Page 7

I roll my eyes, hating that John made our relationshipinto a damn cliché. I mean, seriously, would it have been too much for him to break up with me before he dipped his cock into her vagina?
“Jesus, I’m sorry,” the gentleman says.
The sincerity in his apology has me choking up again.
“It’s okay.” I shrug, trying to act like my heart and ego aren’t bruised.
“Are you staying here?” he asks.
At his words, I remember my current predicament.
Oh shit!“My luggage!”
“Right here,” he says, pointing to my still-intact luggage. “Are you staying here?” he repeats.
“I am, but not until Friday. I’m here for a wedding. Like an idiot, I showed up at John’s flat early, thinking I would surprise him for Valentine’s Day.” I laugh humorlessly as the image of Phoebe bent over his kitchen counter pops back into my head. An image that I wish I could scrub from my brain. “I came here, hoping I could check in early, but it’s completely booked. So, I need to find somewhere to stay for the next couple of nights.”
I’m about to stand and thank him—and I should probably also apologize for spilling all my drama into his lap—when he gently places his hand on my knee.
“What’s your name?”
“Paige.”
“Paige ...”
“Abrams.”
“Wait here and let me see what I can do,” he says with a wink that has no business being as sexy as it is.
He stands, and I can’t help but watch as he heads across the lobby with a purposeful stride that screams confidence with just a hint of arrogance. Like he knows his place in this world.
While I wait for him to speak to the front desk—knowing there’s nothing he can do, but thinking it’s sweet this stranger would try for me—I unbutton my jacket since it’s warm in the lobby and pull out my phone that’s been buzzing like crazy, remembering that I never responded to Marina’s text.
There are several other texts from John and Phoebe that I immediately delete because there’s nothing they can say that will make what they did okay.
I stop at the one from Ana.
Ana
Hey! I got worried when you didn’t call or text to confirm you’d made it to John’s place, so I called John, and he told me what happened. THAT FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! Call me, please! I’m worried about you.
I glance up and see the gentleman—whose name I never got—walking back toward me, so I send a quick text to let her know I’m okay and I’ll call her in a few minutes, and then I pocket my phone.
“Good news,” the gentleman says. “They had a room available after all.”
He hands me a mini envelope with a key card sticking out of it.
“What? Seriously?” I gasp. “Thank you!”
Without thinking about what I’m doing—just so thankful that I don’t have to try to find somewhere to stay on Valentine’s Day—I throw my arms around the man’s neck.
“You’re welcome.” He chuckles when we separate. “I hope your day gets better, Paige.”
The kindness from this stranger causes my eyes to prick with unshed tears. Why is it that a stranger can be so sweet and genuine while a man who swore he loved me could treat me so badly?
“Hey,” the gentleman says softly, wiping a tear that I didn’t realize had fallen. “That guy doesn’t deserve you. I know it hurts now, but one day, you’ll meet a man who treats you how you deserve to be treated, and that asshole will be nothing but a lesson learned.”
His words slide in through the fissures in my heart and soothe it like a balm. The truth is, I’m more upset about wasting my time with someone like John than the act of him cheating. Yes, the betrayal hurts, but more than that, I feel like I’ve been let down. I gave our relationship all of me, and I’m left with nothing.