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I roll my lip ring between my teeth. “You guys keep playing,” I murmur, voice raspy. “I gotta…” I wave my phone in place of using words, and climb to a stand.
If Phoebe or Shawn say anything, I don’t hear it—it’s lost to the whooshing filling my ears.
This time, I head upstairs, and close myself in my room.
My fingers tremble as I turn my phone over and unlock the screen to find another message waiting for me.
Seeing as it says the call went on for 12 seconds, I take it you answered…
My brows spike.
Well, this is… unexpected.
I was certain that if he noticed he butt dialed me—later. Much, much later—he’d just ignore it. Bury his head in the sand. Pretend it never even happened.
It’s what I planned to do after all.
The idea of bringing it up didn’t even cross my mind.
Why? It’s just sex. He’s your friend. Way talks about his hookups all the time. If this was him, you’d be giving him shit, laughing about it…
Putting a halt to that line of thinking, I go to type out a response. Only to freeze when I realize I don’t even know what to say.
What do you say after overhearing the guy you’ve known your whole life, moaning and pleading for some guy to fuck him harder?
Three dots appear, and I bite out a curse, hitting Call before I can chicken out. If we’re not going to ignore what happened, then we’re going to talk about it. Not text.
The phone rings and rings, and I roll my eyes, pacing the length of my room as I lower the phone from my ear, and thumb out a quick text.
Pls answer
The ringing cuts out, but only because it’s gone to voicemail. I hit End, before trying again immediately.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath, fisting at my hair.
He answers on the second ring.
“Forget I said anything,” he rushes out in greeting.
I halt mid-step, hand dropping to my side.
My mouth opens, closes, as I struggle with what to say.
Jeremy mumbles something I can’t make out. It’s muffled, as if he’s talking away from the phone. Perhaps talking to?—
“Is he still there with you?” I all but growl.
The line goes deathly quiet. So quiet, I could almost believe he hung up, if it weren’t for the roar of wind telling me he’s outside.
My words echo—my tone lingering.
“No.” A beat passes, and it doesn’t escape me how stilted, tense his voice is. “No, he’s not. I’m walking home.”
Nostrils flaring, I shake my head. “What? Why?—”
“We were at the bar,” he answers. “I?—”
Now I’m the one interrupting him. “You had sex in a bar?”
