“You tell her we came back from England over a week ago, and that you’re staying at my apartment. Play her at her own fucking game.”
“Can she track the call from here?”
The corner of his lip flickers up. “You do know that we have Dawson here, right? This place doesn’t even exist on a map, never mind tracking a call.”
My shoulders relax, but I press the heel of my palms into my eyes and let out a groan.
Saint grips my forearm, pulling me to rest against his chest, hands gripping under my butt. “They’re playing checkers; we play chess. Louisa’s smart, but you’re fucking smarter, braver. Think of this as playing with your food before you eat it.” I move my hands away from my eyes when he tilts his head to the side, holding out my cell. “Call her.”
Glancing at the text, I read it over.
Pain in the ass: Hey, give me a call when you’re free!
There’s nothing suspicious in the message, and even though you can misinterpret the intentions in written communication, this seems like a standard Louisa. She’s never one for overfluffing messages; she isn’t dry either, despite herpersonality to me matching the name of her contact in my phone.
Well, her fake personality, seeing as she’s actually a serpent deep within.
I drag in a deep breath, my shaky finger hovering over her name, but Saint’s dips over the screen, deciding my fate for me with the tap of a finger.
If my glare could kill, he’d have keeled over by now, and he raises a challenging brow at me for it.
I hold the phone between us, closing my eyes whilst Saint’s thumbs glide across the material of my leggings, right under the curve of my ass cheeks.
It’s bizarrely soothing, but then again, his touch always is.
It’s the same way it calmed me in the manor, the same way he’s been dragging my mind from spiralling since we left.
The ringing stops, along with my heart, and my muscles coil tight the moment she answers.
“Hold on,” she says, and I can hear her closing a door. “Sorry, there’s a group of people outside my office door.”
“Hi,” I reply weakly, wanting to immediately punch myself in the face.
Normally I’d have responded with something sarcastic towards her, and Saint knows it too, going by the look he gives me.
For once, my mind and my mouth catch on quickly. “Louisa, I’m busy. Don’t ask me to call you and then have me waiting.”
I hang on bated breath for her response, whether this is going to go to shit, or whether she’s going to play along.
She barks out a laugh, her usual response. “Shut up, you little shit. I can’t let the office know I let you speak to me like that, otherwise they’ll think they can jump on the bandwagon.”
Another crack forms in my chest, the pieces already lying scattered in my chest.
The ordinary conversation between us hurts me deeper than words could form.
“Maybe you deserve it.” My words come out like a tease, but they’re coated in malice.
Her light laughter fills my ears, forcing my eyes to squeeze shut.
Saint wraps his arms around my waist, his hold engulfing me in the support I need to keep standing.
She huffs a laugh. “Yeah, maybe.” Clearing her throat, she speaks after a second. “How was England?”
“Yeah…it was great—”
“Mom told me you’re back with Saint?”
The man in question leans back, hands still roaming as he nods. “We are…it happened quite randomly actually.”
