Page 63 of The Little Black Book

Sighing, I tap out a response, and Sophie’s reply is immediate.

Me: Sorry. I turned off my phone, so I just saw your messages. There was no conversation and definitely no sex.

Sophie: What happened? You were so excited to go talk to him.

Me: I walked into the casino and saw him pulling a cocktail waitress into an empty hallway. He was holding her close, and then he kissed her.

Ava: Rat bastard!

Sophie: Wait. You actually saw them kissing?

Me: Not exactly. I ran out before their lips touched. I went to the shop and made a bunch of donuts, ate myself into a sugar coma, and slept on the couch. Zeke sent me home this morning, and I’ve been wallowing ever since.

Ava: You should’ve confronted him and kicked him in the balls.

Sophie: Ava, what is wrong with you?

Ava: Nothing. Sam deserves a kick to the nuts. That’s all.

Me: No, he doesn’t. We never talked about exclusivity. I knew better than to catch feelings. This is all my fault.

Sophie: Is there any chance you misread the situation?

Me: I don’t think so, Soph. I need to take a nap. I’ll text you guys later, okay?

Sophie: Okay. Love you.

Ava: Feel better. And if you want me to kick Sam in the nuts for you, just say the word.

Me: I love you both.

I toss my phone aside and slump back against the couch. I know Sophie was just trying to help, but I don’t think I misunderstood what I saw. Sam texted me right after, telling me he wanted to talk to me. He obviously wanted to tell me he’s dating the woman from the casino and whatever we had is over.

I’m still sitting here awhile later, watching the T.V., but not reallyseeingit, when a knock on my door startles me from the catatonic state I’d slipped into. I look at the door, but don’t move to get up. I’m not in any shape for company.

“Come on, Zoey. Open up. I know you’re in there.”

I sit upright, my entire body tense as Sam’s voice reaches my ears. No. No. No. What is he doing here?

“Zoey, please. I need to talk to you.”

“Go away, Sam,” I call out, hoping he can’t hear the misery in my voice.

“If we have to have this discussion through the door for your neighbors’ listening pleasure, then so be it,” he shouts, making me shoot off the couch and stomp toward the door.

Jerking it open, I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. “What do you want?”

He flinches back, looking at me with confusion and hurt on his face. “Are you mad at me for something?”

The fire drains out of me, and my body slumps. “No. I’m just tired.”

“Because you ate six donuts and slept on the couch at work?” My eyes widen, and he shrugs. “Zeke told me when I went toGlaZZedlooking for you this morning.”

The door of a nearby apartment opens, and I heave out a deep breath. Moving to the side, I wave him in so we can talk. It seems this is happening now, whether I want it to, or not.

“Just tell me what you want,” I say after closing the door behind him.

“Talk to me, Z. Tell me what’s wrong.”

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