No. Way.
Grabbing my bag, I frantically dig for the sleek black business card from my galaxy gift. The one I couldn’t bring myself to throw away.
Fingers trembling, I pull up Carl’s number and read left to right. Right to left. Then again.
Well, fuck.
No.
I’m seeing things. That’s the only explanation.
To prove this absurd theory wrong, I enter the digits into my phone.
One. Two. Three.
It autofills.
Carl the Doll Collector.
My blood goes cold. I stare at the screen.
No, no, no, no, no, no.
Carl is Nolan.
Nolan is Carl.
I’ve been texting Nolan. Every. Day.
The man I confided in at 2AM.
The man I compared sock colors with.
The man I humped like it was my last night on earth.
My heart sprints. My vision blurs. I’ve been launched out of my body.
Same. Fucking. Man.
Tell me something crazy that happened today.
How about the fact that mycomfort strangeris the same person who once made me see stars without ever taking off my clothes?
I start choking on absolutely nothing. My phone nearly blasts itself into the sun.
…uh.
Flawless.
That bad, huh?
You have no idea.
You could say that.
You okay?
Oh, buddy.I am the furthest possible thing from okay.
