“What the…?”
My brain was seriously screwing with me. As I walked down 21st Street lost in thought about Dexter Truitt, the guilt I’d been feeling for thinking about him while I was kissing Jay the other night must have really started to get to me. I blinked my eyes into focus watching from a distance while a tall, dark, handsome man who looked an awful lot like Jay Reed was getting into the back of a fancy Town Car. From a block away, the man really looked like Jay, only he was wearing a three-piece suit and helping a greyhound jump into a car, rather than riding a bicycle. I laughed to myself how nutty my imagination could be sometimes and watched the dark car pull away from the curb as I made my way to Forever Grey.
Inside, Suzette greeted me. “Hey Bianca. Did I sleep through a day, or is today Monday?”
I laughed. I only ever went to the shelter on Sunday mornings. “Nope. It’s Monday, alright. I came yesterday, too.” I hesitated to continue what I was going to say at first, because what I was going to say might sound a little batshit crazy, but then I remembered if anyone would understand it was another dog person. “Yesterday, I walked a dog I’ve never walked before...and…well, I’ve been struggling with some things and taking him out made me feel a lot better.” I decided to leave off the part that I spent the better part of an hour telling the poor dog my problems.
Suzie smiled. “The best therapists have four legs and a tail, if you ask me. Which dog is it? I’ll get him for you.”
“His name is Bandit.”
Suzie looked surprised. “Bandit seems to be very popular lately. In fact, you just missed him. He was actually adopted by a volunteer.” She pointed to the door. “Walked out less than five minutes ago.”
Call it intuition, but my stomach dropped—a feeling of uneasiness crept over me, and I wasn’t sure why. “Who…who adopted him?”
Suzie looked around and then leaned in. “I’m not really supposed to give out adoption or volunteer information…but…Bandit hit the jackpot. He was adopted by a guy who lives on Central Park West. Some big-wig who owns his own company.”
“Was his name…Jay Reed, by any chance?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s not his name.”
Feeling relief, I let out a breath. “Okay. I just saw a guy on the street with a greyhound right before I came in. He reminded me of someone, and I thought maybe it was him.”
“Definitely not named Jay. But if Jay looks anything like Bandit’s new owner, he’s welcome to come volunteer.”
I laughed. “Good looking, huh?”
“Oh yeah.” Suzette gathered some papers into a file and closed it on top of the reception counter. “How about if I grab Marla for you? She hasn’t been out today, and you’ve walked her before, right?”
“Marla would be great. She’s really sweet.”
Suzette disappeared to the back where they kept the dogs, and I waited at the desk. After I checked my phone and found I still didn’t have any new texts from Jay, I tucked it back into my pocket and looked around. The folder that Suzette had swept papers into was labeled adoptions. I was curious by nature, but not usually such a snoop. Glancing around the room, I found no one paying attention, so I used my pointer finger to gently lift open the manila folder—just enough to sneak a peek.
I caught the home address on the second line: 1281 Central Park West. Suzette wasn’t kidding—Bandit was moving on up. Then my eyes lifted to the first line of the application. Blinking a few times, I was certain my brain was screwing with me again. There was no way it could be possible. It didn’t make any sense. Not giving a shit if I was caught at that point, I opened the folder and tore the first page from inside. Staring, I couldn’t believe what was written clear as day on line one.
Dexter Truitt.
My stomach was nauseous as I stood across the street in the park, waiting. I’d blown off the interview I was supposed to do this afternoon in favor of stalking like a crazy person.
Nothing made sense.
Over the last few hours, I’d connected the puzzle pieces and figured out what Dex-slash-Jay had done to me. I just didn’t understand why.
Was this a game rich assholes liked to play? Screw with the working-class woman and see if you can get her to fuck you as a poor man? That was the puzzle piece that didn’t fit. Because the other night Jay could have fucked me—I’d rubbed myself up against him, practically begged him for it. God I was so fucking pathetic. But if that was his game—why didn’t he take the prize I was so willing to give? I hated that the only thing I could think of was that he didn’t even want me physically. Basically, I was a mental game for him and not even my ass grinding up against his dick made him want me.
When the dark Town Car finally pulled up in front of his fancy ass building, I watched from across the street as he got out. It killed me that my heart sped up seeing him step from the car. Dexter Truitt-slash-Jay Reed was most certainly an asshole—but a gorgeous asshole at that. I almost jumped out from behind the tree I was watching from, but when Dex leaned in and helped Bandit from the car, I was too confused and mesmerized to approach.
What is he doing with the dog?
The two of them walked to a small grassy area for a minute. Dex petted the dog and said something to him after he relieved himself, then they headed to the front door of the building. Right before he stepped inside, Dex stopped abruptly, turned back, and looked around the street. Ducking back to safety behind the tree, my heart was beating out of my chest as I wondered if he could have felt me watching him.
Then, just like that, he was gone.
I stood there for almost another hour, feeling all kinds of emotions. I was angry that there was no Jay—that I’d thrown myself at a man I clearly didn’t know at all. I was angry that I fell for the shit Dexter Truitt had fed me—the man was no better than his father. And I was angry that, above everything else, I was sad that the man I’d started to fall for didn’t really exist.
Eventually, I decided against approaching Dex-slash-Jay and headed home to wallow in self-pity with a glass of cheap wine. I took a bath, and found myself thinking that the emotional turmoil that I was in was a lot like the stages of grief. In a screwed-up way, I had lost someone today—Jay, who never really existed.
Stage one had been shock. Even staring at the words, I couldn’t believe that Jay and Dex were the same person. I’d actually made poor Suzette confirm that the man who’d just left was indeed Dexter Truitt.
Stage two was denial. I’d seen it in black and white on paper, watched the man get into a damn Town Car right in front of my eyes and verified the accuracy of it all with Suzette, yet I needed to sit out in front of his apartment for more confirmation of what he’d done.
Stage three had hit right after I polished off my second glass of wine. And it smacked me in the face with a vengeance—anger. I was pissed. Which led me to make up my own stage of healing—step 3B, I decided to call it. It was my favorite, and I couldn’t wait to embrace it.
Revenge.