“I’ll text him and see if he’s available.” Addison is already pulling out her phone.
“Addy, wait?—”
“Done.” She grins.
Seconds later, Addison unlocks her phone and sends a text.
Addison
Are you available the weekend of the leagues seasonal awards?
Jameson
Actually, yeah. Why?
I glance at her. “What are you going to say?”
“Do it,” she whispers with a grin. “See if there is anything left between you so you can really move on.”
After four glasses of wine, I take a rideshare home. I stand in my apartment, surrounded by finished paintings, and stare at the portrait of Patterson on my easel. His eyes stare back at me, full of challenge and heat, and I wonder if he knows what’s coming.
Addison’s voice echoes in my head.“You know what you need? A good romp.”
I hate that she’s right.
I pick up my phone and type a message to Chef. The cursor blinks at me.
He wants me to beg. He wants me desperate and needy, crawling to him on my knees, because I can’t take the silence anymore.
Maybe I am desperate. Maybe fourteen days of cold showers and sleepless nights have broken something inside me. Maybe I’m tired of pretending I have any control over what this man does to me.
I find an emoji.
Kendall
My thumb hovers over Send for three full breaths.
Then I hit it.
The message delivers, and I stare at the screen, waiting for the three dots to appear, waiting for him to respond with something that will make me regret breaking first.
Nothing.
One minute passes. Then two. I set the phone face down on my coffee table and force myself to walk away, and I open a bottle of wine.
I’ve barely removed the cork when it rings.
Not a text. A call.
I grab it so fast that I nearly knock over my easel.Chefflashes on the screen, and my heart slams against my ribs.
“Hello?”
“Address.” His voice is low and rough, like he’s been grinding his teeth for the past two minutes.
“What?”
“Your address,Ken Doll. Now.”
