Inside, though, the war rages on. Text her? Apologize? Or let it die quiet?
Fuck if I know.
The night drags after that. Slow Sunday blues. I check my phone every ten minutes. Nothing.
By closing time, the club's empty hum matches the hollow in my gut.
I clock out, step into the humid Miami night, and for the first time, wish I'd chased her.
When I reach my car, I pull out my phone one last time and start typing.
Hey.
I stare at the screen, heart hammering. Praying for something. Anything.
Three dots appear. She's typing.
Fuck. You.
I smirk despite myself. There's my girl.
You already did that, remember?
Oh, so you're trying too hard now?
I laugh out loud. She's not wrong.
I'm sorry.
The dots flicker. Stop. Start again. Stop. Like she's wrestling with what to say. So I keep going.
I'm sorry for everything. Olivia, I was a fucking jerk. I shouldn't have let you leave like that.
Damn right you shouldn't have. Good boy.
My cock strains against my pants. Fuck. A praise kink? Shit. Guess I'll be on my best behavior now.
Would you be up for some company tonight?
I'm already on my way. ;)
Fuck. I need to race home. Dad's not supposed to be there, but I wasn't planning on company.
CHAPTER 21
RAUL
…21 years old
My phone starts ringing on my nightstand as I rip another hit from my bong. Fuck. I go to grab it, choking on the smoke and coughing hard.
Olivia's name lights up my screen.
I've been dodging her for days now, ever since I accidentally called her "babe" the other night at work.
Her name disappears as I miss the call. I reach for another hit when the phone lights up again, ringing even louder this time.
I pick up.
