Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

She leans closer. “One more thing. Tricia can be a stick in the mud. So, if you have any of those Not Safe For Work things …” Her eyes widen. “I had a video my friend Jenn sent of this guy who could bend over and give himself a blow job. Let’s just say Tricia didn’t find that as interesting as I did.”

I laugh. “I kind of want to see that video and kind of don’t.”

“Email me your phone number, and I’ll text it to you.” She winks. “Okay. Get settled at your desk. I have a few things I have to wrap up that won’t affect you, and then I’ll be back to grab you for an afternoon experience of the supply closet.”

“Sounds kinky.”

Her laughter follows her down the hall.

My desk sits in a little office off the exam rooms. Since I’m new, I’ll spend less time with the dentists and more time doing paperwork, which is fine by me.

The walls are a bright yellow, amplifying the morning sunlight streaming in the windows. A giant toothbrush sits across the front of the desk with a smiley face and a silly grin that reminds me of Peck.

I grab my purse from the chair by the door. My phone is lying on top of my wallet, and I take it out and hit the home key.

My stomach falls to my feet.

One missed call. From Machlan.

It was over an hour ago, and there’s no voicemail. When the screen falls asleep, I wake it up to see his name again.

My thumb rests on the screen as if it’ll bring me closer to him. That’s where I want to be. With him. But as my heart softens to the idea of calling him back, the start of a pimple on my cheek takes the opportunity to burn. It reminds me of crying all day yesterday. Of going to bed without washing my face. Of waking up with pizza sauce in the corner of my mouth and doughnut icing on my shirt.

As much as I want to hear his voice, what I really want is resolution. What I need is to be able to wake up in the morning and start the day without wondering if he’ll call.

The chair squeaks as I sit down. My purse hits the floor. I rest my forearms on my desk and open the phone.

I find Machlan’s name and let my fingers fly.

Hey, Mach. I saw you called. Look, I’m sorry about everything this weekend. I hate that all that went down, and you got punched. I take responsibility for that. I shouldn’t have been there.

I hope you’re good. I hope you’re always good. I apologize for trying to give you everything of me before asking if you wanted it. I shouldn’t have assumed or hoped or whatever it was. I’ve tried to hold your hand so many times, and you keep letting go. I get it now.

I’ll be in town to visit Cross and maybe even Nana from time to time, and I hope if we see each other, we can wave and be friendly. I don’t hate you. I’ve loved you too long to ever hate you.

Take care of yourself. Stop chewing if you can. And don’t leave that plug-in turned on if you don’t refill the scented oil because it’ll burn your house to the ground and that worries the shit out of me.

Please don’t text me back. Don’t call. Everything is fine between us. I just can’t.

Xo

I snap my phone shut and put it back in my bag.

* * *

Machlan

I am not going to look and see if she called me back.

The grilled cheese grew cold twenty minutes ago, but I take a bite anyway. It’s not melty anymore.

“She’s probably at work,” I tell myself, sliding the sandwich in the trash.

I rinse the plate. In the dishwasher, it goes.

She actually left. I gave her some space before heading to the apartment last night, and when I found it empty, a piece of me died.

My fingers strum against the counter as I look at the doorway leading into the hallway which leads into the bedroom where my phone sits.

Hands in my hair, I pace a circle around the multicolored rug that looks like a kid made it with pieces of rolled-up fabric. Kallie called it a Jelly Roll rug when she was here with Cross. I’ve spent more time today studying the different colors than any adult should ever spend.

I haven’t slept, and that isn’t helping anything. There’s more coffee in my system than blood. I feel like one of those little dogs that runs laps through your house, sliding around corners and slipping into doors because they can’t even slow down to a walk.

It took all day yesterday to concentrate on what Cross had to say. It wasn’t until nightfall that I accepted he wouldn’t say anything just to make me feel better. That he must have meant what he said. At least to some degree.