Two missed calls and a Where r u? text from Austin. Great.

The person I was thinking of was Kael.

It was bad enough that he was the last person I thought of before I fell asleep. Did he have to be the first person I thought of when I woke up? I could picture him sitting there on the bed next to me. I could almost feel the impression his body made on this small bed. And I could see his face as he walked out the door, leaving me behind.

I had to do something about this situation.

I had to keep away from this guy.

Where did he get off thinking that I would be there for him whenever he felt like showing up? Who did he think he was with this on-again, off-again bullshit? This guy was playing me with his “So you missed me when I didn’t come back?” attitude.

Last night he had opened up, let down his guard, and let me inside. He talked. He listened. He laughed. And the way he started to roll up his jeans . . . we were getting so close, and then he turned back into the stranger Elodie’s husband happened to know.

I never wanted to see him again.

I needed to see him.

I didn’t want to know where he went last night.

I needed to know.

I should never have let him stay over that night Elodie brought him home. I should never have brought him to my dad’s for dinner. And I sure as hell should never have brought him to last night’s party.

I didn’t like my anger and regret. How dare he make me feel this way.

Lesson learned. Remind yourself about that, Karina, as you go about your day.

Shit! My day!

I had to work. I did a quick phone check for the time. It was eight thirty and I had to be at work at ten. It didn’t matter that I felt like hell. No way could I get my shift covered on such short notice. Anyway, I needed the hours to pay that last cable bill, so I was going to have to suck it up. I was used to that. At least I didn’t have anyone scheduled until after lunch. I’d be the one taking walk-ins. That wouldn’t be so bad, though, because most clients didn’t talk much at all during their first treatment. That was something, at least. I usually dreaded walk-ins, but today I preferred that to seeing anyone I knew.

Rolling out of bed was the hard part. The first hard part, that is—more belly flop than roll. I shimmied into my pants, then my T-shirt, and I pulled one of my vintage hair scrunchies off my dresser and stuck my hair in a ponytail, replaying the events of last night.