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I’m home alone at Mandy’s place on Thursday night since she had a date with Jaxon. I’m surprised she decided to go out since it’s a school night, but I get the attraction of not wanting to turn down a chance to see the NFL star currently trying to court her.

I’m scrolling through my favorite Vegas entertainment website when I see my favorite band is coming to town in a couple months.

I click the link to see what two tickets to the Imagine Dragons would set me back, and the prices are definitely out of my range.

Too bad.

I’d love to see them, but considering I’m currently homeless, I should probably not splurge on tickets so I can save up for a deposit on a new place. Living with Mandy is fun temporarily, but it kind of sucks living in someone’s guest room. I need my own space, and I’m sure Mandy wants her privacy back, too.

And it’s not just the price that stops me short.

Who would even go with me?

My sister and I used to go to concerts together, but she has two kids now. Owen and I used to go to concerts together, but we broke up. Mandy might go, but now she’s seeing Jaxon and she might want to go with him.

Looking at the tickets does nothing more than make me feel incredibly lonely.

I force myself off the ticket website and scroll through home rentals instead. It looks like an apartment is my best option financially, but the ones here in Mandy’s complex are all full, and there aren’t any others super close to Stratford, so then I’d have a bit of a commute to work. I check for anything near the district office just in case. It’s on the other side of town from Stratford, so it’s a good twenty-minute drive without traffic…and in this town, there’s always traffic.

I give up my search and check the district website to see if the reading specialist position is posted yet, but it’s not. I spend a little time looking over my resume and jotting down the ideas I have for the district reading program, but my heart just doesn’t feel like it’s in it tonight.

I make myself a stiff drink and steel my nerves to try calling Owen, but he doesn’t pick up. I leave a lengthy voicemail. “Hey, it’s Victoria. I’m not sure why you’re holding my ball hostage, but I’d really like it back. It represents a special memory for my father and me, and I know you know that. Look, we had a lot of good times together, and I’m hopeful that throwing all my belongings onto the front lawn was therapeutic for you. I still have grass in my jeans and I’m looking for replacement frames for the photos you broke. I didn’t want to end things this horribly, Owen. I’m not sure why you’re acting like this, but it hurts after everything we shared. Okay, I’ll stop rambling now. Can I just please come by to get that ball? Thanks.”

I cut the call. I wasn’t expecting to get so emotional over it, but I haven’t really given myself any time to mourn the loss of our relationship. It fell apart somewhere along the road, but for a long time I thought he was my forever. I thought he was my future. I thought he’d father my children and we’d ride off into the sunset toward our happily ever after.

But we didn’t, and now he’s holding onto the most important possession I own, and he won’t even get back to me to tell me why or what I can do to get it back.

I decide to just head to bed. I’m emotional, and I’m a little exhausted, and I keep hopping from one thing to another but I just feel lonely and sad.

It’s early, but I’m in the middle of a good, spicy series about a hot baseball player, so I decide to spend a little time reading before I call it a night. Maybe it’ll be enough to distract me from the mess my life has suddenly become.

I’m dead wrong about that. The worst of it all is that I keep picturing the hero in the book as Travis Woods, and I can’t focus on the book.

I keep thinking about yesterday when he picked Harper up after school and he wouldn’t even look at me. I spent the entire day working myself up to seeing him, and then he didn’t even acknowledge me.

I wonder if his daughter noticed.

I’m making strides with her already, and we’ve only had two after school tutoring sessions so far along with our regular daily work. She’s struggling, but she’s trying—and that’s half the battle with kids, getting them to actually try.

I’m not sure what drives me to do it, but I open up Instagram and search his name. I click it and peep on his profile, and there he is in all his football glory.

Every picture of him on there is somehow related to athletics, whether it’s him in his uniform or him advertising some protein powder or my favorite, the one of him not wearing a shirt while he lifts weights.

Scratch that.

It’s not my favorite, and it doesn’t make my thighs clench together like they seem to be doing a lot lately.

I’m just a woman who can appreciate the male form, and he has a nice one.

Like…a really nice one.

I zoom in on his hands in another photo.

They’re strong and lean, and maybe a little rough since he uses them so much, and I wonder what sorts of talents he has with them. What would I feel like if he brushed those fingertips across my nipple? I try it myself and visualize that it’s him doing it.

I allow my hand to trail down my stomach and dip into my panties, and I brush my finger against my clit before I push it inside.

I’m still looking at his picture. I’m still pretending it’s him touching me.

It feels wrong. I turn off my phone and toss it beside me, but I’m in it now. The ache is growing, and I need a release.

The phone is off, but he’s still in my mind. I really start to go to town on myself and add in another finger. I’m not stopping until I come, and I dip my finger in and out, pulling all the way out to spread the moisture around my clit before pushing back in.

But the fact remains that by the time my knees clamp together as I give myself an orgasm, it’s his hand I’m thinking about. It’s his face I’m picturing. It’s his body I wish was climbing off and settling in warmly beside me.

Instead, as the waves of pleasure start to subside and a relaxed warmth fills my entire body, my eyes open and I stare at the empty, cold side of the bed next to me.

I turn the other way so I’m not looking at the emptiness.

Because emptiness sure beats the reality of dealing with Travis Woods.