Page 53 of Cloud Storm

All because of an idiot and now I’m on my way to see another.

The door, as expected, is shut. The lights are off and inside there’s not even the buzz of a fly. I ring the bell a couple of times, but nobody answers.

The idiot probably went on a romantic getaway with some random chick and that’s why there’s no sign of life.

This is a waste of my time and in the morning, I’ll let Mr. Hatz know.

However, the keys burn in the palm of my hand. Should I enter? I did promise I’d check up on Lancelot after all.

I continue with my mission, knocking hard on the door and calling his name. No, this is a lost cause, Lancelot isn’t here.

He’s probably messing around, with a very tall blonde—one of those who only eat salad and wear little tight numbers—fucking like rabbits.

No, not like that, he shouldn’t be with one of those.

Don’t go that far. Only the missionary position will be allowed and no more than a half fuck per night.

But what about his kisses?

Lancelot is a passionate man, I know this firsthand. And what a hand. Just remembering what I felt when he slipped his hand inside the waistband of my leggings... holy guacamole.

I’m getting all hot and bothered because I’m so angry with one man and so disappointed with the other. It serves me right for wanting to have my cake and eat it too. Being greedy means I’ve ended up with no one.

More than greedy, I’m a liar.

That is called karma.

All things considered, it’d be pretty ballsy of me to lay claim to Lancelot if I walked in and saw he had another woman. But it’s hardly the same because I’ve never actually met up with or even seen King Arthur, and I had no intention to, not until this week. Also, what happened with Lancelot was a big trigger in my decision. If he had not kissed and caressed me like that, in the rain, I would never have gathered enough courage to dare to accept a date from my mysterious crush.

It is one thing to confess to someone who doesn’t know you and who doesn’t judge you, to do so with a man who has made fun of you and knows who you are is quite another.

Tired of knocking and getting nowhere, I walk through the parking lot toward the corner, where my apartment is.

But when I get there I just stand still. Lancelot’s car is there and doesn’t seem to have moved for several days. How do I know? Because a layer of dust covers it. That would be nothing out of the ordinary if there wasn’t also some dirt on the windshield. I know how uncomfortable it is to drive like this and usually the first thing the driver does is clean the glass with the windshield wipers.

Something odd is going on here.

And now I’m worried it’s worse than I first thought.

I decide I’d better go and take a look inside his apartment, so I hurry back, just hoping I’m not about to make a complete idiot of myself and walk in on him naked or something. Shut up, perverse mind, this is a purely humanitarian operation, like the red cross going into a disaster zone.

“Knock, knock?” I call out as soon as I open the door. “Lancelot, are you here?”

Nothing, no noise at all.

The house is completely dark. Blindly I look for a light switch and when I turn it on, I find a terrible mess, as if a hurricane passed through here.

There are tissues scattered everywhere, empty Chinese food boxes and a few polystyrene cups left out, although I can still see that the house is nicely decorated in a retro glam style, with a navy velvet sectional sofa that looks pricey commanding the living room.

This isn’t a basic bachelor pad; the house looks as though it’s been decorated meticulously. With care, and money.

Perhaps it was decorated by her.

Of course it was!

In the kitchen I find similar chaos on the granite countertops. Worried, I go to the hall and from there to the bedroom.

I wish someone had prepared me for this.

---