That was my f**king towel.
My neck was hot under my coat. “Is Lucas here?”
“No, he ran out real quick. Was he expecting you?” The girl, a knockout in her mid-twenties with blue eyes, clear skin, and long strawberry blond hair, looked quizzically at my suitcase.
My blood began to simmer. Here I was in my slouchy wool hat with the floppy flower on the side, all bundled up in my winter jacket and snow boots, red-nosed from the cold, and Lucas had the f**king Little Mermaid in his apartment, fresh from a shower, her cheeks flushed with warmth. Holding my towel.
Who the hell was she?
I breathed hard through my nostrils. “Can I ask who you are?”
The girl looked taken aback for a moment, but answered, “I’m Jessica. And you are?”
The name hit me like a punch in the teeth. Jessica. Fucking Jessica was here, in his apartment.
No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. Jessica was not in the Spontaneous Plan.
“I’m Mia.” I waited for her to react to the name—surely Lucas had mentioned me.
She looked blank.
No f**king way. He hadn’t told her about me?
“Mia Devine,” I went on, bristling. “His…his…” The word girlfriend was stuck in my throat. But I was his girlfriend, wasn’t I? We’d been in love for eight months! Just because he didn’t like labels didn’t mean I couldn’t use them.
“His…” Jessica prompted, gesturing with one hand, like get on with it, I got a blowout to get to here.
“His girlfriend.” Defiantly, I stood a little taller and looked her in the eye. “I live in Detroit.”
She looked surprised. “Lucas has a girlfriend in Detroit?” The way she said it made it sound like he might have girlfriends in other cities as well, and if I didn’t hate her before, I did now.
“Yes. He does. He’s never mentioned me?”
She shrugged. “No, although I’ve only been here a couple days.”
What? A couple days? And he hadn’t mentioned me? My heart collapsed like a shack in an earthquake.
Was Lucas cheating on me?
No, wait. Something had to be off here.
“You’ve been…back in New York a couple days? Or actually here…” I said slowly, pointing into the apartment over her shoulder, “a few days.”
“Here. In the apartment.”
Was it my imagination, or did she look a bit smug as she cleared that up? And I noticed she didn’t call it his apartment, but the apartment. My chest caved even deeper.
“I see. And when will Lucas be back?”
“Any minute now. Would you like to come in and wait? I just got out of the shower so I need to get dressed, but you’re welcome to wait in the living room.” Her sweet expression was as fake as her tone, which told me that she was enjoying my squirmy disbelief as well as being the wet girl in a robe telling me I was welcome in my own boyfriend’s apartment.
Briefly, I debated clubbing her with my suitcase and making a run for it, but I was dying to get at Lucas and demand an explanation. A long distance relationship required a certain amount of trust, which I’d thought we had, but this seemed in gross violation of that.
“Thanks,” I said flatly. She stood aside while I dragged my suitcase across the threshold and slammed the door behind me.
Then she cleared her throat. “Well. I’ll be in the bedroom.” She went into the bedroom—Lucas’s bedroom!—and shut the door behind her.
His bedroom? What the actual f**k? Jessica was staying at his apartment and he hadn’t told me about it? How long was he planning to keep it a secret? And why hadn’t he told her about me? Was he sleeping with her? He couldn’t be. He just couldn’t be. That kind of duplicity seemed totally unlike him, but I was beginning to wonder how well I actually knew him. How well could anybody know a person when you dated long distance like we did? Sure, we talked a lot, but I only heard the things Lucas chose to tell me.
My arms and legs shook as I whipped off my hat and gloves and shoved them into my purse. I don’t deal with surprises well—not even good surprises, and this one sucked. And while I wasn’t one to assume the worst in any situation, the evidence here was not in my favor. Feeling pervy but justified, I decided to sniff around for proof he was cheating.
The apartment was one long rectangle, only about eight feet across at its widest point in the front. The bedroom was at the back, the kitchen area was in the middle, and a bathroom was opposite the kitchen. Along one wall was a couch, and opposite that was a fireplace, which was no longer functional and instead filled with books. I searched around the couch, hoping to see evidence of sheets or blankets, a pillow—anything to suggest he was sleeping there and not next to her in his bed. Nothing.
With one eye on the bedroom door, I went into the bathroom and looked in the trash. Disgusted with myself, I peeked in it for evidence of condom wrappers—or worse, spent condoms. The bag held nothing but a cotton swab and pink plastic razor. Somehow it was almost as damning as a condom.
She shaved! Is she expecting to get close to someone?
And he could have taken out the trash already today. It could have held a dozen spent condoms, for all I knew.
Fuming, I went back out front and paced in front of the fireplace, arms crossed over my chest. Every time I inhaled, I could smell her goddamn perfume, and it was nauseatingly sweet.
Click—a key turned in the lock. I watched the handle turn and the door open, then looked into Lucas’s eyes as he entered the apartment.