“Yeah, but—”
“No buts.” She raises an eyebrow. “I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself. Do you respect that?”
He looks at her for a moment before his face splits into a grin. “Yeah, I respect that.”
“Good.” She returns the smile. “Because I’d hate to deprive you of a good night kiss.”
The smile fades from his face. “I’d hate that too. Am I still in the running?”
She nods. “I think you are.”
“Well, good.”
He gazes at her with those vivid eyes and she shivers, even under her hoodie. He leans in, she tilts her face toward him, and it turns out six inches taller than her is the perfect height for kissing. His lips linger less than an inch away from hers for a fraction of a second and she’s the one who bridges the gap, pressing her lips against his. His breath is warm and her entire body melts against him as they engage in a good night kiss she never wants to end.
Maybe she should invite him over after all.
But no. There will be plenty of time for that. No need to rush.
When they finally part, Cassie notices she’s breathing hard. And Joel seems equally breathless. It takes her a moment to remember where she is and why she’s here.
“Could I…” She can hear Joel swallow. “Walk you to the subway?”
He’s itching to get her into a cab, but she’s not going to give in. She stood her ground, and she meant what she said. She takes this exact subway home every night. It will be fine.
Joel walks her to the subway station. One block away from the station, he reaches out and takes her hand in his. Her heart leaps when he does that. It’s been so long since she’s held hands with a man. Too long. And far longer since she’s held hands with a man she really liked.
She wonders if the last person whose hand he held was Francesca.
He kisses her one final time before she sinks into the subway station. The kiss is not at all tarnished by the scent of urine that seems to cling to every subway station in the city. It takes all her willpower to send him on his way.
While her body jolts with each bump on the subway ride downtown to her apartment, Cassie replays the kiss in her head. She closes her eyes and relives it over and over. Every time, she gets that leap of excitement in her chest. She can’t wait to see him again. He promised he’d call tomorrow, and she’s certain he will keep that promise. Maybe Joel really will be her Heathcliff. Her Marv.
Cassie has ridden this subway hundreds of times, but it’s usually several hours earlier than this. She hates to admit that it isn’t as crowded as she thought it would be. As she’d like it to be. She glances around the subway car at the other occupants. A homeless man in a ratty coat sprawled across four seats in a restless sleep. Three teenage boys at the far end, talking smack about some girl. And at the other end, an attractive woman in her thirties with long, dark hair.
There’s nothing specifically threatening in this car, but Cassie hugs her purse to her chest, willing the train to move faster. It occurs to her now that she left the rose Joel bought her on the seat in the sushi bar. Well, it’s too late to get it now.
The boys stand up as the train grinds to a halt. They get out at the door next to Cassie, and one of them leers at her just before they get off the train. “Wanna join us, baby?” he asks.
“No, thanks.” Cassie rolls her eyes. The boys are harmless—she can tell that much. But there’s still something in the train car making her uneasy.
She glances at the woman at the far end of the train. The woman is staring listlessly out the far window. It should comfort her to see another woman on the train, but it doesn’t.
When the train finally comes to Cassie’s stop, she leaps out of her seat. She hops off the train, minding the substantial gap between the car and the platform. The tight feeling in her chest loosens up as she gets off the train, until she notices the platform is even more desolate than the train was. She strides purposefully down the platform toward the stairs.
As the train dashes off to its next stop, she can’t help but notice the car she’d been in is now entirely empty.
It is a two-block walk from the train station to Cassie’s home. Usually it’s a quick walk, but at this moment, those two blocks seem endless. She shivers under her Yankees hoodie, wrapping her arms across her chest. Why didn’t she let Joel get her a taxi? Stupid pride.
She starts to walk down the block, past the animal shelter, past the drug store, past the bank. Everything is closed now. And when she’s halfway down the block, she notices something.
With every one of her own steps, she hears a second set of footsteps.
There’s someone behind her.
Well, why shouldn’t there be someone behind her? After all, it’s Friday night—it’s reasonable there should be other people on the street.
Except there’s something in Cassie’s gut telling her whoever is behind her isn’t an innocent partygoer. It’s a dark feeling in the pit of her stomach. There’s someone following her.
When her Grandma Bea was alive, she used to sometimes read aloud stories in the newspaper about disappearances. Girl went out on a jog and never returned. Cassie strained her memory, trying to think of one story of a missing girl her age that ended well. She couldn’t.
The stories never scared Cassie. She was too smart to let anything happen to her. What sort of idiot goes jogging at five in the morning anyway? That’s just asking for trouble.
Why didn’t she let Joel get that taxi?
Stupid, stupid…
There was a policeman at the subway station. Maybe she could run back there and try to find him. But then he might insist on escorting her up to her apartment. And she can’t risk a cop getting a look at what’s in her apartment. That would potentially be… bad. Very bad.
Cassie starts walking more rapidly. It isn’t until she crosses the street that she’s outright sprinting. One more block to her apartment building. One more block. She reaches into her purse for her keys as she walks, wanting them ready but also anticipating they could be used as a weapon if need be.
