Chapter Five
Layla
Adam is running late for our date. I look back at my phone, trying desperately not to worry. Maybe something bad happened. He would have called, right? What if he couldn’t call though? Oh, my God, I can’t stop freaking out!
I start to pace the living room when my doorbell rings. I rush to the door and frown as soon as I see Chase.
“Hey Layla. Is Juliet up in her room?”
I nod and step aside so he can enter the house. He smiles at me. “You look nice. Date night?”
“Something like that. Did you see Adam out there?”
He raises a brow. “Like out on the street or parked in the driveway?” I must look crazy cause he takes a step back and says, “Nope.” He goes towards the stairs and hitches a thumb in that direction. “I’m going to go hang out with Juliet now.”
“Okay.”
It doesn’t take him long to bolt up the steps. I glance down at my phone again. Thirty minutes late. Adam is officially thirty freaking minutes late. I’m starting to panic and become upset.
I hope he’s not in an accident somewhere. Then again, I hope he is because then I can’t be mad at him for being this late. Because if he’s not physically unable to call me and tell me why the hell he’s late then I have every reason in the world to be so mad at him.
The doorbell rings again. I open the door to Adam. Instead of flashing the smile I had intended to give him, I’m ticked off. “Where were you?”
“I had to do something. It took me longer to take care of than I thought it would. But I’m here now. Why are you mad?”
“You’re late.”
“By a couple of minutes. Don’t stress out. Are you ready?”
I glare at him. “Yeah. Whatever.”
“Jesus, Layla. Don’t be all pissy with me.”
Right? Cause I should be happy he’s here. Well, I’m not. He basically said he could have called but chose not to. Any other time that damn phone of his is attached to his hand. He has no problem texting everyone and their mother about stupid, pointless shit twenty-four seven. Yet one phone call to tell me he’s running late and the boy all of a sudden doesn’t know how to operate a phone.
I slam myself into the front passenger seat of his car and strap in.
“Damn it, Layla. I’m sorry, okay? Jesus. Next time I’ll be twenty minutes early.”
I shift in my seat. “It’s not about being early or on time. It’s about respecting me enough to at least tell me you’re running late. I was worried. I thought something horrible happened to you. But it’s like lately … ” I start to sniffle, “it’s like lately I don’t even matter anymore. And I don’t want to be that girlfriend. I don’t. It’s hard though, because you used to be this responsive guy. You used to hold my hand and do sweet things for me. You used to tell me you couldn’t take me home but then found me a ride. You used to show me you gave a damn about me.”
“And I still do. I just got distracted. I’m sorry.”
I nod, still pissed.
At our table, I’m growing more and more frustrated with him. He hasn’t set his phone down once. Not one freaking time. He texted someone while he ordered his drink and his food.
This is supposed to be a date. He supposedly cares about me but he’s proving just the opposite. He drops his phone into his lap and smiles at me. “What?”
“Who are you talking to?”
“Just the guys. Why?”
“We’re on a date. Why can’t you talk to them after you drop me off?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“It is.”
“All right. No cell phone. I’m going to the bathroom.” He fiddles with the buttons on his phone and sets it down on the table. I grab a breadstick from the basket, and his phone vibrates.
That’s it! I’m about to give someone a piece of my mind. I pick up his phone and open the text.
Diane: Baby. I miss u. Come over 2nite. I’ll b waiting 4 U just like this.
The phone buzzes in my hand again, and there on the screen is a naked girl with a mask on her face. What the hell?
I scroll through the messages, and my heart shatters. What in the hell? There are lots of sex messages between them and pictures. Lots of naked pics with masks and downright dirty poses.
I blink a few times hoping the images will change or delete themselves. They don’t. The phone trembles in my hand. My boyfriend of almost a year is cheating on me. How could … I need more proof. That seems absurd, I know, but I need to know how long this has been going on. And if there are one thing movies have taught me about this crap, don’t jump into conclusions. Heck for all I know she could be some loser stalker who is really into him and he doesn’t have the heart to shut it down. Maybe it’s a joke---like a really stupid joke one of his idiot friends is playing on him and he’s trying to catch them red handed. Whatever it is I need this girl to tell me how long this crap has been going on, but I won’t do it using his phone.
I pull out my cell and save her number. I put his phone back in the same spot and swipe away the stray tears from my eyes. As soon as Adam returns I say, “I don’t feel so good. Can we go home?”
“Um … yeah. I hope you’re not coming down with a bug or something, and I catch it. We’ve got our game against Maysville this week.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Jackwad. I hope I don’t catch anything from your newfound thot!
We get our food to go, and he pays for the meal and then drives me home. I don’t kiss him goodnight. Hell, I don’t even say I love you. I just walk up to my room and begin texting the girl named Diane.
I sniffle a lot so my microphone only catches bits and pieces of what I’m saying. I take a chance and start using my thumbs to type out my warning.
Me: You should know Adam is a two-timing jerk and you should probably stop sending him naked pics of yourself.
The mysterious Diane doesn’t respond right away. So, I set my phone aside and lie on my bed until I hear the soft buzzing sound.