“I have to take this call.”

Smiling, I stretch, and his eyes darken as the sheet falls, revealing my breasts. His lips curl.

“I’m so back here as fast as I can. Promise.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

I close my eyes. Sleep claims me, but when I wake, Josh is still nowhere to be seen.

There’s a digital alarm clock on his bedside cabinet. It reads a little after nine, and as much as I don’t want to, I need to get going.

My flight home to New Zealand is at some ridiculous hour of the morning tomorrow, and I need to work out if I can extend my trip at all or if I really do have to go home. The thought of the latter fills me with sadness. With another stretch, I roll out of bed.

His room is sparse. But I know he's a struggling actor trying to make it in a city full of them. I slip my shirt over my head, run my fingers through my hair, and make for the door.

The deep rumble of a man's voice comes from the living room, and I walk down the small hallway to see Josh. His back is to me, and his phone is to his ear. He’s still on the phone?

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll ditch the bitch and come to you.”

I freeze. Did I hear that right?

“She’s history.”

For a moment, I stand there, unable to move, unable to speak.

For weeks we’ve danced around, and I resisted him for so long because I knew I had to go home soon. But in the end I caved, and gave in to our mutual flirtation. We dated for two weeks before last night.

Last night—the best night of my life.

Now, in the cold light of day, I find myself mourning every kiss, every touch with his heartless words.

I open my mouth to speak.

“All I ever wanted to do was make you jealous.” He laughs.

My stomach hurts. It’s like I’ve been punched in the guts, and I want out. I thought I meant more to him. I thought we were the real thing.

I turn and go back to the bedroom, drag on my jeans, and stuff my phone and money card into my back pocket. Screw it. I’ll be on that flight tomorrow and out of here, complete with my broken heart.

I tiptoe back down the hall. Josh still sits with his back to me, his ear pressed against the phone. Taking one last look, I pick up my shoes, open the door and quietly sneak out.

It’s not until I’m half a block away that I let myself cry.

How could someone so sweet and genuine turn out to be such a monster?

How could I have been so wrong?