Tripping (Iced #2) - Kristine Allen Page 0,62
steering wheel.
“I need you to come straight to my place. Okay?”
“Okay, sure,” I replied and ended the call.
After I started my car to warm it up, I drove the short distance to my sister’s. Her door flew open before I could knock. Hand poised, I gaped.
“Oh my God, come in.” She dragged me inside and sat me at the table. I lamely held up the plastic bag.
“I brought ice cream,” I said as I fought tears again.
“I take it you saw,” she said as her expression fell.
“Saw what?” I asked as I pulled out two spoons, then debated on the best way to tell her a woman had answered Cameron’s phone that morning.
“Why else would you be prepared to eat a bucket of ice cream? The pictures,” she said in confusion. I hadn’t thought it could, but my heart sank lower.
“What pictures?” I demanded.
“Oh, uh, nothing. It’s not important,” she tried to hedge as she stood there wringing her hands.
“Bullshit. What pictures?” By then I was getting pissed and a little sick to my stomach. I didn’t know how much worse it could get than a woman answering his phone first thing in the morning. While he was in the freaking shower.
Reluctantly, she opened her phone, tapped on it, and hesitantly handed it over to me. My breath caught, and my heart completely shattered.
There on the screen were picture after picture of Cameron with a blonde, her straddling his lap, her kissing him, and his hands clutching her ribs. The caption was “Got to see my man again!”
“Maybe these are old,” I tried to irrationally justify.
“Look at his cheek,” she sadly pointed out. The butterfly bandage from the fight the night before was in the same exact spot, and the timestamp on the post was last night.
I died a little inside. Not fucked-up enough by what I’d seen, I stared at them once more. As I raised my gaze to my sister, she was blurry, and I realized I was crying again.
“I called Dmitry when I saw the pics to ask him what the hell was going on, but he said he had no idea. That Cameron had left early and didn’t go back to the hotel. He was pissed and wanted to beat his ass.” Crimson stood there chewing her lip in worry.
“Crimson, I was an idiot. We broke up because I overreacted. But how could he move on so quickly? Did what we had mean so little to him?” I groaned.
I guess I had my answer.
We were done and he was definitely over me.
Or at least trying really damn hard to forget me.
“Pain”—Three Days Grace
Towel drying my hair, I stared at myself in the mirror. Wearing last night’s wrinkled clothes, I looked like shit. I sighed as I swallowed two Tylenol and chugged the rest of the water.
“Damn, you smell like a brewery,” Regi said from the doorway. She was in a plush robe, leaning against the frame, and cradling a cup of coffee in her hands.
“Well, I showered,” I argued. I plucked the mug from her and took a tentative sip to check the temp, then guzzled half of it.
“I could’ve made you one if you wanted it” was her dry comeback as I handed it back to her.
“No time,” I muttered as I brushed past her to the couch. I dropped down to put my shoes on. My phone was sitting on the coffee table. I scooped it up to check the time. I was actually okay on time, but I still needed to get across town to my hotel and pack my shit.
Strangely enough, I had no missed calls. “Nice to be missed,” I caustically muttered before rising to my feet.
“Need me to drop you at your hotel on my way to work?” she asked. Her chocolate brown eyes held concern.
“Nah, it’s not exactly on your way. I’ll get an Uber.” As I passed her, I leaned down to kiss her cheek. She wrapped her arms around me, and I held her small frame close.
“Thanks for last night.”
She gave me a squeeze with one arm as she held her coffee out in the safe zone. I chuckled. “Of course. Next time make sure I get to go to the game.”
With a fond grin, I nodded. “You got it. I’m sorry.”
By the time I got to the ground floor, my ride was pulling up in front of the building. I was contemplative as I headed back to the hotel. Thankfully, my driver wasn’t talkative.
“Thanks, man,” I