The Best Next Thing ((Un)Professionally Yours 1)
Page 121
The phone vibrated, and its screen lit up again.
Why the surprising texts? What had changed? He had been so fucking tempted to call her or text her these last few months. But he had told himself that doing so would be selfish and unfair.
Which was partly true. The other reason he hadn’t attempted to contact her was his healthy fear of being rebuffed. An alien sensation for him. He rarely doubted himself. He always knew exactly what to do in any given situation.
Until now. Until Charity.
He slowed his breathing. Struggling to calm down. Advising himself to wait a couple of minutes before checking the message, and then a further five before replying.
He lasted thirty seconds.
It was humiliating.
Tell her I’m starting my own practice. I’ll be open for business in two weeks.
Miles glared at the screen, irritated.
What the hell was this?
He looked over at his snoozing dog and called her name. She lifted her head, her eyes bleary, her wiry beard flat on one side, and her one ear flipped inside out.
She looked adorable.
Miles smiled and pretended to yawn, knowing it would set her off. It always did. He snapped a pic of her in mid-yawn and sent it to Charity.
She doesn’t care. She says not to interrupt her nap again.
This time he didn’t have to wait long for a response. It came five seconds later, Rude.
Looks like you’re stuck with me now.
He held his breath and watched as she began formulating her response.
…
…
…
Was she composing a fucking essay?
…
…
Looks like it.
Oh.
He stared at the screen. Obsessing over those three words like it was a code in need of decrypting.
Looks like it.
How was he supposed to respond to that? He felt like he was navigating a minefield and one wrong step could blow him right the hell off the planet.
Fuck it.
He clicked on her number, sucked in a deep breath, and hit the call button.