Page 2 of Reckless Chances
“It’s okay. I need some more for the whites.” She tossed the sheet and pillowcases into the basket, kissed him on the lips, and he grabbed her ass as she kept walking. She usually loved it when he showed random acts of affection, but today, she stiffened.
As she walked to the laundry room, she shook her head. She didn’t believe in women’s intuition. She was a business student, she believed in facts and numbers, so she saw the gnawing feeling in her gut as an annoyance, a weakness that she had to ignore.
She measured the liquid detergent and started stuffing the laundry into the washing machine, cursing herself for jumping to such a rash conclusion. She and Adam were engaged, there were stacks of wedding magazines piled on her side of the nightstand. As if to remind her, the engagement ring clicked against the side of the machine as she shoved the sheets inside.
But then a flash of pink caught her eye as a lone sock fell to the floor. She picked it up with two fingers and looked at it like she didn’t know what it was. Cute little watermelon slices with eyes stared back at her. And that was the day she started believing in intuition.
It wasn’t her sock.
The room started to tilt, and she grabbed onto the washing machine to steady herself.
“Everything okay?” Adam was behind her.
She shoved the sock into her pocket. “Everything’s fine.” She managed to speak between gritted teeth. She jabbed at the washing machine and waited to hear the hiss of the water before heading downstairs. As she passed through the kitchen, Adam’s back was to her as he made a cup of espresso. The machine whirred and clunked as she pulled her still damp jacket from the hanger and shoved her arms into its sleeves. She slipped on her heavy winter boots with the fake fur and knelt to do up the laces.
“Where are you going?” His eyes glanced at the tread marks she was leaving on the white tile.
“Out.”
She waited until she had navigated her car out of the garage and down the slippery driveway before she let herself fall apart. She drove around the cul-de-sac and when she passed their townhome Adam was standing at the end of the driveway, his hands upturned, and his brow furrowed. He motioned for her to stop the car, but she didn’t. The tires spun as she stepped on the gas pedal, dirty road slush spraying out behind her as she fishtailed away from her life.
She wasn’t crazy. Her fiancé was a lying, cheating, son of a gun.
Tears streamed down her face as she tried to keep the little car on the road. Yes, it was bad that he was cheating on her, but in some way, she felt relief. A part of her always knew that he wasn’t the guy for her. The worst part wasn’t the deception of her fiancé.
No.
She had seen those watermelon socks a million times before. On her best friend’s feet, usually tucked under her as they drank wine together.
That. That was the worst part.
That day she lost her fiancé and her best friend.
