Page 47 of Jacob

Holding her hands up in mock surrender, she says, “I swear, it was not me.”

Has someone else been in my room? That disturbing thought causes a wave of shivers to run down my spine.

“Are you cold?”

“No, I just got an odd sensation. Ignore me.”

“You left in such a hurry when you left for London, are you sure it wasn’t you? It was all very last-minute.”

Hell, maybe it was me.

I’m usually a neat freak and would never leave my bedroom in such a mess. However, I’ve been oddly distracted recently.

Jacob is screwing with my equilibrium.

If it wasn’t Kimmy, it must have been me, after all.

But where is my photo?

I’ll look for that tomorrow. It’s possibly fallen down the back of my nightstand and I’m too tired to start pulling everything out now.

I park my backside on the edge of the bed and roll my long socks down my legs to remove them. Kimmy springs back up to a seated position.

“What the hell?” She grabs my leg and places my ankle gently on top of her knee to get a better look at what I did this afternoon. “Wow. It’s beautiful.” Her infectious grin is contagious.

“Show me properly.” She urges me to take the protective film off.

When I finally remove it, I smile as I speak. “You like?”

“I lurrrrve it.” She rolls theR.

I hope he lurrrrves it, too.

17

JACOB

Stuck in meetings all day, only managing to speak to Skye once via email, I’m glad to be kicking back, having drinks at Lincoln and Violet’s house tonight.

I sent Skye a quick text earlier to let her know I will call her when I get home. It’s still unread, which is most unlike her.

Flicking through the television menu, I scroll aimlessly, not paying an ounce of attention.

“Did you speak to Owen today?” Lincoln swaggers into his living room, passing me a beer. I shake my head. “You need to do that ASAP.” He raises his eyebrows in anor get punched in the nuts look.

“I know.”

He pulls the remote out of my hand. “You’re on Violet’s profile. Look at all the romantic comedy she gets recommended.” He uses the controller to point at the screen.

“You love that shit.”

He grins. “I really fucking do.” He turns the television off and flops down onto his sofa. “Man, what a day.”

“Busy?”

“Paperwork and police.”

“Police?”

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