“Fuck this,” I say, my resolve hardening in my chest.
I am that girl.
Slapping my phone down on the counter, I march across my apartment and into my bedroom, heading straight for the closet. Determination burns in my chest like a warming fire as I snatch up my suitcase and haul it into the bedroom, slinging it onto my bed. I drop the throw from around my shoulders and unzip the suitcase.
I’m free, I repeat to myself as I begin to pack. I’m wild and fun and fucking free.
“Is this the house, ma’am?” my Uber driver calls from the front seat. It’s hard to hear him over the sound of all this rain. It’s pounding the car in heavy sheets. His windshield wipers are working their hardest, but the visibility is almost nothing.
I peer out through my foggy window, wiping a circle in the chilled glass with the meat of my fist. “Two more down,” I call to the driver. “The tall one on the end with the lights on.”
He inches the car forward, rolling it along until he comes to a stop in front of a handsome house framed in dark shadows. Golden light shines out through the rain, illuminating the grass and a large truck parked in the drive.
“This it?” my driver calls.
“Yes,” I reply, thumb tapping on my phone to close out the ride.
“Let me just get your bags then.”
“Oh no,” I cry, patting his shoulder. “Just pop your trunk and I’ll get the bags. You just stay dry, okay?”
“Thanks, ma’am,” he says with obvious relief. “You know how to swim, right?”
“Sure do,” I reply, flinging open my door.
The rain pelts in, making me yelp as I hurry out of the backseat and around to the trunk. I work fast to drag all my bags out of the back. My computer bag is slung over my shoulder, the strap slicing between my breasts. I’ve got a backpack too, heavy with clothes and shoes. Not to mention my two massive roller bags. I’m soaked to the bone within moments as I wheel them up the driveway, the sound lost to the thunderstorm.
Puffing out a sharp breath, I press my thumb against the doorbell. Inside the house, a dog barks. I wait, my hands clutching to the handles of my bags. Water drips down my neck, between my breasts, off the tip of my nose.
The door swings open to reveal Jake standing there in nothing but a pair of athletic shorts, a bag of Garden Salsa Sun Chips in his hand. “Tess,” he cries.
“Hey, Jake,” I say, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
Poseidon darts outside, dancing around my legs, his body wiggling in excitement.
“Hey, puppy,” I coo, giving him some pats. I smile as he licks my hand.
“Where did you come from?” says Jake, peering behind me as if he’s looking for an alien spacecraft or a teleportation device.
“Umm, the airport,” I admit with a shrug.
“Did I know you were coming?” he says. Then he gasps, eyes wide. “Ohmygod, did I forget to pick you up?”
“No,” I say with a laugh. “No, this visit wasn’t planned.”
“Oh, thank God,” he says, his free hand splayed over his chest like he’s trying to keep his heart from jumping through his skin. “Rachel would’ve made me sleep on the couch for a week if I left her best friend high and dry at the airport…well, high and wet,” he adds, taking me in from head to toe. “Jeez, get in here.” Sticking his free hand out the doorway, he grabs one of my bags and reels it in over the threshold, stepping back to make room for me.
Poseidon dances around my feet as I wheel the other bag in. I step into the bright, spacious entry way, water dripping off every part of me.
“You look like you swam here,” Jake teases, tossing his bag of chips down on the entry table. “Seattle’s gonna be so psyched to see you.”
I go still, hand clutching to my bag. “Is she here?”
“Nah, she and Cay are out for dinner and a movie,” he replies. “He’s trying the whole ‘domestic wedded bliss’ thing. It’s adorable, like watching a chimp on roller-skates.”
I can’t help but smile trying to picture Caleb Price being married and domestic. I’m also kind of relieved Rachel isn’t here. As soon as I face her, I know I’ll lose it. She reads me like a book. She’ll have me telling her everything, and I’m not ready for that quite yet.
“Do you want me to call her?” he asks, slipping his hand into the pocket of his shorts. “I’m sure they can cut their evening short—”
“No,” I say quickly. “I, umm…well, I didn’t actually come to see Rachel.”