Page 33 of Shade

“Why’d Shade want cupcakes?”

Mila shrugs one shoulder and picks fluffy crumbs of red spongy cake off her shirt. “I don’t know. When I got up there, he was sitting in the corner of the room completely alone listening to Mumford & Son’s and looked like he was crying.”

I gasp and then choke on the spongy cake in my mouth. Crying? Alone?

My stomach tightens. Did she saycrying? You heard that too, right? “Crying? What? He needs me!” I’m ready to run upstairs, dropkick his security and burst through the door singing Katy Perry’s “Roar” to him.

I knew I should have closed the door to the elevator and locked us in there. Was he crying because of his phone? What the hell was on those messages that made him cry?

“He doesn’t even know you,” Mila reminds me, crushing my dream of bursting through his door tonight and letting him cry on my shoulder. Or boobs. Or between my legs. Whatever he feels necessary. “You wouldn’t get past the elevator security.” Of course she had to remind me of that one, too. Damn it. “And besides, Ineedyou.” She hands me a wad of money. “Here’s my half of the rent.”

I take the money and shove it down my shirt into my bra. Though I don’t think it’s necessary she pay me for rent since she’s only sleeping on my couch, I have like three dollars in my bank account. Totally need this.

“Damn it, I wonder why he was crying? Who in the world would make a man as pretty as him cry, and why can’t he love me?” I plead. “Why can’t my life be like that Jennifer Lopez movie where the guy falls in love with the maid?”

“Probably for the same reasons the best sex of my entire life came from a firefighter I’m too chickenshit to find.”

She has a valid point, but still, it doesn’t make me feel any better about him being alone in his room crying. My heart goes out to him. I don’t like seeing anyone upset, but if it’s Shade Sawyer, I really don’t want to see him upset. He’s too pretty to cry.

I CAN’T SLEEP.

Ordinarily, I don’t even go to bed until 2:00 a.m. or later sometimes, and then I’m back up again for work a few hours later. I’ve certainly mastered the art of navigating through life with only about four or five hours of sleep.

I like to think it’s actually a skill I have.

It’s New Year’s Day and sadly my night was spent in Mila’s office eating a dozen cupcakes and me half attempting her to become a lesbian with me.

Sad.

Pathetic.

Not only do Ineverwant to eat another cupcake in my life, but I'm also strangely determined to find out why Shade was crying.

Is that why I can’t sleep?

Most likely.

Do you see that girl on the bed? Take a look around her bedroom. It’s a shithole, isn’t it? Yeah, well, you try to afford rent in Seattle on a maid’s salary. Nearly impossible.

Anyway, do you see any pictures of family around her room?

You don’t, do you?

I’ll get to that later. Look at me closely. Do you see me there twirling a strand of my curly hair around my finger and my cell phone screen lighting up the side of my face?

This girl, she’s restless. I think I’ve been that way most of my life. You’ve heard that saying, “She’s a restless soul with a wandering mind,” yes? Or maybe I just made that up. I’m not sure, but it’s me. Completely. Only this time I’m thinking of Shade and wondering what it takes to make a man like him cry? I’m heartbroken for him and I don’t even know what happened to him.

So I do what any woman would do. I stalk him on social media. I check his Instagram profile first. The last post was from six days ago from when he was in California.

shadesawyer913#motophoto The hills of Palmdale. Born and raised on these trails, I’ll always love riding in my backyard.

And then it’s a photo of him soaring through the air doing what looks to be a backflip on the bike.

Impressive. Beautiful and sexy. My stare moves over his body, arched to perfection, the blue sky contrasting nicely against his red, yellow, blue and neon-green helmet.

Though his Instagram feed is filled with photos of him on his bike, his brothers, and a lifestyle most only dream of as he travels around the world doing what he loves, it gives me no indication of his mood or what’s going on in his life. You wouldn’t think looking at him in these photos—full of life and smiles—he would be the same man I saw nearly at the breaking point in the elevator.

The last photo of him in Palmdale was dated December twenty-six. Six days ago.

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