She Ain't the One by Mary B. Morrison

Author:Mary B. Morrison [Morrison, Mary B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General
ISBN: 9780758207234
Publisher: Dafina
Published: 2006-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

Ashlee

After Jay confessed about Tracy and his son, I couldn’t sleep. My stomach was in knots. I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, but I couldn’t. I lay in the bed, with my back to Jay; my eyes were wide open. I stared into complete darkness praying my relationship with Jay wasn’t over. Lifting the satin sheet, I eased from under Jay’s heavy arm, sat on the edge of the bed, and prayed he’d stay asleep. When Jay didn’t move, I quietly left his bedroom and stepped into the living room. Slowly twisting the knob, I pulled the bedroom door shut behind me, carefully releasing the handle.

Quietly I cried, wondering all sorts of things. Who was Tracy? What did she look like? Was she prettier than me? Younger? Older? Could Tracy fuck Jay better than I could? Could she make him happier than I could? Would Jay leave me for Tracy and Jason? How could I compete with Jason for Jay’s heart? For Jay’s time? I didn’t want to share Jay with anyone, especially a three-year-old. I wasn’t worried that Jason was Jay’s only son. What bothered me the most was, Tracy lived in D.C. and I lived in Dallas.

The outdoor lights beamed through the living room’s vertical blinds, casting a dim light, as if the room were lit by candles. Desperate to uncover the truth behind Jay’s confession, I searched for signs of another woman’s presence.

I should go back to bed. I’m the woman in his house. He gave me a key. What more do I want? What am I going to do if I find something? I should trust him until he gives me a reason not to.

I scanned his coffee table, end table, sofa, and chairs, on top, and underneath. I shoved my hands between the cushions, digging for earrings, panties, or whatever I could find. I found nickels, dimes, quarters, and lint. I stood in front of the entertainment center’s wide-screen television, glanced at the DVD and CD players, then peeped between his bookshelves. Nothing stood out. Sniffing the Persian rug, I had to know if a female’s scent lingered. The only hint of a familiar freshness was Febreze.

As I suspiciously opened the door to his guest bedroom, the first thing I noticed was his laptop computer on a rectangular desk by the window. The screen was black. I skated my finger along the mouse pad, and the screen brightened to a colorful display. Jay was logged on to the Internet. A closer look revealed that Jay’s e-mail account was fully accessible.

Leaning over the laptop, I couldn’t resist clicking on the drop-down button to check the latest Web sites he’d visited. My eyes froze. Ten or more URLs were for apartment complexes in Dallas. A few more were for jewelry stores; specifically, engagement rings.

Why must my foolish heart keep searching for something wrong with this man? I didn’t know why, but I turned on the light, then opened Jay’s desk drawers. All of his bills were current.

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