Chapter Sixteen

Luke doesn’t call or text me all weekend, although he does send a box of dark chocolate. Chocolate is usually a good sign, but there’s no note about a second date. And no Italian verse. So it could very well be an awkward “I rethought everything, thanks, bye!” gift. I can’t imagine that many guys being happy after the way our first date went.

Damn Gerald to hell.

Luke showed remarkable restraint by not breaking my phone, because I totally would have if I’d been him. Or maybe the text he got on Saturday informed him he has some terminal illness, and he wants to avoid burdening me with it. Life’s too short for a love that’s doomed from the very beginning.

Yeah, right. I snort at how ridiculous I’m being. This isn’t Me Before You, which I watched with Michelle on Sunday.

Besides, if Luke were really terminally ill, he wouldn’t have been able to keep up with me on Friday. And because I’m a perverse bitch, I’m disappointed he doesn’t join me on Monday as I do a medium-intensity run. Shouldn’t he be back in town by now? What could be taking so long? Now I wish I’d gone all NSA on him in the car.

Or maybe the call was really a kind of Bailey. Jan and I developed an app we named Bailey, generally used to cut shitty dates short. A “friend” calls and has some sort of emergency, necessitating an immediate ejection from the date. Although our app isn’t available in stores, it’s possible Luke has something similar. It’s not like the concept is super revolutionary.

Anyway, if Luke and I are over even before we started, I’m sending him the money for half the bill at the Japanese restaurant. No matter how I try to shove aside my annoyance, the way things seem unsettled between us still bothers me, like a loose filling that won’t come out. I make a mental note to contact him after work on Thursday if I don’t hear from him sooner, even though I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to say…yet. It’s frustrating how indecisive he makes me. Men just don’t take up this much of my mental energy. It isn’t that he sucks it all up like a big black hole. It’s more like a continual low hum of energy sapping, with an occasional spike here and there. I can’t seem to find the switch to turn it off.

And, of course, Luke stays radio silent until Thursday. Since I’m not quite sure what I want to say to him, I don’t contact him, even though I told myself I would.

After a quick dinner consisting of leftover Chinese food, I settle on my bed and type up my quarterly career goals for the meeting with Tim during the first week of March. I prefer we don’t have everything written out—more flexible that way, since my mind always wanders over to new and shiny skills—but HR likes paper trails. They’re like an inefficient government agency that believes nothing counts unless it exists in explicit binary bits.

Although I enjoy my job as an app developer, I do want to learn more about systems architecture. I make a note of that under future goals and areas of interest.

That task finished, I save the doc and lean back against my pillows. My gaze lands on the nearly empty box of chocolate, and my thoughts turn to Luke. It’s been long enough that he should have contacted me to let me know what he’s doing and make arrangements for our next date. I told myself I’d initiate contact if he didn’t, but I wonder if that’s the smart thing to do. And it annoys me he makes me second-guess myself. I’ve never done that with any other guy. Not even David.

The easiest thing would be to wait until Friday evening for Luke to call or text me. If he doesn’t, I should get the hint and move our relationship into the “over” category. Based on the way he pursued me, I don’t think it’s likely for him to go silent like this unless he’s no longer interested.

The whole drama with Gerald probably turned Luke off. If the situation were reversed, I’d run the other way, too. And even though I thought the kiss last Friday was hot as hell, maybe he didn’t think it was worth putting up with my ex’s psychotic attempt to get me back. (Death is seriously too good for Gerald.)

After all, I’m apparently salt—thank you, besties. I don’t know if table salt reacts with anything. The sexiest thing I can associate it with is curing meat, except…that’s totally not sexy.

Do I want to “cure” Luke? The idea is so ridiculous that I can’t believe I’m even entertaining the thought. I should Google and see if there’s some other, sexier chemical compound I can be. Having Michelle and Jan label me is a mistake. What do they know about chemistry?

I pull up Google and type “volatile and sexy compounds.” Just as I’m about to hit enter, my phone buzzes, and I glance at it. It’s a text.

–Luke: You in bed, raven girl?

Well, well, well. My mouth twitches, and I end up grinning, all my irritation forgotten. I start typing.

–Sammi: Yes. But wide awake, working from home. You?

