The first time had been the night she got the brilliant idea to ride to Anticue to spy on Gavin and Sunny. She’d gotten more than she bargained for—albeit what she deserved—and had been forced to face the cold, hard truth: Gavin wasn’t, nor would he ever be, hers. The hour-long drive home would’ve been horrendous if not for Jason’s reassuring grip on her hand. Or Jen and Tiffany’s nonstop verbal assault, trying to keep her distracted so the image of Sunny on her knees in front of Gavin didn’t burn a hole in her head. This time the piercing ache in her chest was similar, but there wasn’t anyone holding her hand for comfort and the incessant talking filling the air wasn’t directed at her. The man who normally used his words sparingly had managed to spend almost an hour on his cell phone, and the conversation didn’t show any signs of letting up. It was so out of character she’d considered snatching the phone from his hand to check if he really was talking to someone or if he was just pretending to be in conversation so he didn’t have to talk to her.
