But how can I help it, she’s perfect. My mind goes back over the last few days, the laughter, the hugs, the ridiculously good sex.
Every moment in her arms just feels…… more.
Don’t fuck this up.
I scroll through my phone and my finger hovers over her name, “Call me back,” I snap. I march to the refrigerator and grab a beer and pace as I drink it. If I call her back, I look needy.
If I don’t call her back, I don’t seem invested, but if I do call her back, I seem stalkerish. There’s no win in this situation; I keep pacing.
Fuck it, I am stalking her.
I dial her number and wait on the line, ring, ring. Ring, ring.
“Dylan,” she answers.
It’s loud, I can hear that she’s in a club or something and I frown, “Hi.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you back yet,” she apologizes, I can tell she’s been drinking. “I’ve been busy.”
My angry heartbeat sounds in my ears, “It’s fine.” But it’s not, she’s out and not calling me back, I can take a hint. “I can hear that you’re out, I’ll let you go,” I snap, annoyed.
“Don’t go,” she says softly.
Silence hangs on the line between us.
What the fuck is going on, she doesn’t call me but then doesn’t want me to go.
I can’t hold it any longer, “What are you doing, Zoe?” I snap.
“I’m at the Roxy.”
“With who?”
“My girlfriends.”
I drag my hand down my face in frustration, I get the feeling that something else is going on, something involving me.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she says, the line goes dead.
What?
I tip my head back and scull my beer, fuck tomorrow.
I want answers now.
I storm into the Roxy and walk through the interconnecting bars. This club isn’t new to me, I’ve been here many times before. Never looked for one specific person like this though.
What the fuck is she playing at?
I go through the main bar, into the sports area and then onto the Karaoke lounge, there’s a different kind of crowd here tonight. Everyone looks like they have come straight from work and my eyes roam over every corner as I search.
Where is she?
I go up the staircase and come to the cocktail bar, and I see her, she’s sitting at the end of the bar alone, she looks preoccupied while drinking a Margarita.
What the hell?
I walk over and sit at the stool beside her, “Hi.”
