Page 46 of Played
No one.
Get a grip, girl.
Paranoid. Always paranoid.
Too many true crime documentaries before bed, Jenna always says.
Still.
I walk faster, glancing over my shoulder twice before I reach my car.
Three days of texts. Silly memes. Funny reels. A video of him playing piano in his living room, fingers dancing over keys.
My chest aches watching it.
Are we moving too fast?
I don't care.
I'm walking on cloud nine.
Colleen's building looms ahead, familiar and wrong all at once. My old building. Daniel's building.
My hands shake on the steering wheel.
What if I see him?
I park, sit. Breathe.
The intercom crackles when I press the button.
"Liza? Come on in, sweetie."
I bypass the elevator. Take the stairs instead. My thighs burn by the second floor, but it's better than being trapped in an elevator if Daniel walks in.
Colleen's door swings open before I knock.
And I freeze.
Her face.
A purple-green bruise blooms across her left cheek. Her bottom lip is swollen and split at the corner.
"Oh, my God."
"I'm fine." She waves me inside. "Looks worse than it is."
"Colleen—"
"Coffee first. Then I'll tell you."
We sit at her small kitchen table, the one I used to admire when I lived downstairs. Gingerbread cookies arranged on a plate between us. She made them herself—always baking, always hosting.
"Philip's married."
I nearly drop my mug.
"What?"
