My Life After Now - By Jessica Verdi Page 0,48

A trendy couple walked by, holding hands.

“Lucy. Right. Yeah, I remember. What are you doing here?”

“Can I come up?” I asked, not really wanting to have this conversation via building intercom.

Another unfathomably long pause.

“Now’s not really a good time,” he said finally.

“Just for a minute,” I said. “It won’t take long, I swear.”

“I’m actually right in the middle of something, so…”

I knew I was supposed to get the hint, but the more he tried to get rid of me, the more I wanted in. He knew I was here to confront him about what he’d done and didn’t want to face me. Well, maybe his brush-off routine had worked with people in the past, but it wasn’t going to work with me. I’d come here to give Lee his share of the blame, and I wasn’t leaving until I succeeded. He deserved that and so much worse.

Knowing he wasn’t going to voluntarily let me in, I didn’t bother replying. Let him think I’d given up and left. I adjusted my hat and scarf and huddled in the doorway, determined to wait as long as I had to.

About ten minutes later, the door opened and one of the building’s residents emerged. I caught the door with my foot as it closed and slipped inside.

I dashed up the four flights quickly, trying not to think too much about what I was about to do. I would say what I came to say and get the hell out of here.

My mittened hand gave three swift strikes to Lee’s door, and his muffled curses carried out into the hallway. My heart was hammering as I stood there waiting.

The door flew open, and my breath caught the moment I saw him. He was every ounce as gorgeous as he was the night we met. His shirtless torso was etched with muscles and tattoos, his skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. His jeans were unbuttoned, like he had just pulled them up a second before. He glared at me intensely, but somehow the burning behind his eyes made his face even more radiant.

But the warm, fuzzy feelings only lasted a half-second and were immediately replaced with loathing.

I cleared my throat nervously. “I need to talk to you,” I said.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he looked me up and down, the space between his eyes deeply creased.

“What?” I demanded.

“You look different,” he said, confused.

I looked down at myself. In place of the skimpy black ensemble I’d been wearing last time were jeans, flats, my puffy green jacket, and rainbow-patterned wool hat and mittens. I guessed I was looking a lot more my actual age tonight.

But I was saved from having to attempt an explanation because just then I was distracted by a small movement behind Lee. There was someone else in the apartment. I shifted my position outside the door so I could see around him and managed to catch a glimpse of a woman’s bare legs, partially covered by the sheets of his bed, before he swiftly stepped out into the hall and pulled the door closed behind him.

“What do you want?” he growled.

I stared at him, waiting for my mind to catch up to what was going on here. He hadn’t been trying to avoid a confrontation—he was trying to get rid of me because he was with someone. A girl who surely had no idea what she was getting herself into.

I suddenly wasn’t nervous anymore.

“Just how many people have you done this to?” I demanded.

“Done what to?”

I looked him straight in the eye. “You know what I’m talking about.”

He let out a pitying little laugh. “Listen, Lucy, we had fun. But it was a one-time thing—it’s not going to happen again. And I really don’t have time for this right now, so you should really leave before I call the police and report you for trespassing.”

Oh god—he thought I was here to have sex with him again? I gave him a wry smile. “Go ahead. I have a few things I’d like to report you for too.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I sighed heavily. Might as well just say it. “You infected me.”

There was a slight pause. “What do you mean, I ‘infected’ you?” he said, his voice less severe now. He genuinely looked baffled.

“I mean, you gave me HIV.”

He barked out a laugh. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t have HIV.”

I studied him carefully, searching for signs of lying or even guilt. But his face was smooth,