Chapter Twelve
Andy
It was a phenomenal dream. Josie and me on a secluded beach, the sun warm against my naked back as I thrust my cock between her sea-slick tits, in and out like the roaring waves that tickled our toes while she flickered her tongue over the head of my shaft every time it came close to her mouth.
Fuck, she was so sexy. Dream Josie was a lot like the real thing, hot and fiery without a scrap of shyness to slow her down.
But a loud crack of thunder jolted me out of the incredible dream and somewhere closer to the real world, and a loud clatter behind my head finished the job.
“What the—" I muttered, cock deflating in disappointment when I cracked an eyelid to find myself alone in my living room, no Josie in sight.
The last thing I remembered was flopping down after a quick dinner and turning on a movie while I waited to hear from Josie. Thunder rumbled again, and I turned to look out the window. It was dark and gray and shitty outside, but it was morning. I’d spent the entire night on the couch.
Guilt needled at me. I’d planned to call Josie last night and fell asleep instead, but if it wasn’t too late, maybe I could—oh fuck. No.
My eyes landed on the wall clock next to my bookshelf. Ten past nine—her test had started more than an hour ago, and I hadn’t even spoken to her since yesterday morning. I swiped a hand across my suddenly-sweaty forehead and pushed my thick, sleep-mussed hair out of my face. Less than twenty-four hours into our official relationship and I was probably the shittiest boyfriend on the planet already.
I glanced around the couch and the coffee table for my phone, finally spying it face-down on the wood floor next to the couch—explaining the second loud clatter I’d heard. Maybe she’d sent me a message or left a voicemail, I thought, but I couldn’t tell whether I wanted that or dreaded what it might contain after I accidentally ignored her on the most stressful day of her life.
Phone in hand, I settled back into the cushions and held it up to see what awaited me. But instead of the customary lock screen, I just saw dark glass spiderwebbed with deep, vicious cracks. My phone was fucked, cracked so badly that the screen didn’t even flicker when I tapped gently or fiddled with the phone’s buttons. And like a final insult, a fine sliver of dagger-sharp glass broke loose as my fingertips slid across the screen, sinking into the pad of my index finger like a tiny, stinging pin.
Shit.I held my finger up in front of my eyes, watching the blood well up around the embedded glass. It seemed like the least I deserved for failing my girlfriend.
Josie will be fine, I told myself firmly. She was stressed, but she’s got this in the bag. She’ll destroy this exam and you’ll explain what happened and apologize and she’ll understand because she’s a reasonable person.
The alternative…a sour taste rose into my mouth just considering it. Not that Josie wouldn’t do well on the test, but that I had failed mine—being available to my girlfriend, a basic minimum standard that I’d completely and totally fucked up.
The other night—the last night she’d spent at my place before holing up at her parents’ house to finish her studying—she’d slept like crap, even though she tried to downplay it the next morning. When I smoothed a careful thumb across the dark shadows under her eyes, she smiled and shook her head, waving a dismissive hand before she rolled closer to press a kiss to my lips.
And that was that. Josie didn’t like to be fussed over, I knew, but preferred little gestures delivered without dramatic flourish—dinner before she even realized she’d forgotten to eat, an empty drawer for her things, a key to my place that magically appeared on the ring—those were the things that made her happy. So I didn’t press her on her obvious exhaustion, and instead headed downstairs while she showered to fill her enormous travel mug with fresh coffee and healthy amount of the too-sweet creamer that she adored and I despised.
And I promised, again, that I would be there whenever she needed me.
With a defeated sigh, I pulled the tiny splinter of glass out of my index finger and rose to my feet, broken phone in hand. I had to shower and get my phone fixed before Josie finished with her test. And maybe tonight, if I was exceptionally lucky, I’d still have a girlfriend to call.
* * *
The rain didn’t let up for the whole day, the iron-gray sky a perfect analog for my crappy mood. I skulked around the mall—I hated the mall—for hours while I waited for the computer store to replace the screen and fix my phone. Not even a trip into the bookstore, something I rarely had time for with my work schedule, did much to break up the dark clouds in my head.
Finally, my phone was done, whole and unblemished again, but I tucked it into my pocket and forced myself not to look at calls or messages until I returned to the privacy of my truck. There, rain-damp with my heart racing, I pulled my phone from my pocket with fumbling fingers and quickly unlocked it.
Just one text message.
Good morning sunshine. About to head to my test. Cross your fingers for me.
And sometime after that text, a missed call. When I saw the time—just before her test started, when she would have to ditch her phone and head into the testing center—acid curdled in my stomach and I hoped to God I hadn’t let her down too badly.
Fingers shaking, I opened the messaging app again and typed out a quick reply.
You’ve got this, I know you do. I’m sorry I missed your messages—I can explain. Come over tonight?
I hit send before I gave myself too much time to overthink it and tossed my phone back onto the front seat. She was still in her test and would be for a couple of hours yet, I told myself—I could worry later if she didn’t respond.
Outside of a few messages from my brothers and a couple of business calls, my phone remained largely silent and still for the rest of the afternoon, until I knew—I knew—that Josie was finished, and either her phone was dead or she had just chosen not to respond.
And the likelihood that she had a dead phone—well, she hated dead batteries and charged her phone every night like clockwork. I sat on the couch, newly-purchased books scattered around me after I picked them all up and discarded them when I couldn’t focus on the words long enough to make sense of them. Outside, the rain still drummed against the window, a steady patter that never relented.
Will I see you tonight?I asked again. I sent the message and set the phone down—carefully, this time—on the coffee table, pinching the bridge of my nose tiredly. Either something happened or she was really pissed at me.