Page 17 of (Un)Expected

“Too fucking early,” I mumbled.

I got two days off a week. Well, at least I did in theory. Most of the time, I still ended up getting called in to fix someone else’s mistake. However, today, I was determined to take the entire day for myself. I wished I could have said that it was to do something productive, but in truth, my plan was to wallow in my self-hatred for letting my stupid fucking brain ruin the end of my date, and that would take a pint of ice cream and a binge of my comfort show.

After I slept in for the first time in months.

Apparently, though, my phone didn’t get that message. The damn thing continued to ring, determined to interrupt my sleep.

“What the fuck?” I hissed under my breath. Ihatedwhoever was calling right now. Barring any life-threatening injuries, there was no good reason to bother anyone at this hour. With my luck, it was Diane on the other end, prepared to berate me for some obnoxious reason.

After a few more seconds, the phone finally stopped ringing, and the silence was almost blissful. But as soon as my eyes drifted closed again, text messages started pouring in. I swore, each incoming text sounded angrier than the last. Refusing to climb out of my covers, I stretched, feeling around my end table with my fingertips.

By the time I found my phone, the texts had stopped, and it was ringing again. Pulling it under the covers with me, I cracked open one eye, seeing Calla’s name blowing up my screen. With an annoyed huff, I slid the bar over to answer her call.

“Are you dying?” I grumbled.

“No, but?—”

Click.

Maybe it was rude, but no one has ever accused me of being a morning person. All my friends knew I had a no-talking before coffee policy, which they abided by because they valued their lives.EspeciallyCalla.

The thought made me sit up, chewing my lip at the way I answered her call. Rummaging through my comforter, I grabbed myphone, dialing her back as I ambled down the stairs to the kitchen. As it rang, a familiar jingle came from the other side of my door.

Calla burst through the side entrance, barely more put together than me. Her vibrant red hair was tossed in a bun on top of her head, and she was wearing her old college shirt, the one Callaneverleft the house in. Hell, she still had her slippers on.

“Who died?” I asked, trying to brace myself for what was coming next.

“What?” Calla said, shaking her head. “Why would you even ask that?”

I glanced at the clock with a pointed stare. “Cal, it’s barely even light out, and you don’t have one of your signature bribe lattes. Not to mention…” I arched my brow at her choice of footwear. “So either someone is dead, or they are about to be.”

“Hold that thought,” Calla sighed, settling on one of my barstools at the counter. “Remind me again. How did your date go last night?” Starting the coffee pot, I furrowed my brow, knowing damn well I gave her a rundown of everything that happened last night. “I know, I know. Humor me, please.”

“It was good. Well, it was great. At least it was, until Adam kissed me, and there was not a single spark.” I rubbed my hand over my face, still embarrassed at the turn the evening had taken. “Seriously, it was almost criminally bad.”

“And you guys talked, right?” Calla asked, studying my face with an intensity that made my hackles raise. “Youbothagreed to just be friends?”

I stared at her, noting how her lower lip was tucked between her teeth—classic Calla nervous tick. Placing my hands on the counter, I sighed. “I am going to need you to tell me what is going on. Right now.”

Reluctantly, Calla stopped toying with the phone in her hand and slid it across the counter to me. “Remember, don’t shoot the messenger.”

I frowned as I grabbed it, trying to read the words, even though my eyes were still clouded from sleep. “What the fuck is this?”

Calla motioned to the device. “Keep reading.”

As I scrolled, my eyes suddenly snagged on a picture of two people cuddled up together on a beach—twoveryfamiliar people.

Huh? That was weird. The woman’s dress and hairstyle were so similar to my outfit last night, and next to her was a man who lookeda lotlike Adam. As I kept staring at the image, my pulse started to race. I scrolled through the photos, my heart rate spiking with each one.

Nope.

Not happening.

This entire morning was some fucked up dream. This is what I got for daring to sleep in.

Even when I got to the last one, where the couple appeared to be kissing passionately on the beach, I still refused to believe what I saw, didn’t let a single one of the images or words sink through my deep cloak of denial.

At least until I read the title of the article.

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