Three Sweet Nothings (Blindfold Club 5)

As she dressed, I tried to pull my thoughts together and force my confusing feelings into words. I’d hung onto my anger for so long, it was hard to just let go.

Her towels were tossed into a laundry bin. She slipped her feet into her heels. Time was running out on me, and it drove me to my feet. “Ruby.”

The damp pink dress clung to her like it was painted on. Even though she wasn’t tall, she looked statuesque on her heels, framed by the large windows behind her. Like she was a work of art.

She waited expectantly, and maybe with a kernel of optimism, for me to say something, but I faltered. I didn’t usually have a problem with words. I could wing a closing argument if needed, as long as I had the bullet points I wanted to hit. Making the transitions between them was easy. But when it came to her, nothing was simple.

Her shoulders fell, and hope visibly drained out of her.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said, her tone containing a terrible sense of finality to it. “There wasn’t anyone else for me. It’s five years too late, but . . . I’m sorry I lied.” Her expression was devoid of any emotion. “Goodbye, Kyle.”

Her words paralyzed me. I stood stock still as she walked steadily to the door and went through it, never turning back to look at me once.

Chapter

TWELVE

RUBY

Grant’s apartment door swung open as I made my way down the hall, carrying Morgan’s dress in a garment bag in one hand, and a box in the other.

“Happy New Year,” he said. “Let’s hear it, then. Feel better after giving McAsshole a piece of your mind?”

Normally I enjoyed Grant’s South African accent, but now I grimaced. We had become friends my final year of law school, and although he’d never met Kyle, he’d heard all about him.

No. Better was definitely not the word I’d use after my evening with my ex. Trampled, maybe. Or gutted.

As soon as I stepped inside the apartment, I could tell things were different. I set the box down on the kitchen table. Didn’t there used to be a picture on the wall over this? Everywhere I looked, it seemed like something was missing. “What’s going on?”

Grant stroked a hand on the back of his neck. “Yeah, Morgan and I had a disagreement.”

I hung the garment bag in the closet. “About?”

“What’s all right to text to other people and what’s not.”

My movements slowed as I stared at my friend. All the traces of his girlfriend had been removed. There was hurt in his eyes, and I immediately went on the defensive. “What the fuck did she do?”

“Sometimes she’d text me pics where she’d be,” he made a face, “sans clothes.”

Surely his girlfriend sexting him wasn’t a problem. I gave him a skeptical look. “Naked pics, okay. What’s the issue?”

“I wasn’t the only guy she was sending them to.”

I sighed, and pretended I was speaking directly to his girlfriend. “Oh, Morgan.”

Sadly, this didn’t surprise me. Morgan was a pretty girl, but her beauty was her favorite thing about herself. Not only was she vain, she needed constant validation. Like, hourly updates on how good she looked.

She was a backup meteorologist for the weather on channel seven, and had met Grant when he’d stepped in as a line producer for the morning news. I’d gotten along with her well enough, but hanging out with Morgan was exhausting, and I thought Grant could do better.

He was a great guy. A few years younger than me, smart, and good looking. He’d also dated my sister for a nanosecond, so I’d never viewed him as a prospect. He was like a brother. He’d come to the States to get his college education, and wound up staying on a work visa. Last year, I’d helped him through the U.S. citizenship process.

Even though I didn’t like her, Grant had cared about Morgan, and I freaking hated to see him hurting. I’d have to stifle the urge to throat punch her if I ever saw her again in person.

“She swears she wasn’t cheating on me,” he said. “She told me hearing from other guys about how nice she looked made her feel better about herself.”

I paused. “Other guys? More than one?”

“Some of which we work with. Even if I was all right with her sending those kinds of pictures to other people, which I’m not . . . my coworkers? She didn’t consider how foolish it made me look. So, yeah, I’m done.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his kitchen table. “Just finished my New Year’s cleaning. If that’s a thing.”