“I am not God, but I can understand why you’d confuse me for him.” I hold the phone up and tilt my head to the side, glaring at Brody Pearson—my arch-nemesis, and sudden video stalker.
“I shouldn’t have let you take my phone number,” I tell him for the fifth time since I gave him my number last week.
“Aw, come on, you didn’t let me take your number, per se. I took it without permission. However, despite your lack of desire to see my face, this is like the first time you haven’t hinted at a smile when I’ve called.”
I press my lips together and smirkor smile as he’s calling it. “Oh, you mean my resting-bitch-face?”
“Journey, wait up!” The voice carries down the street, and I wish I had been able to park closer to the entrance of the restaurant earlier, but there was a sale in the antique shop next door, so I had to park three blocks away.
I turn my face away from my phone, determining how much distance I have from Marco.
“Who’s that?” Brody asks, his eyebrows arched with concern.
“The restaurant owner who won’t give up.”
Brody looks confused because I didn’t tell him I had a shoot today. It’s not like we’re dating, or even friends, so there’s no reason for him to know what’s happening throughout my days. Since I ran into him last week at the school, it’s like we’re best friends who FaceTime each other. I’ve already informed him: A. I don’t have best friends for a reason. B. I don’t FaceTime for a reason.
However, for some odd reason, I keep answering his call.
“A restaurant owner?” Brody questions.
“I had a job today. A shoot. I use those big devices, called cameras, and there’s this thing called a lens which you aim at an object and then click a button, and poof! A copy of the image is burnt into a digital chip. Magic, right?”
Brody’s eyes drift up towardthe ceiling in his house. I only know it’s his house because I recognize the ceiling fan from when he gave me a virtual tour of his ceiling the first time he video called me. He said he couldn’t show me the rest. That was special. “I wasn’t sure if you were talking about a weapon or a camera there for a minute, fireball.”
I had red hair more than ten years ago, but he thinks it’s still funny to call me fireball even though my hair is now a dark shade of auburn.
“Journey, wait a minute, will ya?” Marco is following me down the dark sidewalk. If I weren’t talking to Brody, I might have pulled out my car key and shoved it between my fingers to make it look like a knife—one that would only give the dickhead an injury as mild as a paper cut.
“Seriously, are you okay?” Brody asks.
“I had a food photoshoot at a restaurant, but the owner wanted more than just the photos, so I’m walking away.” I’m also out of breath from walking at the pace I’m moving.
“Stay on the phone with me until you get into your Jeep,” Brody says, standing up from his couch.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him.
“Is that him behind you?” Brody asks, tilting his head from side to side as if he can get a better view of what’s behind me.
“Yeah, I’ll handle it,” I tell him, feeling less than confident about my statement.
My hands are trembling as I hit the button on my key-fob, thankfully seeing my headlights flash in front of me. I’m not fast enough because Marco’s burning hand is back on my shoulder.
“Hey!” Brody shouts through the phone. “Want to get your hand off my girl?”
My girl?In his dreams.
As if my shoulder is genuinely on fire, Marco rips his hands away, holding them up in defense. “I didn’t realize—I just wanted to apologize.”
“Apologize for what, bro?” Technically, this would be a good time to disconnect the FaceTime call, but I continue holding my phone up for Marco to see.
“He’s got a wife, and a beard—can you believe that?” I counter with a scoff.
Brody closes his eyes for a quick second as if feeling defeated about his awful facial hair that I’ve commented on more times than he has called me.
“I’ll make sure to let everyone know how fantastic your new restaurant is,” Brody calls out. I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that I didn’t mention the name of Marco’s restaurant. “Get in the Jeep, Journey.” I narrow my eyes at Brody, lacking appreciation for the way he’s speaking to me.
Despite my irritation, I slide into my Jeep, close the door, and hit the locks. Marco is walking back toward the restaurant, and I can only hope he’s embarrassed by his behavior.
