Page 1 of Rush
1
Jade
The city looked completelydifferent at one p.m.? on a weekday. ?????
Hopping off the tram, I clattered across the street and onto the footpath, my heels tapping on the asphalt. I felt like a rebellious anarchist taking an afternoon off away from the office, and my stomach rolled. The unfamiliar feeling of not being chained to my desk with my smartphone welded to my left hand while the right typed yet another email made me want to upchuck. But that was me. Jade Forsyth. Workaholic.
Starting the three-block journey home, I watched all the cars, trucks, and motorcycles flash past. Who were all these people, and why weren’t they at work? Maybe some of them were, but it was still an alien sight.
Charles, the CEO of Slattery Press, had ordered me home after he’d caught on I’d been coming into the office at seven a.m.? and not leaving until seven thirty at night. Grumbling, I strode down the footpath, still pissed he’d told me off for doing too much work. Seriously? He should be giving me a raise! Marketing was my forte, my professional calling, and my campaigns brought in big wads of cash for the company. No use having a book without anyone knowing about it. ?????
Too much work?Pfft.
What was I going to do with my afternoon now? I had hours and hours to fill. What did people do on their days off? I had no idea, and if I were being honest, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had time to myself. I could do anything I wanted, and the thought was too much to handle. Being idle? What the fuck was that about?
Opening the front gate to the house I shared with my fiancé, Hunter, I wondered what food we had in the pantry. Usually, we ordered in or would divide and conquer a frozen meal from Lite n’ Easy. I could only imagine the look on his face when he sees the cornucopia of food I was about to prepare with my own two hands. My cooking skills were meager, but seriously, how hard could it be with instructional YouTube videos at my beck and call?
We lived in a renovated two-story terrace in Collingwood, the heritage front a complete juxtaposition to the modern interior. It was a one-point-five-million-dollar oasis in the inner north of Melbourne. The CBD was literally in walking distance, though I preferred to take the tram into work every morning. It was better than destroying my toes in the designer shoes that were my spirit animals.
Hunter came from old money, his trust fund containing more cash than I’d ever seen in my life, and his job as an international criminal lawyer brought in the big bucks. In comparison, my job as head of marketing at Slattery Press brought in a quarter of what he did.
Sliding my key into the lock, I turned and pushed the heavy door inward, the familiar scent of home wafting out into the crisp afternoon.
I could be forgiven for being attracted to Hunter for his good looks and money, but it was never like that with us. We’d gravitated toward one another our entire lives. From all-night ragers in our high school years—we went to neighboring all boy and all girl private schools—to studying at Melbourne University, shared friendship circles, old family ties…it was as if we were destined to always find each other. So when Hunter asked me to marry him, it was like the circle had finally completed itself.
Setting my handbag on the hall table, I sighed. I would have to Google ‘Cooking for Dummies’ if I was going to get through the afternoon without blowing up the kitchen. My keys rattled as I threw them down, and I hesitated.
A thump echoed through the floorboards, and I glanced up at the ceiling. No one was supposed to be here. Hunter was at work and never got home from the city until after seven. He worked even later than I did, so we were as bad as each other.
Another thump sounded upstairs, and my heart leapt. This could not be a home invasion. It just couldn’t. I didn’t have time for this shit.
Opening the hall closet, I fished out the aluminum softball bat that sat just inside. Hunter played softball all through high school and still dabbled when he had time. Sunday picnics with our friends usually culminated with a few rounds on the oval at the Yarra Bend Reserve, and I’d developed a good swing over the years. If there was an armed robber upstairs, then they would get the fright of their life. I would slug them right in the ball sack.Pow.
Tiptoeing up the stairs, I listened to the sounds. Was that…moaning?
On the landing, I zeroed in on the master bedroom. Hunter’s and mine.
Nudging open the door with the tip of the bat, it took a full thirty seconds for me to register what was happening.
Hunter was on the bed, completely naked, balls deep in a woman I’d never seen before. Some brown-haired skank with fake tits. They were in the middle of a vigorous fuck session, the headboard knocking against the wall as he thrust into her.
Then his eyes met mine at the same moment the woman screamed.
“Shit!” he cursed, almost falling off the bed. His cock slipped free, and I almost threw up. He wasn’t even wearing a condom!
“You piece of shit!” I shrieked, throwing the bat at him.
It sailed over his head and slammed against the wall with a bang as the woman scurried up the bed, scooping the sheets around her.
“Who the fuck are you?” she exclaimed, looking at me as if I was in the wrong.
“I’m his fiancée, you stupid bitch! Get out of my house!” Bending over, I began picking up her clothes and throwing them at her face. Grabbing a shoe, I tossed it along with a skirt, and it smacked her right in the head.
“Fuck, Hunter, what’s going on?” she cried, snatching her stuff off her face. “You said you weren’t seeing anyone.”
“Ana,” he said, still cowering against the wall. “I’ll fix—”
“Get out!” I yelled again, tearing at the sheets.
