Page 28 of PSYCHOlogical

Chapter Ten

Doctor Rhoades

Midway through a satisfying sip of my first cup of coffee, my phone dinged. I snatched it up from the tabletop and swiped the screen with the pad of my thumb. A text message from a phone I didn’t recognize was centered on the screen. I opened the message.

I’m driving to the airport. Have time to talk tonight?

Wearing an ear-to-ear grin, I typed my response with my thumb.

I can’t wait

I read the response and then erased it. It sounded far too eager and lacked any resemblance of professionalism whatsoever.

I typed another.

Sure

I stared at the one-word answer to his two-sentence question. I detested the word sure. It meant yes, but it wasn’t very reassuring.

I erased the message. I wondered if an immediate response would make me look desperate. I decided it would. Afterall, his message was all of forty-five seconds old. As difficult as it was to do, I set the phone aside and sipped my coffee. Ninety seconds later, I couldn’t take it any longer. I picked up the phone, swiped the screen, and stared at the blinking cursor.

After considering a few hundred potential responses, I typed what seemed to be the most accurate one.

I’d like that

Before I could change my mind, I pressed send.

I wondered what he wanted to discuss, and whether he intended to talk on the phone, meet somewhere for a drink, or grab a bite to eat. The thought of him coming over came to mind. The likelihood of it happening was minimal, but it was a possibility, nonetheless.

For the next eight hours, I scrubbed, straightened, dusted, and tidied every inch of the house. When I was done, I lit a candle and checked my phone. An unanswered message from Vincent caused me to smile.

Changing planes in Dallas. Be there in about three hours.

I checked the time of the message. The text was two hours and fifty minutes old.

I had no reason to be nervous. Nevertheless, my heart beat anxiously in anticipation of him calling. I scanned the living room, looking for imperfect cushions or a missed smudge on an end table. While I searched for imperfections, my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Are you busy?”Vincent asked.

“Not at all,” I responded. “How was the flight?”

“Good, thank you. Just dropped off CW and Pike. Are you close to the base?”

“I live close by. Without traffic, maybe ten minutes or so from there.”

“Mind if I stop by?”

My heart raced, even though I wasn’t attracted to him in that way. “That’d be nice.”

“If you don’t mind,” he said. “Text me your address.”

“I will as soon as I hang up.”

“Do you have anything to drink?”

“I’ve got wine. And beer.”