A Betting Man

Chapter Thirty-Three

Adelaide's Point of View

I'm excited to see Justin. Separated from him for only one day, and I already miss him like crazy. Pathetic, I know.

He offered to come over, but I told him I wanted to work on my report. I was excited about it and was determined to spend every free moment writing until it was done. But without him here, everything just feels...off. And I find myself unable to concentrate, even more so than when he's touching my skin or kissing my shoulder.

I decide to surprise him, but I have a sinking feeling that intensifies as I drive closer to his house. I can't place it, but I know it has something to do with the ugly, shiny BMW parked in his driveway. I've never seen the car before, but it doesn't matter. My gut tells me not to like it. So I don't.

I hesitate in his driveway. I think about leaving, about assuming the worst and running away. But we've worked so hard on everything we've gained this past week. He's worked hard to gain my trust, and the least I can do is knock on the door and see what's going on.

I stall by the front door. I must stand here for a solid five minutes, debating and beating myself up over nothing. My hands feel like lead: too heavy to raise, too heavy to knock. I try listening for sounds from within – maybe moaning or screaming or something. But that would probably take place in the bedroom, unless they're doing it on the kitchen table. And the thought of him doing someone else on the kitchen table makes me nauseous. Even if it is a different table.

Oh, what the hell am I saying? Justin may be in there with a guy. It may be Cayden, for all I know. Maybe Cayden bought a new car that I don't know about.

But I still don't raise my hand. I still don't knock. And then the door swings open.

A girl is standing there. She's beautiful. Tall, elegant, fashionable. Her teeth are really white. Too white. And she's standing way too close to Justin, who looks slightly horrified to see me here. His expression doesn't bode well for my insecurity over the situation, and I find myself shifting in place, my eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them.

The girl speaks first. She introduces herself, and she seems excited to meet me. Excited and kind, but also a little sad. And she's Lauren.

Lauren. I want to throw up. I don't know her, but she knows Justin, and she's seen too much of him. I have half a mind to claw her eyes out so that she may never be able to see his glorious bits again, but that doesn't really seem like a legitimate reason to give the cops. Plus, you can still fuck someone when you're blind, which means if I'm going to get arrested, I should probably do it properly. But I sadly vowed during my youth that I would never kill anybody, no matter how skanky they are.

There's also that little bit about trusting Justin. And being mature. So going all Lisa Nowak on Lauren would probably be a bad idea, because it would make me look both distrusting and immature.

Damn.

Lauren is nothing but nice to me. When she leaves, Justin pulls me inside, an emotional wreck. He's seriously distressed over this, and I quickly appraise him as he spills his excuse. He doesn't smell like a woman. His lips aren't swollen. There are no lipstick smudges, though Lauren was definitely wearing some heavy makeup. There aren't any wrinkles in his clothes - they're neater than mine, actually, but that isn't really all that odd, because I suspect he orders the dry-cleaners to use half a can of starch on each shirt to ensure they don't lose their shape throughout the day. This way, the wrinkles are always kept at bay.

He's giving me no reason not to trust him. And that's what it's become between us – a matter of trust. We're rebuilding our relationship on this foundation, and if I can't trust him now, I can't expect us to make it weeks and months and years into the future.