IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(65)

I jogged toward the guest rooms, thinking that maybe he’d been using one of the extra bathrooms. But they were all empty and silent.

Conor was gone.

After circling the apartment twice, I found myself standing dazed by the bed. I pressed a hand against the sheets where I’d last seen him. There was still a trace of warmth which meant he hadn’t been gone long.

I didn’t understand. Why had he left? What had changed in the brief time I’d been in the bathroom. I reached for my phone, intending to call him to make sure he was okay. And that’s when I saw it. The texts on the screen.

There were three of them, one stacked on top of the other.

NotSam: You were right to suggest a break. I was looking for something you couldn’t give me. But I think I found what I want and need with someone else.





NotSam: I want you to know that you were exactly what I needed at the time. I’m glad I accidentally texted you and that you responded. You helped me through a difficult time in my life and I will always be grateful for that. Thank you for everything. But it is time I moved on.





NotSam: Good luck and I hope you find what you’re looking for in life.





Oh god. I sucked in a breath, but my lungs seemed incapable of processing oxygen. He’d seen. There was no other explanation. He’d texted Trace and my phone had vibrated and he’d seen his own texts appear on my screen.

I felt light-headed, my knees weak. I sank onto the side of the bed, numbness spreading through me as I read and reread the texts.

I think I’ve found what I want and need with someone else.

Me. He was talking about me. The words physically hurt, stabbing me in the chest.

He’d texted Trace to call things off.

And instead he’d learned the truth. That I’d lied to him from the very beginning.

Now he was gone, and I didn’t know how I was going to get him back. I reached for the pillow he’d slept on and pulled it to my face, burying my nose in it in search of his scent.

For once in my fucking life, I had no idea what to do. Did I go after him? Beg him? Chase him? What could I possibly say that would explain the situation in any terms other than ones that made me look like the bastard I was?

I couldn’t feel my fingers, my face. A dull roar thundered in my ears. Why was I surprised this was happening? What the hell had I expected?

I took a deep breath and called him. It went straight to voicemail. The sound of his familiar, relaxed voice cut straight through me.

Hi, you’ve reached Conor Newell…

I hung up and typed with shaky fingers.

Wells: Conor, please let me explain.





I cursed myself for typing practically the same thing I had before, when he still thought I was Trace, someone separate from Wells.

Wells: I tried to tell you. I tried to tell you so many times. It’s why I couldn’t sleep last night.





Wells: I’m so sorry, Conor. Please understand that I didn’t mean for this to happen. I thought… I thought it was some anonymous fun at first until I realized it was you… and even though I knew I should, I couldn’t stop. But then I got to know you in real life and…





I let out a stuttered breath.

Wells: and I started having feelings. Real feelings, Conor. Please talk to me.





I hit Send and stared at the small screen, willing it to light up with his response.

When it finally did, my numbness exploded into shards of acute pain.

NotSam: Don’t ever text me again. I’m blocking this number.





I read his message again and again. Until I couldn’t see the words anymore because they’d blurred together from the tears.

It was over.





25





Conor





Blocking his number may have not been the most mature thing to do, but it was the only way to ensure I wouldn’t fall prey to his bullshit words.

God only knew how I found my way to the airport and onto the plane. When the flight attendant asked me what I wanted to drink, I apparently told her my street address. The young woman in the seat next to mine moved away a little bit so our arms no longer touched. Wondering if heartbreak was contagious, I glanced at her before looking back up at the flight attendant and ordering sangria. In the end, she had mercy on me and handed me a bottle of water. Unfortunately, it did not come with a side of sleeping pills.

My head couldn’t stop spinning through all the possibilities. How the hell had Wells Grange been the anonymous man I’d texted? It wasn’t like I could blame him, of course, since I’d been the one to initiate the texting. But still… had he somehow bribed the bartender to flirt with me and then give me Wells’s own number? That seemed awfully convoluted. Had Wells been in the hotel bar that night and slipped me his number without me noticing? That sounded even more ridiculous.

And even if that were the case, what would have Wells hoped to accomplish? Some kind of elaborate scheme to get more power during the negotiations? If so, how? He’d ended up paying full price anyway. What did he get out of sexting with me behind the scenes? Bribery material for the future?

My stomach soured as I thought about the photos I’d sent him. Heat rushed to my cheeks in embarrassed shame. What had I been thinking? Sure my face wasn’t in any of them, so there was no way to identify the cock in the picture as mine, but still. If Wells had wanted blackmail material, he certainly had it in spades.