for address numbers on the houses, trying to figure out if his is on the left or right. The right side of the road has even house numbers, so I start slowing down looking for 2246.
I don’t know what kind of car Gage drives, but I doubt it’s the flirty looking red, two-seater convertible parked in the driveway. Creeping up behind it until I come to a stop, I put my Prius in park and glance toward the house, which has huge floor-to-ceiling windows, making it easy to peer inside and eavesdrop.
Gage is definitely home, standing with his hands on his hips, wearing nothing but a pair of plaid sleep pants. He’s so yummy, except…there’s a bitchy redhead in there with him.
I thought he said they were divorced, or on the way to getting divorced. Why is she here? Does she still live here? What if he still cares about her? If he didn’t, wouldn’t he tell her to just leave already? He doesn’t while I watch. In fact, she lunges for Gage, plastering her tall, model perfect body against him as her mouth claims his in a passionate kiss. He doesn’t pull away while she continues pawing at him for several long, painful heartbeats.
When her hand cups the front of his pants, I can’t take anymore. My chest feels like it’s ripping in half, tearing me apart from the inside out. A sob escapes as I hit the accelerator with tears dangerously blurring my vision, but I have to get away.
Is she the reason why he insisted that we “keep our visits strictly on campus”? So his wife wouldn’t find out about us?
Showing up at his house was a horrible idea, but at least now I know the truth. This whole week has been incredibly humiliating as I threw myself at Gage like a slutty little homewrecker. I was obviously wrong about him because if I’m nothing more than his dirty secret on the side, then the two of us are just not meant to be together.
…
Gage
My head feels like it’s gonna explode if I have to stand here and put up with another minute of her nagging. The same shit she’s been saying for months: Are you really gonna just give up on us? I thought you loved me. Don’t I mean anything to you?
Yes, nope and nope are still my responses, ones that she doesn’t want to hear but, yeah, I keep repeating hoping Trish will get the hint and give up.
“Why don’t you just move back home with your parents?” I ask after she bitches about her tiny apartment across town that doesn’t have room for all her clothing.
“I’m almost thirty-six! I can’t move back in with my parents!”
“Then I guess you’re gonna have to do the unthinkable and get a fucking job,” I tell her, refusing to budge from the middle of the hallway because I don’t want her to think I’m offering to let her stay or hang out.
“What’s gotten into you? You’ve never talked to me that way before, but I forgive you. Let’s just start over, okay? I can make you happy,” she rambles before suddenly throwing herself at me.
Apparently as a last ditch effort, she slants her lips over mine and kisses me, nearly choking me with her tongue plunging down my throat in a move I assume she thinks is seductive. While I want nothing more than to push her off of me, I stand there, refusing to kiss her back until she realizes that there’s nothing going on here. Just her tongue repeatedly jabbing down my throat, which is only slightly less revolting than having a tonsillectomy without anesthesia. There’s not an ounce of heat, or passion growing between us, unlike what I feel just looking at Reagan or thinking about her, so maybe, this time, Trish will actually realize it herself.
Unfortunately, Trish doesn’t seem to be comprehending any of this. So when her hand reaches for the front of my pajama bottoms I let her feel just how soft and unaffected I am before I do finally grab her shoulders and push her away. At the same time, I take a step back, putting distance between us.
“Trish, I’m not sure how many other ways I can tell you that I don’t want you in any way but out of my life, which means stop coming by, stop calling, and for fuck’s sake, quit calling my parents and whining to them! The divorce will be finalized in just four