SEQUEL TO EXPECTATIONS!
It is highly recommended to read the first book before starting this one.
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It's a funny thing, expectation versus reality. Expectation lives somewhere on the border of your biggest dreams or your worst nightmares...
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I wake up for the second time this morning, expecting to feel Alex's body plastered to my back or his fingertips dancing across my skin, but I automatically sense the absence of his presence. Even with my eyes closed, I can tell he's no longer in my bedroom.
Opening my eyes, I sit up and look to the other side of the bed to confirm my suspicion. The sheets are pulled back on his side of the bed, and he's nowhere to be seen.
Heart pounding in my chest, I scramble out of bed and find my oversized sleep shirt, pulling it on. I pad down the hallway, my heart sinking when I don't find Alex out in the living room or kitchen either.
"Alex?" I call out his name for good measure, and there's no response.
Keep it together, Joslyn. Let's not freak out just yet.
Maybe he went out for coffee? Or to grab breakfast? Or he's out on a walk? A run?
Trying my best not to succumb to my anxious thoughts, I take a seat on the couch, sliding my hands under my thighs to prevent myself from fidgeting with my fingers.
I look over towards the door, expecting him to walk through it any second. But I keep waiting, waiting, and waiting.
What I do notice is that his suitcase is still next to the door, dissipating some of the fear building up in my chest. He wouldn't leave without all of his luggage, would he?
Letting out a groan, I stand up and start pacing the living room, unable to sit still. After a few minutes I decide to walk back to my room, grabbing some clothes for the day, and head to the bathroom to take a shower, hoping that will help pass the time. Maybe by the time I'm done Alex will be back.
I deliberately take longer than necessary in the shower, lathering my hair with shampoo and conditioner twice. By the time I'm done I'm pretty sure I've wasted at least twenty minutes in the shower.
Wrapped up in my favorite fuzzy towel, I run through my skin care routine and dry my hair with the hairdryer, straightening it afterward. Once I'm finished I slip into some black leggings and a navy sweater, ready to exit the bathroom and find out if Alex is back yet.
"Alex?" I call out hopefully, my sock clad feet eagerly shuffling down the hallway to the living room.
I walk out into the living room, immediately feeling disappointed when I find it as empty as I left it. Standing in the middle of the room I rake a hand through my hair, grasping at the roots, trying to swallow the fear climbing up my throat. He's coming back, right?
Maybe I should just call him, or am I just being paranoid?
Honestly, on a scale of one to ten, how insecure and pathetic would it make me look if I call him and ask him where he is? I could always follow up that question by asking him if he could pick something up for me since he's already out, to make me seem less irrational and more casual. Or is that worse?
