Page 90 of One Last Rainy Day
Watching my bedside clock, a low spike of adrenaline starts to zing through me as the minutes tick closer to midnight.
Putting my earbuds in, I press play on one of my go-to lists. When “Three Little Birds” rings out, I rip them out like they’re on fire.
Nope.
Eleven-fifty-four.
The day is almost over.
I shrug against my pillow.
Swallowing against the increasing tightness beneath my rib cage, I turn on my stomach to get some shut eye.
Facing her pillow, I run my eyes down the vacant space beside me.
Normally, she’d be lying there, talking randomly, animatedly, droning on about something while running her fingers along my skin, laughter filling my room when she finally drew the reaction she wanted from me.
Even if I’m grounded in the club capacity, I have plenty to do. A thousand books to read, minimum. Bird business to conduct, which means we probably won’t run into each other. Then again, we likely will. It’s inevitable. I’ll have to get Sean to give me the heads-up when she’s around to make things easier for her. Not that it will be hard for her since I just ensured she’ll hate me.
Toss.
She’s got the plant and Sean.
Catch.
She’s gotSean.
Squeeze.
Discarding the ball, I move to sit at the edge of the bed, ears perking up for any sign she’s with him.
Is she with him?
That thought begins to gnaw at me as a rare, raw type of jealousy threatens at the idea that he’s stealing my fucking time with her.
She wouldn’t do that.
It’s not his day.
But as of a few hours ago, the time is no longer mine.
I did this.
Made it this way.
No choice.
Craning my neck toward the wall that separates our rooms, I glare at it.
If she is with him...
Fuck that noise.
Denial is ripped from me completely when a foreign type of possessiveness overtakes me, and my heart starts to thrash in confirmation. Jerking on some sweats, I walk over to the wall and cup my ear, straining for any sound.
Nothing.
Fuck this.
