She’s not coming tonight. So what else is she fucking doing? The worst-case scenario flashes against the rock wall like a festive montage. Red: her hand sliding down another man’s bicep. Green: her panties sliding down her thighs. Venom shoots up my spine and explodes at the base of my skull. The thought of another man seeing her panties turns my blood acidic. My fingers grapple for the earbud in the right pocket of my jeans, then change course for the left pocket to snatch up my cell and check her Instagram profile for the millionth time today.