By the time she reaches the front door of her building, she’s panting. She yanks her key out of her purse, but her hand is shaking too badly to fit the key in the lock. She’s certain she’s about to feel a hand cover her mouth, but she inserts the key on the second try and the door to her building swings open. She slides inside and slams it closed behind her.
It’s only after she hears the lock click back into place that she dares to turn around. She peers through the window by the door, trying to see whose footsteps had followed her all the way home.
There’s no one there.
Chapter 9: The Ex
I stood outside her apartment for an hour.
It was close to an hour, at least. I wasn’t keeping track. None of it was planned. I didn’t plan to follow her home. But then when her steps quickened and it became clear she was afraid, it energized me. I wanted her to be afraid. I wanted her to know there are consequences to dating Joel Broder.
I wouldn’t have really harmed her. For starters, I had no weapons aside from the nearly empty bottle of mace in my purse. (I haven’t used it on anyone, but I give it a practice spritz every time I go out late at night by myself.) And also, that’s not me. I am not a person who attacks a young woman on a deserted street.
But yes, I enjoyed giving her a scare. Joel broke my heart—what can I say?
In the light of day though, I was embarrassed by my behavior. I immediately deleted the WhereAmI app from my phone. Nothing good will come of tracking my ex-boyfriend’s whereabouts on my phone. That’s the last thing I should be doing.
Not that it’s any big revelation. “Stalking your ex-boyfriend is bad” ranks alongside with “the sky is blue” and “don’t put metal in the microwave.”
Now it’s a week later, and with Joel a little more out of my system than he was a week earlier, I’m doing my version of window shopping. Technically, window shoppin
g involves looking into windows and admiring stuff you can’t afford. But that’s not much fun. My version involves trying on outfits I can’t afford and spritzing myself with perfume I can’t afford.
For the most part, it’s fun. But sometimes I see a top or dress I really love that fits me perfectly, and it’s impossible to keep from buying it. It’s too easy to plunk down my credit card, knowing I can deal with the bill at another time in the future.
This black cocktail dress is definitely a battle of wills. I tried it on and it was so sexy—the plunging neckline nearly made me gasp when I got a look at it. If I wore this dress and “accidentally” ran into Joel, it might make him forget all about that girl he was kissing with the olive skin. Of course, now that I deleted WhereAmI, I can’t engineer such a meetup anymore. And anyway, I’m forgetting about Joel. He’s distant history.
I look up from the dress and see a familiar face at the other end of the store. Lydia Lansing. One of my closest friends.
Who also happens to be the wife of Joel’s best friend Pete.
Lydia is one of those women who you can’t decide if she looks beautiful or intimidating. Really, it depends on her facial expression. When she’s having a good time and her white-blond hair is falling in soft waves around her delicate features, she’s gorgeous. But in a courtroom, with that same hair is pulled back into a severe bun, her blue eyes staring daggers into the witness she’s cross-examining, I’d imagine she’s terrifying.
Lydia and I used to talk or text nearly every day, but I’m struggling to remember the last time we exchanged words. To be fair, I wasn’t fun to be around right after Joel dumped me. We did have a few late nights together with a tub of ice cream. Or something stronger.
She’s examining dresses from a rack. In addition to her attorney’s salary, her husband Pete is an ER doctor like Joel, so she could afford to buy clothing from this store, rather than trying it on and looking at it longingly for several minutes before replacing it in the rack. For a moment, I hesitate, wondering if I should say hello. But then I realize I’m being silly. This is Lydia—one of my closest friends.
“Lydia,” I say. “Hi.”
She looks up. Blinks. “Oh…”
Immediately, I wish I hadn’t said anything. I wish I had quietly slinked out of the store while I had the chance.
“Are… are you busy?” I ask. Of course she’s not busy. She’s looking at freaking dresses.
“No.” But her smile is tight. “How have you been? You look… good.”
Oh no. Now I remember the last time Lydia and I got together. We went out to a bar, I had a few too many drinks, and I cried, and then threw up in the ladies room. She had to get me home in an Uber. No wonder she’s looking at me like I’m a mental patient.
“I’m well,” I say, forcing a confident smile. I don’t have to tell Lydia she looks good because she knows she looks good, in her expensive dress with that white-blond hair swept up in a loose French twist. I’ve seen Lydia put her hair into one of those twists in five seconds—I tried to do it once and it was harder than solving a Rubik’s Cube. “And how are you?”
“Very well.” Lydia always talks so formally, like she’s at a royal dinner party. She even calls her husband “Peter” while everyone else says “Pete.” I used to find it charming, but now it’s grating on me. “That dress would look wonderful on you.”
I look down at the black cocktail dress I’m still clutching in my right hand. I should have put it back—it’s far too expensive. Lydia must know that. Or maybe she doesn’t. I’ve always tried to hide my financial situation from her. It was easy when Joel and I were a couple and he always footed the bill when we went out with her and Pete. But the last time Lydia and I went out to dinner, she suggested a swanky French restaurant, and I had to invent a reason to veto it. My French restaurant days are over.
“Maybe,” I lie. “But it’s just a little too…” Horrendously expensive.
“Short?”
“Yes,” I say gratefully. “Too short.”
