point to never start conversations about him and keep follow-up questions to an absolute minimum so as not to raise suspicion.
My stupid mouth moves before I think better of it. “Something wrong?”
“What?” Sabrina’s eyes widen in confusion, then surprise, then a third thing that I can’t identify. “Oh—my brother’s being a dick.”
Fitting. I want her brother’s dick.
Only if it’s single.
Wetting my lips, I will myself to appear calm and nonchalant. But appropriately concerned. “How come? Are you alright?”
Does that sound desperate? I think that sounded desperate. Slightly too high pitched.
She waves her hand dismissively. “Yeah, I’m totally fine—butt hurt, but fine. You’d think your sister would be the first person to know all about your first serious girlfriend, but I guess I’m not as important as I thought.”
My stomach drops. It’s true then. He lied to me. The asshole essentially fucking paid me to be his girlfriend.
I have so many questions. How long have they been together? Is she pretty? What’s she like? What’s her name? Are they serious? Has he ever mentioned me?
“I didn’t know he had—has a girlfriend.” I almost choke.
It can’t be right. Maybe one of his friends uploaded the photo, and it’s not really him. Or maybe—
Maybe what? His post was as clear as day, and he thinks he can keep messaging me as if it didn’t happen? As if I won’t discover that I’m the other woman when he knows I fucking follow him online.
Sabrina rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she types something on her phone without looking. “He’s been seeing someone for months, but he refuses to tell anyone who it is.”
Months? Oh, God.
I’m going to be sick.