Page 27

I give him two days to cool off before I realize I didn’t pack nearly enough clothes to sustain living at someone else’s place, and I forgot my favorite mascara so I’ve been forced to rely on the back-up stuff that just isn’t as good.

I finally text him on Saturday late morning.

Me: Can I come by today to get the rest of my things?

He doesn’t respond right away, which pisses me off to no end since I know how much time he spends staring at his phone every damn day.

I’m the one moving out. The least he can do is reply.

I try calling him after an hour of waiting, and he doesn’t pick up.

“Hey, it’s me. I don’t want to fight with you, but I would like to come by to get the rest of my stuff. If I don’t hear back from you, I’ll just swing by this afternoon, okay?” I leave it at that. I have a key, and hopefully he won’t be home.

It’s been three hours since I left that voicemail when I finally get a chance to talk to Mandy. I end the story by asking, “Will you come with me?”

“Of course I will. And then we can go out tonight to celebrate,” she says.

I wrinkle my nose. “Girl, I’m not sure I can keep up with you.”

She giggles. “Oh, that’s just the old relationship-Victoria talking. I’ll dust you off and get you back in the game.” I twist my lips, not sure that’s such a great idea, but then she says, “Now let’s go get your shit.”

I empty my suitcase and throw it in the back of my little white Honda SUV along with a suitcase Mandy lends me and a few empty boxes, and we drive to the house where I’ve lived for the last six months.

I stand on the front porch and go to ring the bell, and Mandy impatiently grabs my keys from my hands and finds the one for the front door.

“You lived here until two days ago, girl. You don’t need to ring the bell.” She shoves the key into the lock, but it doesn’t turn.

She pulls it out. “Is this the right one?” She shows me the key, and I nod.

“Here, let me try.” I grab the key from her hand and insert it, and I end up with the same result. It doesn’t turn.

“Do you have a garage door opener?” she asks.

I nod. “Oh, good idea.” I run to the car and hit the button, and the door goes up. The garage is empty, which means Owen isn’t home.

I turn the knob on the door in the garage that leads into the house, but it’s locked, too. I try the key…and I have the same result as the front door.

It won’t open.

“Do you think he changed the locks?” Mandy asks.

I shrug. “I can’t imagine why he’d do that.”

“Uh, I dunno, maybe because you dumped his sorry ass?” she suggests, and my brows knit together.

“Back door?” I ask.

She lifts a shoulder. “Worth a shot.”

But we land on the same problem. My key won’t work.

“Let me just call him,” I say, and I pull out my phone and dial up my ex.

He doesn’t answer.

I leave a voicemail. “Hey, it’s me again. I’m here to get my stuff but I can’t get in. Did you change the locks or something?” I eye Mandy while I talk, and then I end the call there.

“Is there any secret way to get in? Like a window you leave unlocked or anything like that?” she asks.

I shake my head. “The only thing I can think of is that he used to keep a spare key in this glovebox, but his car isn’t here and if he changed the locks it wouldn’t work anyway.”

She presses her lips together. “You can borrow whatever clothes you need until you get this sorted. Or we can go on a shopping spree.”

I feel heat pinching behind my eyes. “I appreciate that, but I have things in there I want. Socks and underwear. I forgot to pack my really good sports bra for working out, and I don’t have my mascara I like. My pictures, my books, my treasures…the foul ball my dad caught and handed to me when we went to the Astros World Series game, the rosary my sister gave me when she asked me to be Colt’s godmother and the cross she gave me when she asked me to be Mav’s. My grandmother’s quilt she knitted for me. You know, special things.”

She tosses an arm around my shoulders to give me a side-squeeze. “I know, babe. It’s okay. We’ll get it all back. Don’t worry.”

“But when?” I ask, and I start to cry as a feeling of helplessness washes over me.

“Well, we can sit on the porch until he gets home if you want.”

“I just hate that he’s being such a douche about all this,” I cry.

“I know, babe. We’ll figure it out. Promise.”

“You don’t know that. Neither of us knows what he’s capable of. I didn’t think he’d ever lock me out, but here we are.” I sniffle as I try to calm down. “And don’t say you told me so because I know, okay?”

