Jolting my head back, I take a lungful of air at this news. I had no idea. Nate never said anything to me. “Well, if everyone can see us together, how come I haven’t seen it?”
Ryan sighs and slaps my leg. “Sometimes we’re so focused on our path that we’re blinded by the destination.”
Smirking, I try to hold in my laugh. “Ryan, that’s way too insightful for you.”
He chuckles. “I know. It was on one of Tillie’s journals, but in any case, I think it’s fitting right now. Just think about what youwant. Think about what Alex wants, and if it is the same thing, then fuck being friends and go the fuck for it, I say. She’s hot as fuck, and man, you need to get laid again ’cause you were totally about to cry like a little bitch just then, you pussy,” he teases, shoving my side, and I almost fall off the amp.
“Fucker… I need to call her, don’t I?”
“Yes, you do, and send flowers or chocolates or something she loves. Make it up to her, Matt. Show her you want to make it right. But only if you are on the same page. Don’t give false hope on unsure feelings.”
I nod and pull out my cell as Ryan licks the last of his popsicle. He stands and slaps me over the head as he walks out of the room. “No more sappy music, fuck head, you’re a rock star. Act like it,” he says and walks out with a smirk as I dial Alex’s number. My chest tightens, and my stomach sinks. I feel sick, but I need to tell her I’m sorry and make things right.
It rings… and rings… and rings, eventually going to voicemail.
I swallow hard. Maybe she didn’t get to her cell in time. So I try again. This time, it rings twice, then she clearly cancels the call. My body tenses, and all my muscles go rigid. So she’s really pissed at me. Bringing my foot up, I kick the stool Ryan was sitting on, sending it tumbling to the floor, bouncing a couple of times before rolling slightly, then settling.
Yeah, that didn’t help.
“Fuck.” Frustrated, I push my fingers through my hair as I take a deep, shaky breath.
I want to message Nate, but he might not be able to read my messages thoroughly, and ringing him with Alex there might piss her off even more.
So I decide to leave it for a few hours and try again.
I’ll wait until she’s home for the evening, then I’ll maybe message or try to call when she isn’t at work.
Jumping off the amp, I place my guitar back on the top and switch it off, then walk over to the sound system and flick it off, too.
It’s obvious I’m not going to be able to relax here anymore.
A pint of ice cream is calling my name at home, then maybe I will work out a bit to try to burn off some of this frustration.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
MATT
The disarray of the bed sheets hits me first as I step into my bedroom to get changed. Then memories of Alex assault my senses. Her smell, her taste, her touch. I tense up as I remember last night—moving against her, moving inside her. My cock twitches thinking about it, and I swallow hard, turning away from my bed and walking to my closet. I need to focus my energy on something else for a while. At least until I can spend enough time trying to contact Alex again.
Once changed, I rush out of my room and down to my home gym to work off some much built-up tension. I get to work, pushing hard to my limit quickly. I don’t even bother to warm up before moving straight into a fast cardio round. My chest is glistening with droplets of sweat, and my heart is racing as I push myself, trying to propel through the anguish.
All I want is to talk to her, but having to wait is a form of torture.
I pick up a twenty-pound weight, then sit on the floor and do Russian twists. Puffs of air force out of my mouth with the added pressure, and I groan while pushing harder and harder until I break and fall backward. The weight falls on my chest, and I make an “oomph” noise as it falls. I slide the weight off me and onto the floor, then I lie here panting, trying to catch my breath. My stomach aches, and I close my eyes just trying to breathe. Not from overworking myself, but from the sheer fact that I’m in limbo and can’t do jack fucking shit about it.
I glance at the clock—past six thirty. Alex leaves the gallery at six, so she should be home by now. My legs feel unsteady as I stand and take a long sip from my water bottle. Grabbing atowel, I wipe my brow and head to the kitchen, determined to call her again.
I toss protein powder into a bottle, add water, and grab my phone, putting it on speaker as I shake the mixture. The ringing starts, and my chest tightens. With each unanswered ring, my grip on the bottle tightens, shaking it harder until the call goes to voicemail.
I sigh and take a sip of my shake as I redial her number.
It rings and rings and rings.
Nothing.
My sneaker taps rapidly on the floor as I wait impatiently for Alex to answer.
Butnothing.
