The next morning, I roll over to find Ryan gone. I reach over blindly for my phone to check the time. It’s 11:39 a.m. Shit, how did I sleep so late? Ryan is nowhere to be found downstairs either. Peeping out the blinds tells me he’s not here; his truck is gone.
Me: Where are you?
I forgot that I abandoned Roman midconversation after I sent my picture last night. I click on it and pull up my unread messages.
Roman: Fucking beautiful, babe
Roman: Where’d you go?
I know I shouldn’t, but I feel bad that every time we’ve had a conversation I always bail out on him. My phone buzzes, but not from Roman. It’s a text.
Ryan: Work. Conference call at the office. Be here for a bit.
Perfect. He just came home. We got to have dinner together, but we weren’t even alone; we were with our friends.
Me: As much as I’m trying not to be a shitty wife and support you, I just have to say I really miss you.
Ryan: Don’t do this.
Me: Do what? Give a shit?
Ryan: Real mature, Ley.
Me: That’s me. Just an immature little girl with nothing to do while her husband is out saving the world one business contract at a time.
I don’t know why I’m acting like this. It’s how things have been the past few years. He’s a workaholic, I know this, but he used to put effort into me too.
Ryan: I’ll be home tonight. We can do this then.
Me: LOL.
Now, I’m just being ridiculous, but I don’t care.
I switch from texting to messaging.
Me: Hey… sorry. My phone died, and I went to bed.
Roman: It’s all good. You know this would be a lot easier on the phone.
Fuck. This is exactly what I’ve been avoiding.
Roman: Can I call you?
He’s getting way too serious, way too fast. Although, he hasn’t sent me nudes or asked for them yet like everyone else—gold star for Roman. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, if it’s the fact that I’m so done being pushed to the back burner by Ryan or the fact that a man is showing me attention for the first time in ages, but I’m considering his offer. I send a quick message back with my number, nothing else, just straight to the point.
It’s not even a full minute before there’s an unknown number buzzing on my caller ID. I clear my throat and hit the Accept button.
“That was fast,” I say. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I feel like I’m back in high school, getting giddy on the phone over my crush—the kind of crush that puts notes in your locker and holds your hand at the Friday night skating rink. Except I’m not in high school anymore… and I’m married.
“Didn’t want you to change your mind, gorgeous.” Oh my God. His voice. It could send an angel straight down to hell. My hand is shaking, and my heart is racing a hundred miles an hour.
“I’ve never really been one to talk to people online. I’m too paranoid. I don’t want to end up on FOX news.”
“I’m glad you’re careful and all, but how do I know you’re not the serial killer and I won’t end up on the news?” he asks, with a smile in his voice.
I laugh. “You got me. Just looking to seduce and bring all of my prey back to the dungeon in my basement.”
Our banter continues seamlessly, and before I know it, I look down at my phone and realize we’ve been talking fluently for forty-five minutes. This is all so new for me, it feels foreign. I don’t even like talking on the phone.
He laughs a little. “There’s no denying you’re from Texas with that accent.”
“Are you already making fun of me? That’s pretty rude.”
“Not making fun at all. I think it’s hot. Always thought there was something sexy about a southern woman.” He knows I’m kidding, but he’s definitely not.
I try to subtly bring up the obvious. “I have no idea who created this app, but I’m not so sure they know what they’re doing. We’re not even in the same state, yet we’re a top match. Makes no sense.” And I’m married.
“See, it’s a sign. It was meant to be.” That’s all he says, and I think I might die a little inside. On that note, I find an excuse to get off the phone. I need a breather, a moment to think, before I do something I’ll really regret.