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I couldn’t do a relationship of any sorts. Maybe one day. Hopefully one day, because I didn’t want to be like this for the rest of my life. Eventually I wanted to be the girl who got excited about being asked out on a date instead of the girl who came home and did this.
Opening my eyes, I groaned. “I’m Señor Fucktard. Or Señorita Fucktard.”
I pushed to my feet and started halfway to the bedroom before I remembered my vibrating bag. “Shit.”
Hurrying back to the couch, I reached into the side pocket and pulled out my cell. I tapped the screen, fully expecting to see a text from Jacob or Brittany pop up. Instead I saw a missed call and voicemail.
“What the hell?”
I ran my fingers along the side and figured out I’d knocked the damn thing to silent. Sliding my figure along the screen, I unlocked it and saw that the call was from an UNKNOWN CALLER.
My heart skipped a beat.
No big deal. Probably a wrong call or a telemarketer. I went to the voicemail page and my finger hovered over the delete button. The past raised its ugly, bitter head. How many times did I get a prank call from people blocking their number? Too many to count, but that couldn’t be it. My number was new, like my email….
I cursed again.
Taking a deep breath, I hit the message and raised it to my ear. There was a pause and then a gravelly, indistinguishable voice crackled through the phone. “You know what happens to liars and skanks? They get a big, fat—”
Crying out, I hit the delete button before I could hear anything more. I dropped the phone on the couch instead of tossing it against the wall and backed up like it was some kind of venomous creatures perched on the cushions.
Any method of communication could become poisonous. Didn’t I already know that firsthand? A strangled laugh escaped me. Really, did they have nothing better to do? It had been five years. Five years! They couldn’t let go of the past.
Just like deep down, neither could I.
Chapter 7
I jerked straight up in bed, confused and disorientated. It was damn near close to four am when I’d finally fallen asleep and I had no idea what woke me. I twisted in bed, groaning when I saw that it was only eight in the morning.
On a Sunday.
Flopping onto my back, I stared up at the ceiling. Once I was awake, there was no hope of ever—
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I sat up again, frowning. Someone was banging on a door—my door. What the hell? Throwing off the covers, I swung my legs off the bed. My toe caught on the sheet and I nearly ate the carpet.
“Holy crap.”
Cursing, I raced through the apartment before the entire building was woken up. I stretched up, peering through the peep hole. All I could see was a mass of wavy dark hair. Cam?
Something had to be wrong. Maybe the building was on fire, because I couldn’t think of any other reason to why he’d be banging on my door Sunday morning.
“Is everything okay?” I winced at the sound of my voice.
Cam spun around. A crooked smile appeared, taking his already extraordinary face and making it boyishly sexy. “No, but it will be in about fifteen minutes.”
“W-w-what?” I stepped aside or was forced aside as he entered my apartment, carrying something wrapped in tinfoil, a carton of eggs—huh?—and a tiny frying pan. “Cam, what are you doing? It’s eight in the morning.”
“Thanks for the update on the time.” He headed straight for my kitchen. “It’s one thing I’ve never been able to master: the telling of time.”
I frowned as padded after him. “Why are you here?”
“Making breakfast.”
“You can’t do that in your own kitchen?” I ask, scrubbing at my eyes. After the astronomy assignment and the phone call, he was the last person I wanted to see at a buttcrack time in the morning.
