Page 51 of Passing the Red Line
As soon as I turn off the car, I’m getting out and heading to the front door. Thank God, Christian gave me the code to his house a few weeks ago because no way would I be able to break into the house again in my state of mind. No doubt the cops would be called this time if I do.
I’m going to dump all my stuff on the couch and go down to the beach and then after I’m all calm and relaxed I’m going to hop in the shower and sleep. There is a slight chance I will miss Christian when he gets home, but I’m okay with that.
I punch in the code and the second I push the door open, I let out a sigh of relief.
That relief is halted, though. Because the second I step into the house, I hear music. Slow, romance filled music. Definitely not the type of music that you would hear coming from this house. It makes me pause by the door.
Is Christian home?
He told me that his flight back from Chicago was going to land in San Francisco at eleven fifty. Did it arrive earlier? Or did he catch an earlier flight? He would have told me if he had landed, he promised he would before he left.
Unless he didn’t go to Chicago at all and planned a romantic night in. But if that was the case, wouldn’t he have told me? Maybe that’s why he kept telling me that I can spend the night here just in case he didn’t make it back tonight. But if he had something planned, he would have at least texted me to come by the house a lot earlier than now. If I had known, I wouldn’t have spent the last four hours at the stadium.
So many damn questions run through my head.
There’s a shuffling sound coming from the living room, so I put my stuff down and slowly tiptop past the entryway.
I’m almost at the junction between the entryway and the living room when I hear what sounds like a woman’s giggle come through above the music.
No.
No fucking way.
I have to be imagining things.
Someone must have broken into the house, because there is no way that Christian lied about going to Chicago all so that he could bring another woman here. Where he was saying things about relationships and the possibility of more less than twenty-four hours ago.
No way is what I’m hearing what I think it is.
The tears from earlier start to flow again and I just let them, not making any effort to wipe them away.
I take the last step to get to the living room and something in me breaks.
The house is dark, the only light coming from the clear sky outside, but I’m still able to see everything. On the couch, with his back to me is Christian, dark hair all over the place, shoulders pressed against the back of the couch and a woman on his lap, grinding on him while her hands roam his body.
I thought that a part of me had broken when I found out about Kalen and Layla, but that feeling doesn’t even start to compare to this one.
My eyes don’t leave the pair in front of me, and I can’t find it in me to say something to break them apart. I just continue to watch as they kiss and grind against each other as if the man wasn’t in me this morning.
He’s just like I thought he was. An egotistical asshole that only cares about himself and doesn’t give two shits about who he hurts.
And here I am breaking for him. Crying over him.
I hate Christian Rodriguez so damn much.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Christian
If I ever think abouttaking two four-hour flights within the span of eighteen hours, across several time zones and back, someone should take my hockey stick and hit me across the head with it.
My body doesn’t know whether to be tired or energized. My flight from Chicago arrived in San Francisco a little after eleven at night. After getting to my car and driving a whole hour home, it's after midnight and all I want to do is crash for a good two days.
I should have stayed at my place in Chicago and caught the first flight out tomorrow morning. At the very least I would have been able to get a few hours of sleep, but no, I had to book my return flight for the same day. Apparently, I like to torture myself.
Grabbing my backpack from where I threw it on the passenger seat, I get out of the car and start walking up the street toward the house.
When I pulled up to the house, I noticed that Eliana’s rental car was sitting on the driveway blocking the parking spot next to her.
