I meant Ludmilla, bunny. Who is she?
Not amnesia. Just selective memory. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Does he call other girls bunny, too?My smile vanished.
Are you being deliberately obtuse? Ludmilla sent you a message from my phone because you’d blocked her number. Ring a bell?
Ooooh, so you are curious! I thought you were too superior to mind about other people’s business. Silly obtuse me ;)
Well, don’t tell me, then.
Why’d you ask, then? Huh? Was that an excuse to text me?
Not answering anymore.
Taking out my measuring cup, I carefully portioned the ounces of detergent for each load, depending on the fabric and color.
My phone lit up. The Rudest was calling. I squinted at the screen. My finger hovered.
Without logic or self-preservation, I picked up.
“Evening,Rudolph,” I greeted. To my disdain, I blushed at the deep chuckle on the other end.
“Well, hello there, Yvaine,” he drawled, pronouncing my name like he was tasting it.
Chills ran through my body.
I tugged at the sleeve of my pajama top in the silence that followed. I opened my mouth, then closed it again right after nothing came out.
“Why—” I cleared my throat. “Why the call?”
A huff came. “Texting’s boring, and your voice… You’re way more fun. So easy to irritate.”
I pulled a face at the phone as if he could see it. “Glad to be your source of entertainment for the evening. Must be a wild life you’ve got, being wildlife yourself.”
Or so I assumed.
Tucking my phone between my shoulder and ear, I flung open one of the washing machines for the load with delicates.
The boy—or the man, since I doubted that voice belonged to a boy—chuckled again. I hated that I liked it. Did he do it on purpose, because he knew the effect it had on me? And presumably the rest of the female population?
“Calling yourself a bore? Ivy, Ivy!” he mused. “You’re not boring. Youpretendto be, but you’re actually…spicy.”
“Thanks. I’m flattered to be reduced to a flavor,” I quipped, detergent in one hand, washing machine coins in the other.
“Mmm, bunny mustard. My favorite. Wanna try?”
“Gross. Both parts. And you, too.”
Another masculine laugh.
“See? You’re funny! But people only see what you make them see. Don’t you know?” he explained with false concern.
“I don’t care what strangers think of me,” I huffed, climbing the stairs back to the apartment. “The ones I love already know me, and I don’t need to prove anything to anyone else. Back to the messages?—”
There was a weird, deep sound on the other line.
“What was that? Are you snoring?”
