Hunt

This was supposed to be my week. My one and only week with Ryan. But that thought wouldn’t stop echoing in my head. I couldn’t sleep not because the bed was cold, or because of the usual nightmares (which I should be having, since they probably realized I’m not there).

No. This was different.

It was that redheaded bitch.

I kept imagining her twirling her fingers across his soft abs—the same abs I haven’t even touched or basking in his gorgeousness like she owned it. I clenched the sheet tight in my fist.

They were both outside, thankfully, because I’d made it very clear I wasn’t comfortable having her around. But of course, that didn’t give Ryan any clue. Like I’ve said before—Ryan doesn’t give a damn about whether I pick him or not. I must’ve lost his respect the day I didn’t choose him.

But I can’t lose Ryan.

Not to her.

I got up, dressed, and told myself I’d wait for morning. It was only day two. I still had time.

The bed shifted beneath me as the first soft ray of sunlight