“Fuck. I have no idea how that happened.” Groaning, he reaches for his cell. “I’ll let Holloway know. I don’t have time to meet up with him tonight, though. You gonna be here for a bit, Ty? I can tell him to come by and grab it.”
“All night.” It’s been a long week and I’m fucking bagged.
Cooking takes my mind off things temporarily, but the additions of pan-seared steak and Caesar salad don’t take much time to prepare, especially because Dallas pitches in to help. Dinner is ready in a flash, and I’m stuck with company I’m not particularly in the mood for.
We all have seconds—and in Chase’s case, thirds. Even though I doubled the portions, there’s hardly enough for one person left. Probably the perfect amount for Sera if she weren’t holed up in her room.
I focus on my food while the guys talk about some movie they’re going to see with their girlfriends. Apparently, it’s at a brand-new theater that serves food and alcohol right to your seats. Despite my attempts to engage in conversation, my thoughts keep drifting back to Sera. Something is definitely wrong, and it’s eating at me. I don’t know when I suddenly developed a sense of empathy, and I’m choosing not to question it.
“Later.” Chase throws me a wave as I rinse a pan under the faucet, and Dallas follows behind him out the door.
In an ideal world, the person who cooked dinner wouldn’t be the one stuck doing dishes, but I’m trying not to be salty over it. It isn’t like I have other plans.
The doorbell rings while I’m drying the last dish, and I look up as Seraphina darts past to answer it. Her little black dress is even more revealing than the one from Chase’s birthday. It’s got a lace overlay that gives the illusion of bare skin beneath, and the neckline plunges low in the back. There’s no way she’s wearing a bra beneath it.
I watch from where I’m standing at the sink in the kitchen island, facing the entry. It’s impossible to tear my eyes away from her. Her rose-gold hair is a cascade of waves against smooth, creamy skin. Dark makeup accents her chocolate eyes. And those pink lips…
“Hey.” She moves aside, motioning for the other person to come in. “Where’s Abbs?”
My blood pressure spikes as Rob steps into the foyer, brushing snow off his wool dress coat. His hair is neatly slicked back, designer clothes perfectly pressed. I grapple with the urge to frisbee the plate I’m holding at his head. With my aim, I’d definitely inflict some serious damage. Can’t actually do it, but the mental image is incredibly satisfying.
“She’s having some kind of ‘hair emergency’ at my place,” he says, making air quotes. Tension winds through my body. Even his use of air quotes is irritating. “Asked me to come grab you instead.”
Seraphina takes a seat on the wooden bench, bending to fasten the straps on her metallic high heels. As she does, the fucker blatantly stares down her dress, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She stands and reaches past him to pull her new winter coat off the rack. My molars grind together as Mr. Lowlife tucks her pink hair over one shoulder, helping her slip on the puffy white parka. Seeing him touch her makes every inch of my skin crawl.
Drawing in a sharp inhale, I look down and violently polish the dish I’m holding. I need to chill. It’s not my place to care.
“I could’ve driven myself,” she says. “I’ll be splitting an Uber home with Abby either way.”
When I glance up, he winks at her. “Or you could stay over.”
Everything turns red, and the plate flies out of my hand into the sink. Fragile porcelain hits the stainless basin, shattering into pieces.
Fuck. One more thing to deal with later.
Even though I know I’m being irrational, I stride into the entry and lean against the wall, flashing Rob a not-so-friendly smile. “Have her home by nine-thirty, Ron.”
“Er… it’s Rob, actually.” He laughs uneasily like he’s not sure whether I’m kidding about the curfew remark. I’m not. While he’s almost as tall as me and looks like he probably hits the gym on the regular, there’s no way this dude has been in a fight in his life. At least, not any that he won. I could easily, and very much want to, clobber him.
“Tyler doesn’t mean that. He’s joking.” Seraphina turns to me and widens her eyes, giving me a reproachful look.
I fold my arms, my biceps flexing. “She’s right. Ten o’clock is fine.”
“Tyler.” Her expression is half-exasperated, half-amused.
Rob opens the front door and lingers with it ajar like he’s hoping it’ll help expedite their departure. Cold air rushes inside, but I guess he doesn’t give a shit about our heating bill—or the fact he’s too old to be inviting a college sophomore for sleepovers.
Ignoring him, I hold her gaze. “Call me if you need anything, Ser.”
And then she’s gone.
My floor is clean as fuck. My head is still a mess.
I hit the power switch on the vacuum handle to shut it off, and the whir of the motor fades out. Since Seraphina left, I’ve been too full of restless energy to stay still for longer than a couple of seconds. I’ve washed, dried, and folded every item of clothing I own; changed my sheets; and I just finished angrily vacuuming the entire lower level. Some people find stress cleaning weird, but it keeps me from resorting to other, less constructive coping strategies.
I receive two texts within quick succession, but it’s false hope followed by immediate disappointment. They’re both from girls I haven’t spoken to in months—well before that night at XS. Why they’re both hitting me up now is anyone’s guess.
Alyssa: wyd? let’s meet up.
Jasmine: u busy later?
Mission Control reports zero response down south. My dick is broken. Or maybe my brain is the problem because my cock worked just fine last night when I was thinking about Seraphina.
Then my phone vibrates again with another group text from the team trying to encourage me to join them. Drowning my sorrows sounds tempting, but there’s a risk I’ll do something after like drunk dial Seraphina. Or punch a hole in the wall when I get home, which I was already perilously close to doing after she left.
Plus, I can’t shake the nagging feeling I was supposed to do something else.
As I’m putting the vacuum back inside the hall closet on the main level, footfalls thud on the front step. For a brief, foolish second, I think maybe Seraphina changed her mind and came home early. Then the doorbell rings, and disappointment kicks me in the face.
I open the door to find Reid standing outside. Right… That’s the other thing I was supposed to do.
He nods at me, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his navy winter coat. “Hey, man.”
“Mind coming in for a sec?” I ask. “I have to figure out where Carter left your stuff.”
Reid kicks the snow off his boots before he steps inside, shutting the door behind him. My gaze darts around the room in search of his watch, but I have no idea where Chase put it. I forgot Reid was even coming.
I scrub my jaw with my hand. “Do you want a beer? I might have to text him to ask what he did with your watch.”
Ten minutes later, we’re halfway into our bottles of Stella. Per Chase’s text, the watch was sitting on the kitchen counter in plain sight all along. I just happened to miss it—four times. If that doesn’t sum up my mental state, I don’t know what does.