The Lover’s Game (No Exceptions #2)(10)
Author: J.C. Reed

Staring at the screen, I checked the timestamp, my hands gripping the phone so hard I feared it would break. The message had been sent half an hour after Thalia had picked me up, which meant Jett had probably spent the entire day with Tiffany—plenty of time for them to have a little fun in their private hotel room, probably laughing at my stupidity.

I smiled bitterly as I scanned the next message, sent an hour after the first.

Have you forgotten our date? WHERE are you? Let me know so I can pick you up.

My pulse raced at the obvious annoyance seeping from between the lines. Who the hell did he think he was? Did he really believe I would wait for him in a room all day while he enjoyed himself with someone else? Slowly, all the conflicting emotions that had been building up throughout the day erupted at once. The cold breeze turned into a raging storm. Not only was he a cheater and a liar; he was also trying to make me feel bad about not obeying his commands. The thought that he sought control over me made me so angry, I grabbed my pillow and threw it against the wall.

Forgotten our date? As if. For once, I wished that had been the case. Before I realized what I was doing, my fingers quickly typed up a reply message.

I want you to f**k off and get out of my life. I trusted your word, and you betrayed me. Don’t deny it. I saw you with her. How could you hurt me like that?

My fingers lingered over the send button, hesitating. It would be the only message Jett would receive before I blocked his number forever. What was holding me back from sending it? In the end, I realized as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t yet ready to admit to him the extent of my hurt feelings. Besides, what would be the point of letting him known how hurt I was? Or telling him I saw him with her? He’d only deny it and then he’d probably start calling, attempting to sway me over, and that I couldn’t afford. Or, worst-case scenario, Jett would shrug it all off with no care that he had hurt me, telling me it was his right to kiss whoever he wanted.

My stomach did a flip. That would really be the tip of the iceberg. We weren’t married; I had no claim on him. But even though I could admit that to myself, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hear those words coming from his mouth. Ultimately, I pressed delete in the hope that my refusal to talk to him and listen to any more lies would grant me the energy to stay strong and move on. I figured, as long as I didn’t hear his voice or see him in person, the list of arguments I had put together would help me stay out of his path. And maybe, in time, my feelings for him would fade away. Come to think of it, now would be a good time to have Sylvie close by. But until she got back—

A soft knock jerked me out of my thoughts. I strained to listen, unsure whether it had been my imagination, when the key turned in the lock. A well of release rose inside me.

Sylvie was back.

It was about time.

I couldn’t wait to pour out my heart and soul, and bitch about Jett. If anyone could help me—if only by listening and being overly annoying—it was Sylvie. She was the only one who knew how to distract me.

The doorknob jiggled before there was another frustrated thud, followed by a knock.

“I’m coming!” I shouted, figuring the door was stuck again. It happened often, particularly when Sylvie was so drunk that it took her a while to turn the key at just the right angle. Not her fault though. We had an old lock; the kind that had to be jiggled a few times. Sometimes, when it was really stuck, we had to kick the door hard, until the bolt released. We had been meaning to get it fixed for ages, but money was always tight and Sylvie too busy with more pressing issues than calling a locksmith.

As I hurried down the hall, I already felt better in the knowledge that I’d soon be able to share my misery with someone who cared.

“Just leave it. I got it,” I said and pulled the door open.

No one there.

My breath caught in my throat, and my smile froze in place. As my glance swept over the empty hall, a sense of dread traveled down my spine. There were only two other doors in the corridor, and both were closed, but I knew someone had been there, because I was sure I had heard a key turning in the lock. The fact that the lights were switched on was proof that I hadn’t just imagined it.

“Sylvie?” I asked quietly as I stepped into the narrow hall. Had she forgotten something in her car and headed back downstairs to get it?

Frowning, I bent over the railing and scanned the illuminated levels below, but there was no sign of her.

No sign of anyone.

“Sylvie?” I whispered again, unable to stop the trembling in my voice even though I knew it had to be her.

Why wouldn’t she reply when I called her name? My mind began to make up logical explanations. Maybe she was entrenched in her thoughts. Maybe she was making out with her date that instant, completely filled with lust and oblivious to everything around her. Still, why would she head back downstairs and not bring him up to the apartment like she had done with previous dates?

What if…?

No. I pressed my hands against my chest in fear and scanned the staircase again, suddenly aware of the faint sound of footsteps, then breathing. My head snapped in that direction. Without a doubt, the sounds carried up from somewhere below, near the stairs on the first floor.

My heart pounded hard against my ribs as the scene from earlier that day flashed through my mind: the strange movement, accompanied by the unsettling feeling of being watched. What if someone had followed me inside the building? But how was that possible, unless they had a key? Maybe I was being paranoid or, worse yet, developing a severe case of schizophrenia that was making me imagine things.

It’d certainly make sense.

Really?

God. Self-denial was bliss.

Then I heard it again—breathing and more shuffling. Listening intently, I held my breath. There was no mistaking he fact that someone was there that very instant, in the corridor below, listening to me, maybe even watching me, knowing I was scared out of my mind. A voice inside my brain urged me to move, but my legs wouldn’t budge from the spot as my eyes scanned frantically for any signs, waiting for the predator to show himself.

Suddenly, the lights switched off, and everything went dark. I remained rooted to the spot, a pang of panic shooting through my body, crippling me. I turned my head sharply toward the weak light coming from the kitchen of our apartment. My heart pounded harder as my mind began to conjure up images of someone creeping up the stairs, ready to kill me. What if it was Jett’s crazy brother? Out of all the people who had ever meant to hurt me, he was the most obvious choice, given the circumstances.