He thinks he’s got me.
Rhett
I need to talk to you.
My phone lights up in the darkness from where it sits on my nightstand and I reach for it, checking the text notification from…
Jensen.
It’s past eleven and thank Christ we’re on break for Thanksgiving week, but I had a basketball game earlier and I’m wiped out. I was trying to go to sleep but my mind was filled of thoughts of Jensen, which is nothing new. I can’t shake her no matter how hard I try, though I’m not really trying that hard.
Unplugging my phone from the charger, I start typing.
What’s up?
She answers me immediately.
Can I call you?
A mixture of hope and irritation fills me. This better not be a bunch of misleading bullshit.
What about?
I don’t want to tell you over text.
Then maybe you shouldn’t tell me over the phone either.
How else can I talk to you then?
Biting my lip, I contemplate what I want to say next.
Aw, fuck it.
Come over here.
She takes what feels like forever to answer me, when it was probably only a couple of minutes.
I can’t. Savannah’s at work. I don’t have a car.
Take an Uber.
I don’t want to. It’s too late. Might not be safe.
I don’t respond yet, because I can see the little gray bubble that she’s still typing. She takes so long, I wonder if it’s a trick, but then finally another text appears.
You should come over here.
Another text.
I need you.
My heart starts to race. I want to go over there. I do. For once, she’s not pushing me away. She needs me.
She might be using you.
I push the annoying thought into the far corners of my brain.
Before I say something stupid via text and ruin everything, I decide to call her instead.