When I return to the living room, he’s sitting up with my phone in his hand.
My brows jerk together. “What the hell are you doing?”
He glances at me before staring at the cell. “She hasn’t blocked your ass, so I’ll call from your phone.”
“What? No way.”
Jesus Christ…this guy. He just won’t give up. The girl is going to take out a restraining order if he doesn’t knock this shit off. And I wouldn’t blame her for it.
Tossing the bottles on the chair, I dive across the coffee table and swipe the slim device from his hand. There’s a small tussle as Brooke’s sleepy voice comes over the line.
“Hello?”
Fuck.
“Hello?” There’s a pause as her husky voice grows more alert. “Who is this?”
I swing away before stabbing the disconnect button and falling onto the couch next to him.
“What the hell, dude?” He’s one stupid motherfucker.
Andrew gives me sad, puppy dog eyes in response. That might work with the chicks on campus, but not me. “I just wanted to hear the sound of her voice.” His head lolls back against the top of the cushion as his eyelids fall closed. “She has the softest pussy I’ve ever fucked.” There’s a pause. “I miss it.”
A painful knot twists in the pit of my belly. The last thing I want to dwell on is the two of them having sex. Or all the nights she crashed at our place. The grunting and noises that would emanate from across the hall. I’d lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to think about what they were doing. Anytime Brooke was around, I’d belt back a few drinks and text a random girl to come over, hoping it would be enough to take the edge off.
Did it ever work?
Nope.
I was all too aware of what was going on. Hell, it was impossible not to think about. Impossible not to admit how much I wanted to be the one fucking her and then falling asleep with her curled up next to me.
“I’m going to bed,” I grumble, pushing away from the couch.
As soon as I rise to my feet, Andrew slumps over. A snore escapes from him before his head even hits the cushion.
So fucking annoying.
Just as I step over the threshold into my bedroom, a message pops up on the screen.
Did you call me?
I stare at the question and contemplate my choices. Ignore it or…
Sorry. Wrong number.
There. That should take care of it.
Are there really any wrong numbers?
A slight smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I shake my head. Brooke sure as shit wouldn’t feel that way if she knew who she was texting with.
That’s quite a philosophical question for three in the morning, don’t you think?
Instead of answering, she responds with…
Is this what now constitutes philosophical discussions? If so, that’s really sad.
That’s all it takes for the tentative smile hovering around the corners of my lips to turn into a full-blown grin. It never crosses my mind not to respond.
The world as we know it is in serious trouble.
A second wind hits me as I sink to the mattress and stare at the phone, eager for another text to pop up.
Agreed.
There are three laughing emojis tacked on before the dreaded question is asked.
What’s your name? Do I know you?
I shove a hand through my hair and consider setting the phone on my nightstand and ignoring the questions. There’s no way I can tell Brooke the truth. All it will do is give her more ammunition to hate me with. Plus, she’ll know her ex was once again attempting to get ahold of her.
Before I can think better of it, my fingers fly across the miniature keyboard.
Don’t know. Who are you?
Part of me wonders if she’ll bother to be honest. As far as she’s concerned, this was nothing more than a random call, and we don’t know each other.
Brooke. I’m a senior at Western.
Well, hell. That was unexpected. But still, there’s no point in admitting the truth. The girl would flip her lid. And she hates me enough as it is. I don’t need to add kerosene to that particular fire.
That’s a coincidence. So am I.
I evade the main question, hoping she won’t notice.
But you didn’t tell me your name.
Fuck.
What to do…
What to do…
I glance around the room until my gaze falls on an official university letter lying half-opened on the nightstand.
It’s addressed to Crosby C. Rhodes.
Crosby Christopher Rhodes.
Chris.
Air gets wedged in my throat as I hit the green send arrow. There’s a lengthy hesitation before three little bubbles appear on the screen.
Hmmm. I don’t know anyone named Chris.
I give her a tiny nugget of truth, so I don’t feel like such a damn liar. Then again, what does it really matter? We’ll text for a couple of minutes before this convo loses steam and we say our goodbyes. In the morning, this exchange will be forgotten and we’ll both move on with our lives.