Page 133 of Lost Track

Kara.

She slid out of bed and closed her bedroom door behind her.

The bathroom door opened and a sleepy Kara jumped when she saw Sabine scowling at her in the hallway.

“Did you let Dave in last night?” Sabine whispered.

Kara smirked and patted Sabine on the shoulder.

That was it.

No explanation.

Kara went to her room and closed the door.

Okay.

Sabine went back to her own bedroom and crossed her arms over her chest, watching the award-winning lyricist sleep in the sheets she had bought as a gift to herself for her birthday.

He didn’t move, clearly undisturbed.

Her phone beeped its warning that she needed to shower and get going.

Even if he woke up right now, she didn’t have time to ask the questions she had, let alone wait for the answers.

Shaking her head in frustration, she hurried to her closet and grabbed her clothes, shoes, and bag. She left him to sleep and closed the bedroom door behind her.

While she ate her breakfast, she scrolled through social media and entertainment headlines, looking for any kind of hint why he would have showed up at her place. Because that had to be it, right? He had to be feeling attacked or alone or something to make him come to her.

Right…?

Or…

Or maybe he missed her as much as she missed him?

No. No, that was silly.

CHAPTERNINETEEN

I THINK HE KNOWS

SABINE

Her first student that week was a fifteen-year-old social media influencer whose life had exploded in both good and bad ways. Her parents had agreed to letting her convert to home study after her school had failed to protect her from stalkers showing up on school grounds.

Sabine knew the basics of her students’ personal lives but she didn’t think it was pertinent to know too much. More information could be distracting. And Sabine didn’t want there to be any obstacles to her teaching. It was easier to think of them as students, not “influencers.”

She was their teacher. Her job was very simple in that respect.

She didn’t get involved in their lives outside of their lessons and she didn’t share personal information about herself.

So it was quite jarring when Sally sat down at the table and slid her tablet across the table to Sabine—on the screen was a picture of Sabine in the dress she’d worn to the NMAs.

She frowned at the screen, blinked a few times, licked her lips.

“That’s you,” Sally said after Sabine had not responded for enough time that it was weird.

“Yep,” Sabine replied. What was she going to do? Deny it?

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