“Hey,” she soothes quietly. “Don’t worry. I won’t say that. Let’s go grab a drink and we can try coming back later, okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

The closest place to grab a drink is the Gridiron, so I head there as I pray that he who shall not be named won’t be there. I only saw him there once in all the times I’ve been there, so chances are slim. And maybe by some miracle Owen will be there and I can demand he let me into the house.

When I pull into the parking lot, I find that it’s fairly empty. It’s a little after three on a Saturday, and I imagine the crowd will pick up later this evening. We head inside and take a seat at the bar, and we each order a drink while I try not to cry.

I’m not really succeeding in that endeavor.

The drink doesn’t do much to take the edge off, but I can’t have more than one since I’m driving and I really don’t want to leave my car here overnight. We order some appetizers and stuff our faces full of greasy food, and it’s as we’re paying our tab that the door swings open. My eyes dart to the bright light streaming in behind the figures in the doorway—one tall and lean, the other short and young. It’s hard to make out their faces, but I recognize both of them even from just their silhouettes.

And my heart sinks.

Mandy spots him the same time I do. “Oh shit, your man’s here,” she says.

I let out a snort. “My man?”

“The one who hit on you that you didn’t bother to tell me about,” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

I roll my eyes, and I know my eyes are red-lined and watery, and I really don’t want to face him, but my best friend is waving to the two of them.

“Hey Harper! Mr. Woods,” she says genially as they walk by us following a waitress toward a booth.

“Ms. Miller! And Ms. Hartley!” Harper practically squeals. “What are you doing here?”

I wave at Harper and ignore her father.

“We just stopped by for an afternoon snack,” Mandy says. “And a little antiseptic for some wounds.”

“They have that here?” Harper asks, and Travis laughs.

“What are you two doing here?” Mandy asks, and I’m glad she’s carrying the conversation because I can’t seem to form words.

“We came by for an early dinner. We’re meeting Evan and Bella at the gym next to the Complex in a bit,” Travis says, nodding to indicate the direction across the street. He glances at me. “You okay?”

Like he gives any real fucks about whether I’m okay. I must look like a freaking disaster for him to even ask. “I’m fine,” I say, and I muster up as much authenticity as I can for Harper’s sake. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom before we head out.”

I rush toward the bathrooms and stay there a minute as I try to freshen myself up, and when I exit, I find Travis standing in the hallway as if he’s waiting for me.

I freeze just outside the women’s room, and the door bumps me on the ass as it slowly comes to a close. I jerk forward a step as he stares me down.

“Why are you upset?” he asks.

“It’s not your business,” I say, and I move to walk past him, but he grabs my bicep. I stare down where his hand is fisting my arm. Jeez, he has big hands. He makes a ring around my bicep easily with those long, strong fingers. Can hands be hot? His certainly are.

He smells good, too, which makes my tummy flip but I ignore it with every fiber of my being.

I also ignore the way my thighs clench together with the way he’s possessing my arm right now. It’s a firm grip, yet somehow still gentle, and I imagine those hands as they trail along other parts of my body. Down my chest, across my aching nipples, down further toward my throbbing pussy.

Oh God. I should not be having these thoughts about a student’s father.

And then his blue eyes meet mine, and I feel like I can’t breathe for a second, like he squeezes all the air right from my lungs but those blue eyes will somehow give me the sustenance I need anyway.

They won’t.

And maybe I’ll allow those dirty thoughts about his hands to sneak back in later tonight when I’m alone with my vibrator.

No. Absolutely not. I will not be doing that, and those tummy flips can cut it out right the hell now.

“Jesus, Hartley. I’m trying to be nice to you since it looks like you’ve been crying and my kid seems to like you for reasons I can’t figure out, but you’re still a bitch to me.”

My jaw slackens. “Excuse me?”

He shakes his head and drops his hand from my arm. “Never mind. I don’t know why I bothered to try.”

Oh. A simple why are you upset was him trying? I feel embarrassed for being rude, but my radar for these things is slightly off considering I’m locked out of my own former house and everything feels slightly off right now since I don’t really have a permanent place to live and I just want my damn underwear back.

“A, I’m not a bitch, and B, you are an asshole,” I hiss at him. I shouldn’t say that. It’s wrong. It’s unprofessional. But this is outside office hours, and he just seems to ignite the flame of irritation inside me no matter how damn attractive I find him.

“Takes one to know one,” he says back to me, and he pushes his way into the men’s room to end the conversation.

Just what I needed. Another run-in with my nemesis.