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“Nothing, just a little self-doubt creeping in, nothing big. It must be that time of the month.”
“Wanna talk about it?” she offers.
“Nah, I’ll be fine. Just going to relax and do some self-care.” I tell her.
Quinn smiles and then stands. “If you want me to stay in and binge watch something, I will gladly do that with you.”
“Nah, I’m all good. But thank you.”
At the end of my night, I’m sitting in the darkness of my room with my laptop while I watch Netflix on one side of the screen and have his picture that I downloaded from his Facebook page on the other side.
A girl can dream, right?
MAXWELL
When I was given her file, I may have stared at her photo a dozen times. I looked through all of her social media, and I didn’t see anything that raised red flags anywhere even though the PI told me the same thing.
In fact, I scrolled through her Facebook page and nothing looked out of character. She posted funny memes, thought provoking articles and photos of her friends and herself. She was tagged in a few images that looked like they were from Las Vegas, but there was no indication that she would remember what happened that weekend from cryptic updates or what is known as ‘vaugebooking’.
After sitting on all the information for a week, I decided that it was time to set some out of town appointments to check in with clients and to take a road trip down south. I’m not sure how long this impromptu trip will be, and I’m going in with no plan what-so-ever.
She lives in a suburb of Los Angeles, on a residential street that had both trendy looking apartments and small homes. When I pull up to her apartment complex, I sit parked on the street looking up at the building. It isn’t much, it is a small complex, not completely updated, but at least it looks to be in a good neighborhood. There is a lot of activity in the neighborhood. There are people riding their bikes, there are small families walking toward the park at the end of the street and people outside their homes watering their yards.
I’m not exactly sure how long I sit in the car, but eventually when my thoughts began to get impatient with thinking of what I will say, I say ‘fuck it’ mentally and get out of my car.
I’ve memorized the address and her apartment number, as I walk straight to her door.
I stand there, unsure of what exactly I’m going to say. I’m unsure whether or not, she will remember me. And a part of me, a part that I’m not used to, is uncertain of what will happen after I meet her.
I raise my fist to knock on the door and straighten myself as I pull my hand back without connecting it to the surface of her door.
Why I’m so nervous. I’ve faced tougher situations in the conference rooms with the management team. I faced harder situations face to face with my father when we didn’t agree. I can talk my way into every conversation, but right now, I’m not sure that I can.
I breathe in and then release it.
But before I lose my nerve, I knock loudly on the door.
I hear someone shout something on the other end of the door and a second later, I hear the locks, then the door opens a crack. An attractive woman looks out through the crack, then opens the door all the way.
Her eyes widen and her jaw drops. No sound is coming out of her mouth, but I can tell that she is trying to say something.
“You’re, you’re… him?” She points at me.
“You know who I am?” I ask her shocked.
“You’re him.” She says in a gasp.
“Care to elaborate?”
“The guy from Vegas. You’re the mystery man.” she says loudly.
“Are you okay? Are you having a stroke?” I ask her.
“Mystery man is standing right in front of me, at the door and he’s gorgeous I can’t believe this. Pey, is going to flip her lid.”
“Standing right here, hello.” I wave.
“Well, shoot. You should come inside. You look exhausted.”
