Page 73 of The Tryst List
Fuck this. I won’t go down this rabbit hole again. I will not let my emotions rule my mind.
Tuning into my body, I realize I’m starving. I don’t bother putting on clothes and pad out to the kitchen to fix myself a light breakfast—a bowl of Greek yogurt topped with a sprinkle of granola and a drizzle of honey. The thought of coffee roils my stomach, so I pour a glass of orange juice instead.
It’s too bad every bite seems tasteless. Maybe my mind is too preoccupied with thoughts of Peter to enjoy my food.
God, I can admit it. I’m worried. I’m also frustrated. His behavior over the past couple of weeks makes it hard not to wonder if he’s slipped. Ever since dinner with my parents, it seems like he's keeping things from me again. Did he get bad news from London? Is it something with his family? This mysterious act isn’t cool. I don’t like getting iced out. Too many of our problems stem from his reluctance to confide in me.
It makes me feel like he doesn’t trust me. I'm not going to put up with it.
I decide to send him a text, a simple, “Good morning, everything okay?”
No response, which only heightens my anxiety.
Aborting the mission on breakfast, I focus on getting ready for the day. Peter’s walk-in shower is gorgeous, but he’s so water conscious I usually follow his lead and keep them short and sweet. Unsupervised, I relish my time and let the warm water cascade over me for easily twenty minutes. My little act of rebellion helps alleviate some of the tension.
Feeling better, I step out and reach for my towel and see I’ve missed a call from Peter. Relief washes over me, followed swiftly by a resurgence of my earlier annoyance. Wrapped in a towel with water dripping from my hair, I’m about to call him back but a sharp, unexpected chime spooks the shit out of me—someone’s at the front door.
Thinking Peter locked himself out, I hurry to the door without getting dressed. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I slowly turn the handle.
His colleague Rose is the last person I expect to see. She stands there wringing her hands as she rolls off a litany of apologies. Alarm bells instantly permeate my brain. Her demeanor is fraught with tension—I’m partly legit worried about her and partly mortified at being essentially naked in front of one of Peter’s employees.
“Jordan, I need to talk to Peter about yesterday. I might have said some inappropriate things… I wasn’t in the right frame of mind,” Rose avoids looking at me, adding to my discomfort.
My heart skates a few laps around a hockey rink as I try to maintain a calm exterior. “What do you mean?”
She hesitates, flicks her eyes around the room, at anything but me. “I…um…I may have gotten a bit too personal with him about Project SoHo. I’ve been so invested in it, and I think I let my emotions cloud my judgment.”
Vague much? Her unspoken implications are petrifying.
“Personal how, exactly?” I try hard not to betray the mounting sense of dread inside me.
“I’ve grown close to Peter, all of us on Project SoHo have. I guess I let my familiarity spill over into our conversation yesterday.” Rose’s usually chipper voice is laced with an ambiguous regret. “I feel so stupid.”
Peter and Rose were together yesterday.
An icy chill runs down my spine, causing me to inadvertently shiver. Oh, I know her words could mean anything—but it’s hard not to jump to conclusions.
“What happened?” I throw a fishing line out.
Rose turns beet red. “I might have crossed a line and I want to clear the air. Make sure we’re still good professionally.”
What the actual fuck? Rose hit on Peter? How she’s speaking makes me want to rip her hair out. She knows I’m his girlfriend…why would she tell me this?
As for my boyfriend, is this why he didn’t come to dinner? Is this why he’s avoiding me this morning?
“Peter’s not at home. I’ll let him know you stopped by.” I mask the urge to claw Rose’s eyes out. What good will it do?
Rose finally meets my gaze. “Thanks, Jordan. I appreciate it. Sorry to interrupt your shower…and for any confusion.”
Relief floods me the second I close the door behind her.
Jesus. So fucking strange.
I’m engulfed in uncertainty. Months ago, Peter brought Rose to the restaurant opening. He said she was a colleague who dated women, but did Rose develop feelings for Peter? My gut tells me no.
My gut sometimes doesn't do its job.
God, I hate moping around Peter’s condo with a nagging suspicion and a heavy heart.