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Just as I drifted off to sleep, my phone buzzed, startling me awake. The vibrating came from behind me, and I reached my hand out, trying to locate it. Finally, I groaned and rolled over just in time to snatch my phone up and see that it was a FaceTime from a number I didn’t have saved.

But I knew the number. It was the same one that had called me back at Mrs. Larson’s house.

Gino.

Without paying attention to how I looked, I quickly slid my thumb across the screen to answer.

I sure am thirsty for a man I can’t have. A damn shame.

As soon as the call connected, Gino grinned. “How you doin’, Yaya?”

“Hey, I’m okay,” I lied.

He frowned as if he could sense the fib. “What you doin’?”

I shrugged. “I got home from my infusion a little while ago. I’m just laying here.”

“Why you ain’t tell me you had yo’ infusion tonight?”

My brows drew in. “I didn’t know I needed to tell you.”

I noticed his jaw clench, and he grunted before he spoke. “You feelin’ better since you got yo’ meds?”

“Not really. Not yet.”

“What you need?”

“Huh?”

“Huh?” he playfully mocked. “You heard me, woman. What you need?”

My mind whirled. I didn’t expect Gino, of all people, to ask about what I needed. I definitely didn’t expect him to call me outside of work.

“I . . . I guess I was just wishing I had grabbed some water and warmed up my leftovers from earlier?” I said it as more of a question because I wasn’t sure what my response would lead to. A small part of me hoped, though.

Homewrecker.

I shook the word from my brain. I had no ill intention when it came to Gino. He was a nice guy who cared for people. That was all.

That’s a damn lie, girl. You saw how he treated Mrs. Larson. Hell, you see how he treats his own wife. He don’t care about people. He cares about you.

I frowned.

“You hear me? You good?” Gino’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and my cheeks warmed. I realized I’d been having a whole conversation with myself, and though it was inside my head, I probably still looked like a crazy person.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I asked sheepishly.

“What’s yo’ address?”

Instead of pain clutching my insides, butterflies took flight.

“Why?”

“Why you think? So I can bring you some shit and check up on you.”

“Gino, I don’t know . . .”

“You do realize I can get yo’ address from your employee file?”