Page 10 of Yanked (Frenched 1.50)
“Yes. He does. He’s never mentioned me?”
She shrugged. “No, although I’ve only been here a couple days.”
What? A couple days? And he hadn’t mentioned me? My heart collapsed like a shack in an earthquake.
Was Lucas cheating on me?
No, wait. Something had to be off here.
“You’ve been…back in New York a couple days? Or actually here…” I said slowly, pointing into the apartment over her shoulder, “a few days.”
“Here. In the apartment.”
Was it my imagination, or did she look a bit smug as she cleared that up? And I noticed she didn’t call it his apartment, but the apartment. My chest caved even deeper.
“I see. And when will Lucas be back?”
“Any minute now. Would you like to come in and wait? I just got out of the shower so I need to get dressed, but you’re welcome to wait in the living room.” Her sweet expression was as fake as her tone, which told me that she was enjoying my squirmy disbelief as well as being the wet girl in a robe telling me I was welcome in my own boyfriend’s apart
ment.
Briefly, I debated clubbing her with my suitcase and making a run for it, but I was dying to get at Lucas and demand an explanation. A long distance relationship required a certain amount of trust, which I’d thought we had, but this seemed in gross violation of that.
“Thanks,” I said flatly. She stood aside while I dragged my suitcase across the threshold and slammed the door behind me.
Then she cleared her throat. “Well. I’ll be in the bedroom.” She went into the bedroom—Lucas’s bedroom!—and shut the door behind her.
His bedroom? What the actual fuck? Jessica was staying at his apartment and he hadn’t told me about it? How long was he planning to keep it a secret? And why hadn’t he told her about me? Was he sleeping with her? He couldn’t be. He just couldn’t be. That kind of duplicity seemed totally unlike him, but I was beginning to wonder how well I actually knew him. How well could anybody know a person when you dated long distance like we did? Sure, we talked a lot, but I only heard the things Lucas chose to tell me.
My arms and legs shook as I whipped off my hat and gloves and shoved them into my purse. I don’t deal with surprises well—not even good surprises, and this one sucked. And while I wasn’t one to assume the worst in any situation, the evidence here was not in my favor. Feeling pervy but justified, I decided to sniff around for proof he was cheating.
The apartment was one long rectangle, only about eight feet across at its widest point in the front. The bedroom was at the back, the kitchen area was in the middle, and a bathroom was opposite the kitchen. Along one wall was a couch, and opposite that was a fireplace, which was no longer functional and instead filled with books. I searched around the couch, hoping to see evidence of sheets or blankets, a pillow—anything to suggest he was sleeping there and not next to her in his bed. Nothing.
With one eye on the bedroom door, I went into the bathroom and looked in the trash. Disgusted with myself, I peeked in it for evidence of condom wrappers—or worse, spent condoms. The bag held nothing but a cotton swab and pink plastic razor. Somehow it was almost as damning as a condom.
She shaved! Is she expecting to get close to someone?
And he could have taken out the trash already today. It could have held a dozen spent condoms, for all I knew.
Fuming, I went back out front and paced in front of the fireplace, arms crossed over my chest. Every time I inhaled, I could smell her goddamn perfume, and it was nauseatingly sweet.
Click—a key turned in the lock. I watched the handle turn and the door open, then looked into Lucas’s eyes as he entered the apartment.
They registered joyful shock. “Mia!” He set down a bottle of wine—a fucking bottle of wine???—on a little side table and rushed toward me. “What are you doing here?”
My heart beat faster at the sight of him—he looked so good, so familiar. The messy dark hair, the warm brown eyes, the black wool coat I’d helped him shop for last time I was here. And I could picture every inch of his skin underneath it. Part of me was dying to embrace him, but I felt something unfamiliar too—anger. We’d never really had a fight.
I stepped back, putting my hands out. “I came here to surprise you.”
“You did?” The joy slid off his face as he glanced at my outstretched arms. It was replaced by confusion, which turned to panic when a hair dryer whooshed on in the bedroom.
I looked pointedly over his shoulder in the direction of the noise and crossed my arms again. “Care to explain?”
Lucas closed his eyes briefly and exhaled. “Fuck. Jessica. I was going to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” I shrugged. “That you’re back together? That you’re fucking her? That she’s moved in again?”
“No, no. Of course we’re not back together.” He tried to put his hands on my shoulders, but I moved away, putting the narrow trunk serving as a coffee table in between us.
