AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And then he oh so casually turns the jealous boyfriend act up a notch.
I may be losing a bit of myself to him, but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with being swallowed up whole.
Enzo: Call me
Chari: Aren’t you at the lab?
They have notoriously bad cell reception there.
Enzo: I’ll go outside
I waffle between jumping off the barstool—because honestly, the possibility of hearing his voice is the most excitement I’ve had all night—and telling him the truth. That I’m in the middle of a conversation with some friends, so no, I can’t talk right this second about his brother’s creepy stalking.
Not that Gian was stalking me. But still. This feels like pretty much the last thing I need to deal with right now. I’m pissy at the moment and self-aware enough to know it.
As I try to decide how to respond, a picture comes through. It’s my little glass frog sitting on a lab desk. What the hell?
Chari: Why do you have that with you? Is it sanitary?
Enzo: Reminds me of you. Yes.
So much for making him wait.
“Be right back,” I mutter, as if anyone notices. They’re all wrapped up in their own conversations, so I grab my beer and tell the fourth-grade special ed teacher she can sit in my chair. Heading toward the bathrooms, I find a semiprivate space and dial Enzo’s number.
He answers immediately.
“Hey.”
His voice melts my insides. Reminding myself I’m annoyed with him, I answer, “Hey,” my tone making it into more of awhat the hell?than an invitation to chat.
“So you’re at happy hour, I take it?”
I’m about to mention his text when I decide to let it ride. For the moment.
“Yeah, decided last minute to come. Shitty day.”
He’s quiet, thinking about whatever Gian said, no doubt. While I could ease his fears with a few words, I don’t want to let him off that easily. So I wait him out.
“Who’s the guy?” he finally asks, his tone the opposite of casual. I can hear his annoyance over the phone.
“Maybe Gian should have asked me himself if he was so concerned?”
Silence.
“He was picking up something for the restaurant and left in a hurry.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Char, I’m sorry about this weekend. I really am.”
“It’s not just that,” I venture. Although I don’t want to get into a serious discussion on the phone in the middle of a bar, I need to talk to him about this. I need him to soothe my fears. To tell me it’s going to be okay. “Where are we going here? If you’re too distracted to have me around unless your schedule is totally free, then realistically, how often will we see each other?”
There. I’m damned proud of myself for putting the words into an intelligible string. They’ve been floating around in my head in one form or another ever since he cancelled.
“So you’re not going to answer my question?”
What the hell is he talking about? It takes a solid ten seconds for it to click.