She nods, because “too short” is something Lydia can understand.
“So,” I say, “have you seen Joel recently?”
Why did I say that? I hadn’t intended to ask about Joel. It was the furthest thing from my mind. It just… popped out. And now Lydia is giving me a strange look.
“Yes,” she says. “I have.”
“Oh.” I shrug like I couldn’t possibly care less. “I hope he’s doing well.”
“Yes,” she murmurs. “He is.”
Change the subject. Change it quick.
“I should tell you,” she says, “he’s been dating. Other women. One in particular.”
“Well, so what?” I force a smile. It feels odd on my lips. “So have I.”
Lydia gives me a skeptical look. Rightfully so, since I absolutely have not been dating. I haven’t been on one single date since the night Joel moved out.
“I have,” I insist. “There’s one guy who I’ve had… well, our fifth date is coming up. He’s great.” Lydia is still giving me that look so I keep babbling on. “His name is Charles. He’s in sales, so he’s on the road a lot.”
Have I said enough to sound convincing? I can’t tell. And I don’t know why I’m so desperate for Lydia to think I’ve got a boyfriend when I most definitely do not.
“Do you want to grab some coffee?” I ask. My voice sounds unnaturally high, and I clear my throat. “If you have time…”
“Um…” Lydia looks down at her watch, then glances around the store. “Listen… the thing is…”
Oh my God, is Lydia breaking up with me too?
“Pete and Joel are so close, you know?” She shakes her head. “It’s just that… it’s awkward if you and I are… I mean, I don’t feel comfortable talking about things that Pete told me in confidence.”
“Of course,” I say quickly. “We don’t have to talk about Joel.” I add, “I don’t even want to. Honestly. I’ve moved on. Completely.”
Her eyes are full of pity, which is worse than anything. Everyone looks at me that way now. Even my own grandmother. “I just don’t think coffee is a good idea,” she says.
She is breaking up with me.
Lydia just broke up with me. I hadn’t realized how many of my friends were connected to Joel until he broke up with me and I lost all of them. I know Joel and Pete are super-close, but I thought Lydia and I were close too. Apparently not.
“But I heard you got a new apartment.” Lydia’s face brightens. “Something in the village?”
Oh Lord, the lie I told Joel is starting to spread. “Well, maybe. I haven’t decided yet.”
I’m moving in with my grandmother in Brooklyn.
“If you have a housewarming party,” she says, “I’d love to come. Please invite me. And I can meet… Charles, was it?”
She’s throwing me a bone. If I had any dignity at all, I’d tell her only my real friends would be invited to the housewarming to meet my imaginary boyfriend. But since I don’t even have an apartment to warm, the point is moot.
“I will,” I promise, around a lump in my throat.
And all the while, I keep thinking about this new girl that Joel is dating. The young one with the olive skin and long, dark hair.
Chapter 10: The New Girl
As Cassie steps out of the subway station, her phone pings with a text message. She digs it out of her purse and smiles when she sees Joel’s name on the screen.
Do you have any interest in a bag of fun-sized chocolates? A patient gave it to me and I CAN’T STOP EATING THEM.
Cassie giggles. They were talking when they went out last night about how fun it is when October rolls around and those miniature chocolate bars are everywhere, but it takes roughly one week to get sick of them—well before Halloween arrives. Joel told her he felt sad that he never gets trick or treaters in his building, so she invited him to come over on Halloween night. She said they could take turns giving out candy to kids. And after it was over…
&n
bsp; Well, that was a question mark. They would see what happens after. He’s been to her apartment once in the weeks they’ve been dating, but never spent the night. But she wouldn’t mind if he did. The more time she spends with him, the more time she wants to spend with him.
Joel Broder is the real deal. She knows it’s early in their relationship, but there’s something between them she’s never felt before.
What kind of chocolate? she writes back as she treks the two blocks from the subway station to Bookland.
Twix. Milky Way. Nothing with peanuts.
Okay, bring it over.
Cassie is in the middle of typing her response when she practically trips over a woman pushing a baby carriage. She stumbles and nearly falls, but catches herself at the last second. The woman with the baby carriage flashes her a dirty look, but the most notable thing is the cackling coming from her right.
Maureen the Homeless Lady is laughing at her.
She’s got a huge smile on her nearly toothless mouth as she throws her head back and laughs heartily, even though the laugh dissolves into a cough halfway through. The cardboard she’s sitting on trembles with each cough. “You better watch your step, girlie!” Maureen cackles as she brushes filthy gray strands from her face.
She doesn’t dignify Maureen’s heckling with a response. She quickly walks up to the door of the bookstore, unwilling to be late. Not that there will be customers lining up at the door, but it’s a pride thing. She’s never opened up the store late before, and she doesn’t want to start just because she stayed out too late with Joel last night and had a few too many drinks.
Except when Cassie gets to the door of her shop, she freezes in shock.
There’s blood all over the door. All over the door and all over the glass windows. The entire entrance to her store is soaked in dried crimson.
She takes a step back, her entire body shaking. Who would do something like that? And why? It’s not like she has any enemies.
The Ex Page 6
