Page 13 of The Love Bandits

It’s not his.

I’m intrigued, but still no.

I tell myself she’ll come around. I have to believe it, because there’s no way I can bring myself to leave the cat behind.

I start rummaging through Jake’s drawers like a contestant on a shopping spree show, knowing the clock is ticking down.It’s okay, Lainey, you’ve got this.Then I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror attached to the dresser top, seeing my smeared lipstick and beer-soaked shirt. My fingers lift to my kiss-swollen lips.

I climbed onto his lap like a woman possessed.

Nope. Don’t got this.

This situation has gotten way out of control, from the way I climbed that jerk like a tree—my hormones lighting up like a string of Christmas lights, delighted to be plugged into the wall—to the glue trap attached to the poor, apparently female cat. I swipe at my lips as I open another drawer, swiping a hand along the sides and then the bottom. Nothing.

This is not good. It only takes a reasonable person a matter of seconds to put on a shirt, and sure, I haven’t been coming off as particularly reasonable, but he won’t want to leave an unreasonable woman alone with his things for long.

“Elaine, is everything okay?” Jake calls.

My pulse kicks up a notch, my breath coming in pants. I need more time. There’s a chance the necklace isn’t even in here—that he hid it somewhere in the living room—but my gut tells me he’d want to stow something valuable in the bedroom, where most visitors would never see it. Maybe I need to remove the drawers?

“Elaine?”

“Sorry,” I shout, my mind working fast. Then, cringing, I use the one excuse guaranteed to buy any woman a few minutes. “I just got my period, and it’s a real bloody mess. I’m so sorry, but I’ll be a few minutes.”

There’s an en suite bathroom, which makes it a reasonable excuse.

Quiet hangs on the other side of the door, and there’s a pause as I carefully remove the bottom right drawer, trying not tomake any noise. It’s a new dresser, thankfully, not like the old, creaky piece of furniture I have back at the cabin, and it slides out without much fuss. Then Jake calls out, “Do you want me to go ask one of the neighbors if they have any…” There’s a pause. “Tampons?”

I halt what I’m doing, taken aback by his offer. It’s not the kind of thing you’d expect a cheat and a thief to say, but then again, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s surprised me tonight. He’s not what I thought he’d be. Still, I’m here for a reason, and if accepting his offer buys me some time, I’m all for it. The only neighbor I know is the one who’s across the hall from him, and there’s no obvious reason why the joke guy would have tampons, but presumably Jake knows a few more people. If I get lucky, this could give me enough to search his whole room.

“That would be so sweet of you. Thank you so much.”

There’s another pause, and I can imagine him shifting on his feet just outside the door, maybe running a hand through his messy hair. My mind darts to his tattoo—did he come up with the design himself? It looks a lot like the drawing in his book.

Then I remember that I’m holding a drawer full of his pants because I’m looking for the necklace he stole from his ex-girlfriend. My resolve firms.

“Ask them if they have super tampons for a heavy flow,” I say sweetly as I gently lower the drawer to the thick carpet and feel the vacant area it left behind. Nothing.

I hear his footsteps walking away, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing.

My blood pounding harder in my veins, I return the pants drawer to its usual position and go for the one next to it, on the other side of the dresser. I pause when I notice the contents—sketchpads, like the one he hid in the other room. Colored pencils.

I’m tempted to look inside the books, but it would feel like a violation of his privacy—a thought that makes me laugh at myself as I slick the drawer out and set it on the floor.Allof this is a violation of privacy, and he deserves it. I have to remember that. Sure, he may have some artistic talent, and he may be man enough to discuss periods with his neighbors, but he’s also a player and a thief. He’s the kind of guy who inspired me to start the Love Fixers.

I slide my hand around at the bottom of the dresser again, on the left side this time, and find a strip of condoms. Frowning at it, I toss it back in, telling myself this is further proof that he’s been up to no good. I return the drawer to its position, stumped, then head into the connected bathroom, feeling around the floor for any loose tiles—none.

Where the hell would he have hidden it?

My mind circles back to those sketchbooks, and I return to that drawer, working quickly.

I open the first book and see more pencil sketches. My finger traces a picture of the same little boys from the book in the living room. Both of them look a bit like Jake.

What a strange combination of things he is—a therapist who draws and steals. What made him this way?

It doesn’t matter. You don’t need his fucking origin story. He’s an asshole. A liar.

My heart thumping, I open the second book, and this time my heart lodges in my throat because there’s a cut out in this one, with a little box nestled inside. I pull it out and click it open, and there it is—a gorgeous blue heart pendant set in swirls of white gold.

For some reason, I’m disappointed for half a second. Disappointed that Jake is exactly what I thought he was a couple of hours ago. But this helps me push him squarely into his bad guy box. In fact, his decision to hide the necklace in a hollowed-out book speaks of a level of deception that’s frankly unhinged. He may know how to charm, and I have to admit hedefinitelyknows how to kiss, but he’s not good news for anyone.

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