“YOU’RE GOING TO call him, right?”
“What? Who?” I ask, my thoughts both all over the place and nowhere at all as I restock cups behind the counter.
“Who else? Henry! Duh,” Ruth mutters. Leaning her hip against the edge of the back sink, she watches me, her arms folded across her chest.
“Oh. Right.”
I shake my head, having not really thought too much about it. We’ve had our hands full over the last hour and a half. Now that things are starting to calm down, I realize that I almost forgot about the business card that I slipped into my back pocket.
“You’ve got to call him,” she insists.
I go about my task, ignoring her comment as her second question runs on a loop in my head.
Who else?
My mind fills with memories of Leo. How I felt the first time I laid eyes on him; the way he could render me speechless just by looking at me. I remember what it felt like to hold his hand—and the way he was capable of making me feel so small but so safe at the same time.
I know that it’s not fair to compare anyone to him. His beauty, his power, his strength—it’s too much for someone else to live up to. But I can’t help it. It’s too fresh. All of it. What we had might have been temporary, but the residue of our weekend together still clings to me in such a way that I don’t know that I’m ready to entertain the thought of someone else.
“Jill!” Ruth cries, snapping her fingers in front of my face.
I jump, not having realized that she had moved from her previous spot, let alone that she was trying to get my attention. Laughing, she props her fists on her hips and says, “He totally asked you out. You have to say yes.”
“Maybe,” I tell her, offering up a noncommittal shrug. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“You’re kidding!” she gasps, throwing her hands up in the air. “He was hot without a beard, so—I mean, come on. Imagine his potential.”
Laughing, I walk around her, on my way to the back to grab another bag of espresso beans and to check on dad in the office. Before I step through the swinging door, she calls out, “The rules are simple, Jill! A hot guy gives you his number, you call.”
I stop dead in my tracks, her words answering a question I’ve been asking myself for days now. I can go back and forth about what is and what isn’t, what was and what will never be between Leo and me forever. However, until I talk to him, until I indulge the part of me that is hell bent on missing him, I’ll always regret ignoring the door he left open when he walked away from me—the door he opened when he gave me a tiny piece of him that I never asked for.
I squeak my surprise when the door I just walked through returns to smack me in the ass. Then I giggle, feeling both relieved and determined. Continuing on my journey to the coffee shelves, I make up my mind, confident that I won’t regret it.
IT’S LATE WHEN I jog up the steps leading to my flat. With Ashley’s tour coming up, he’s all over the place—making appearances, meeting for interviews, wrapping up last minute shit with his label, his endorsements, and the like—all in preparation for the five months that we’ll be traveling the globe, taking his music to his fans all over the world. I certainly won’t complain about his schedule, or the crazy fuckers that call themselves paparazzi—all over his ass these days—but it’s been a long day, and I’m glad to be home.
I unlock the sliding metal door that leads to my studio, pulling it open and flipping on the light before stepping inside. I don’t have much, but I’m hardly home, so it doesn’t matter. Besides, since I moved to the east coast, I’ve kept things pretty simple. I like it that way. Clutter reminds me of Seattle, and I don’t miss that one bit.
I lock up behind me, dropping my keys on the kitchen counter just to the right of the door. I head straight for the fridge, pulling it open to reach in for a bottle of cold water. Even with the sun long gone, it’s hot in the city tonight.
I’m getting ready to take a swig when my phone starts ringing inside of my pocket. Abandoning my water, I dig it out, wondering who’s trying to get a hold of me at this hour. After a quick glance at the screen, I know right away that whoever is calling is not saved to my contacts. I also recognize the area code as one belonging to a Seattle number.
My grip tightens around the device, my jaw locking up in anger as I listen to it ring. I think about letting it go right through to voicemail, but it hasn’t been so long that I’ve forgotten what will happen if I ignore him. I don’t know how he got this number, but there’s only one way to get rid of him.
“Speak,” I mutter instead of hello.
I’m met with silence, and my irritation sky rockets.
There’s not much that can push me to the point where I lose control of the reigns that bind my anger. But this shit—this shit, right here, is why I moved across the country in the first place.
“My time is not yours to waste. Do whatever the fuck you want with yours—you always have—but leave me the hell out of it,” I clip before I end the call, tossing my phone beside the sink.
I lift my water back to my lips, guzzling down half the bottle before my ringtone sounds again. I toss the bottle into the empty basin and grab my phone, not even bothering to check to see who’s calling before I bark, “What the fuck do you want?”
“Oh. Um…”
My anger dissipates in an instant, my whole body responding to the sound of her voice. “Jill?” I mutter, my tone suddenly calm and collected. I don’t give her a chance to answer before I pull the device away from my ear, checking the screen for her name.
“Fuck,” I breathe, lifting the phone once more before I ask her, “Are you okay?”
“Me? Um—ye-yeah,” she stammers, her voice trembling.
“I didn’t mean to yell at you. I didn’t think it was—I’m sorry.”
“Who did you—?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I interrupt. Turning my back to the sink, I lean against it, propping the heel of my hand against the counter’s edge as I ask, “You’re sure you’re all right? It’s late.”
“Shit. I wasn’t thinking, I just—”
“It’s fine, Jill,” I assure her, putting an end to her anxious chatter.
She pauses for a minute, and I wait for her to fill the silence. It’s not long before she murmurs, “Um, so, are you all right?”
I sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of my nose as I reply, “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Okay.”
Again, I wait for her to say more. When she doesn’t, I ask, “Jill—why did you call?”
She giggles nervously, and the sound goes straight to my dick. I look down at my crotch, all too aware that I’ve been craving the very woman whose voice now fills my ear. It’s been days since she was in my bed, yet it feels like much longer. I’d like to blame late nights like this one for the reason I haven’t sought out someone else’s company to rid myself of the need to fuck—but it’s not that. I know it, and my dick knows it, too.
“A friend gave me some advice today,” she starts to say, pulling me from my thoughts. “She said, when a hot guy gives you his number, you call. So…”
A smirk tugs at my mouth, and I shake my head. Less than five minutes ago, I was about ready to put my fist through a wall, and here she’s got me smiling.
“I know it’s late. I probably shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry, I just—”
“Baby, already said it was fine. I got a minute.”
“’Kay,” she whispers.
I glance at the clock that hangs on my wall, pushing myself away from the counter as I start to make my way to the couch. I plop down onto the black leather, bending over to unlace my boots as I ask, “What are you doing?”
“Laying in bed. Talking to you.”
“You naked?”
“No,” she replies with a laugh. After a pause, she murmurs, “Would be if you were here.”
“You bet your ass,” I agree, tugging off my shoes.
“What about you? What are you doing?”
“Just got home,” I answer simply.
“Do you live on the upper east side, too?”
“Brooklyn,” I reply, leaning back and resting my head on the top of the couch.
“Do you like it there?”
“It’s all right. I’d rather be here than Manhattan. To each his own.”
I close my eyes, not thinking about why this conversation is a bad idea, or why it’s a mistake to let her in at all. Rather, I surrender to the gift of perfect timing. Had she not called, I’d be taking my anger out on my punching bag, wearing myself ragged in an attempt to calm myself down enough to get a couple hours of sleep. But the fact of the matter is that she did call—and the sound of her voice is like a dose of peace. I don’t fight it, whatever it is that she does to me. I just let her talk me to sleep, instead.