Genevieve didn’t like watching the sun set on this particular day. Her heart still ached from the mortification she had received from Anna Norman.
“Preston’s sister?” she mumbled as she watched the grey clouds, highlighted by the soft, pale red glow of the evening sun, move slowly through the sky, “why the f**k didn’t he say anything about her all this while?”
Genevieve felt really stupid, and it pissed her off for a lot of reasons. She wasn't mad at Preston anyway, what caused her to hurry all the way there? She sighed, she cared about him, more than she should. She hated the fact that that was the answer to her question, but she couldn’t lie to herself. Her phone rang again, it was Preston and for the twenty-nineth time, she didn’t pick up. She had been keeping count since Clara Brait
