I don’t know what’s next. But I do know I’m not ready to lose her again.
“Good morning, sir! Welcome to Agave Hills Wireless Emporium. How can I help you today?” The older man behind the counter spits it out like he’s been shotgunning espresso since sunrise.
“I broke my screen yesterday,” I say, tossing my wrecked phone onto the counter. “I don’t care about the model. I just need something. Today.”
Forty-five minutes later, I walk out of the store with a brand-new phone, and the screen is still loading.
Two new messages. Both from Stella.
Mi Bella: Just landed and missing you something fiercely right now.
Mi Bella: Incoming picture
Holy hell, even after hours of flying on a cramped plane, Stella is still so damn sexy. But that’s it. Nothing after the photo. No reply to my email.
I scroll through my inbox, swiping past a thousand discount ads. Nothing.
FUCK. This can’t be good.
Is she mad at me? Is she hurt? See, this is exactly why long-distance relationships suck. I don’t know what she’s thinking, and I can’t just show up and ask.
I get in my car, blast the AC, and let the cold air smack me in the face. Then I text her.
Me: Hey Stella, I’m so sorry it took me this long to respond.
Me: Turns out, a ball to the face and a phone don’t mix.
Me: I just got a new one. I tried emailing you; I hope you saw it.
Me: I miss you so much. I wish I was kissing you right now.
I toss the phone on the passenger seat. My hand twitches, a reflex of muscle memory, reaching for her thigh.
Back at home, I cut the engine. Just as I’m getting out, my phone buzzes.
Incoming Call: Unknown (757) 555-4545.
I sigh and answer, snipping, “Hello, this is Donovan.”
“Hi, Mr. D’Angelo. This is Chelsea from Virginia Bay Preparatory School.” Her voice is warm and weirdly chipper for a Saturday. “I’m so sorry to call on the weekend. We don’t usually do this, but Coach Hale Headstrom saw your application for the assistant coach position and got excited. He didn’t want me to wait. Would you be available for an in-person meeting this week?”
Wait…what?Holy shit.
I submitted that application on a whim. One of those you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, situations.
“Mr. D’Angelo? Are you still there?”
“Oh yes, I’m here! I just need to secure a sub, but I can be there Wednesday morning.”
“Perfect! Coach Headstrom will meet you on the football field at 3:15.”
I thank her, hang up, and stare at the screen for a beat. Then my phone buzzes again.
Incoming Text
Mi Bella.
Stella
