Free Intercepted by J Q Anderson Page A

know me. I don ’ t check
out other guys. There ’ s always been
just Marc.”
    I look up at her and her forehead is creased, but she ’ s biting her tongue. It doesn ’ t matter because I already know what she thinks.
She thinks this is good.
    “I bought a ticket to Los Angeles for tomorrow.
    “You what ?”
    I nod. “I need to see him, Dani. I need Marc to erase all this thoughts I
have about Jake.”
    “So you do like him. This is
what all this is about. Holy shit. Why didn ’ t you tell me before?”
    “ I don’ t know. It ’ s not even really Jake. It ’ s the fact that I allowed myself to be swayed by
someone that is not Marc.”
    “It is Jake, Natalia. He ’ s goddamn beautiful. ”
    I shake my head. “No. Jake and I would never work.”
    “Why?”
    “Because. It just wouldn ’ t.” I don’ t want to tell Dani what I know about Jake. She
wouldn ’ t tell anyone, but for some reason it feels
demeaning toward him.
    Dani sighs out loud and heads to the shower. “Lane will be happy to swift
shifts with you,” she says from inside the bathroom. “She needs Monday and
Tuesday off and Sarah told her to find someone herself. The schedule is
packed.”

 
    The rest of the day I am restless. I work out, pack my bag for tomorrow
and work my shift with Dani and Zack. Lane has agreed to switch shifts with me
and I can ’ t wait until tomorrow. I am
glad Jake has already left and that I didn ’ t run into him. The way he looked at me last
night as he said goodbye still burns in my chest. I need to ‘deJake ’ myself and Friday can ’ t come soon enough.

 
    It is a little after seven in the evening when I finally get off the
plane. I have only a carry-on so that saves me time. At the curb, I hail a taxi
and give the driver Marc ’ s address. I
shift in my seat with anticipation. I wonder what Marc is doing right now and
how he will react to my impromptu visit. I miss him. A weekend alone with Marc
is what I need.
    Twenty minutes later I pay the driver and shoulder my duffel bag. I have
never really liked Los Angeles. On the times I visited Marc I always got that
feeling of the morning after the party, cloudy minds foggy with ecstasy and
smog. Marc lives in Manhattan Beach, a trendy town that few can afford. I find
it a bit too crafted, but I love the beach, so I ’ m hoping it will grow on me.
    I look up at Marc ’ s home on The
Strand and smile. The evening is barely cool compared to Aspen, the air
deliciously saturated with the salty scent of the ocean and seaweed. My heart
kicks my chest and starts beating faster because the lights just went on
upstairs.
    Taking a long swig of evening air I stride up the short steps to the
front door.
    I ring the bell, bouncing on the tips of my toes. The lights go on in the
hallway. Most of the walls in Marc ’ s
multi-million dollar home are paneled with glass, offering an unobstructed view
of the ocean from pretty much every corner. The glass by the front door is
frosted for privacy so I can ’ t see him. I
smile when I hear footsteps padding closer.
    The door swings open and I ’ m
immediately confused. My smile vanishes and I frown.
    “May I help you?” A Barbie-like chick with lips that are way too plump to
be real is staring at me with an arched eyebrow. I open my mouth with a dozen
scenarios running through my head as to why this half-naked woman is opening
the door to my fiancée ’ s home.
    “ Well? ” She whines. Her lips make
me think of a butthole and I suddenly want to laugh out loud. Then my smile
fades as I take a closer look at her attire. Her legs are bare under the shirt
she ’ s wearing that goes down just below her hips.
    His shirt.
    I know it is his because I bought it for him at The Who concert last year
in L.A.
    My eyes slowly travel up as anger unfolds from within me. I clench my
teeth and meet her puzzled expression with a deadly glare. If my eyes were
machine guns they ’ d be firing crystals into her.
    “Where ’ s