–Luke: Been busy.

–Sammi: Are you back in town?

–Luke: I wish. Won’t be back until later.

–Sammi: When?

–Luke: Don’t know yet.

I wait for him to elaborate, but realize he’s not going to after a couple of minutes. How busy can a freelance nomad be? I recall the way he cut our date short so suddenly, and a vague sense of unease starts to grow in my belly. I try to be open-minded. I really do. But I’d be lying if I said I was okay with him not telling me what he’s been up to while away for almost a week. Most guys would be blabbering by now, trying to explain why it was unavoidable. He doesn’t even make the effort.

Well then. I can prod—subtly.

–Sammi: I thought you had research to do. You finished with that at Sweet Darlings?

–Luke: No, but this was an emergency.

I wait, but that’s it. Argh. I so want to go CIA on him, but we only had one date. Why can’t he be a Facebook addict who puts everything on social media?

Because you would’ve never dated him then, my mind points out. You hate men who talk too much on Facebook.

Yeah, okay. But getting info out of them wouldn’t have been like trying to mine gold on Mars.

My phone rings with a call from Luke. Ah-ha! Maybe the explanation is too long for text. “Tired of typing already?” I tease.

“No,” he says, his tone warm. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

And just like that, he slays me. Maybe I’m too easy. I don’t care; I just miss hearing his voice, too. It’s the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard…makes me think of clean sweat and rumpled sheets.

“Did you like the chocolate?” he asks.

“I did, but I would’ve enjoyed a memo more.”

“They were supposed to deliver a note from me too.”

I relax against the pillows. “It wasn’t in the box.”

“Bastards.” He sighs with exasperation. “They just don’t deliver like they used to.”

I grin. Somehow I can picture him mildly annoyed, a small frown pinching his eyebrows together, as though I’ve known him for a long time. “I don’t think they’ll refund you for it, though.”

“Probably not.”

“And for the interests of full disclosure, I’ve been working with David this week.”

“I thought you don’t do marketing.” He sounds a little irritated. If I didn’t know better, I’d label it jealousy.

“I don’t,” I say, studying my fingers. “I’m working on the specs for some features his team wants.”

“Isn’t he too high-level to work on something like this?”

“Probably, but…” I shrug even though Luke can’t see me. I’m probably being petty, but I don’t want to add that they’re David’s baby and that’s why he’s involved personally, if Luke’s not going to elaborate on what he’s been doing.

“I don’t like it.”

Too bad. I don’t like it that he’s out of town for a week without an explanation either, but I’m dealing with it. He can deal too. “Jealous?”

“Of course. It’s unfair he gets to see you more than me.”

“Then come back. Problem solved. Besides, you know I’m not doing anything with David. I meant what I said at the restaurant.”

“I know.”

As the silence stretches, I feel a bit bad. He called because he wanted to hear my voice, and I’m being a brat…even though I have a good reason. I guess this is why Luke asked for trust on our first date, but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with the no-explanation part.

Wait… Is this a test to see how far my trust goes? No. That’s sort of stupid, because it’s the kind of stunt that can kill a relationship. And Luke’s not stupid.

My gaze lands on my laptop, and because I apparently lost my filter, my mouth blurts out, “Hey, do you think I’m salt or water?”

“What?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Salt,” he says. “Nobody would ever call you bland.”

True enough. But since I’m feeling contrary… “But water sustains life.”

“So does salt.”

“If I’m salt, what are you?”

“What do you want me to be?”

“I don’t know. The problem is, salt has no interesting chemical reaction to anything.”

He snorts. “Whoever told you that didn’t know their chemistry. If you add salt to fire, the flame turns orange. And if you dump molten salt into water, it creates an explosion.”

My jaw drops. “No—way.”

“Look it up, raven girl.”

“Salt doesn’t melt.”

He chuckles. “Everything has a melting point. Salt’s just happens to be very high…and it requires delicate handling.”

I run my tongue along my lower lip. “Think you can melt salt?”

“Oh, I know I can.”

His soft purr makes my clit tingle. I clench my thighs and consider phone sex for about a second before deciding against it. I want our first time to be face to face, with his dick gliding inside me.

“You know where I live,” I say. “Come on by when you’re back in town.”