Chapter Ten
Twelve years ago…
Sloane tiptoed up the stairs. All the lights were off. Miracle of miracles, her mom hadn’t waited up for her. It would have been very, very bad if she had. Thank God she was the youngest child. Her mom had gotten all of her overprotectiveness out of her system with her older children. Sloane was allowed to get away with murder, according to her siblings. She’d never been happier about that state of affairs than she was now.
Sloane was just sober enough to know she was tipsy. Her best friend, Stephanie, had made sure she got back home safely.
Getting up to her room was her last mission. She stealthily climbed the stairs.
Creak! Dang it! She’d forgotten about the stair that squeaked. Her siblings would be so ashamed of her. They’d taught her the secrets of their ways years ago, if only to keep her quiet about their escapades.
“Sloane, that you?” her mom called out from her bedroom.
“Yes.” Sloane overenunciated to make sure no hint of slurring slipped through.
“Good night.”
“Night.”
She collapsed against the door when she made it to her bedroom without further incident.
Her head was a little fuzzy, but she managed to get out of her clothes and into her pajamas without too much difficulty. She snuggled under the sheets and stared at the stars she’d glued to the ceiling when she was eleven. The room only spun a little.
She wasn’t a rule breaker. A go-getter, yes. A rule breaker, no. She’d gone to the party and said no to any and all drugs and most of the alcohol offered. Her friends had gotten annoyed with her when she sat in the corner instead of flirting with the boys from school. She didn’t want to talk to any of the boys there. None of them were August. But, not wanting to be a total loser, she’d accepted the Mike’s. She’d only had one and a half bottles.
She was still kinda wired. Kinda buzzed. Not in the mood to go to sleep. She wanted to talk to someone. Someone who wouldn’t judge her for being a wee bit drunk. Which ruled out her brother and sister. They’d both have conniption fits. In their minds, she was still five.
August. She wanted to talk to August. He wouldn’t judge her. She grabbed her phone and made the call. He answered on the third ring.
“Sloane. Is everything all right?” He sounded worried. “Are your parents fighting again?”
Oh, shit. It was close to midnight. She’d never called him this late before. “No, my dad’s not here. I’m sorry. You were probably busy or asleep.”
“Neither, actually.”
“Oh.” She should say something else, but his voice did something for her. Despite his claim, a hint of sleep clung to his voice, making it ever so much deeper. The sexiest voice on the planet had just gotten better.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m at home. Went to a party.”
“Sloane Dell, are you drunk?” He sounded amused, not judgmental.
“Say it a little louder, why don’t you?” she hissed. “Is my brother there?”
“No, I’m in my room. He’s out with some friends. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“It was just Mike’s Hard Lemonade.” She sounded sulky. She couldn’t help it.
His chuckle sent a shiver down her spine. “How much?”
“One and a half bottles.”
“Enough to do damage, huh? Make sure you leave a trash can by the side of the bed, in case you wake up in the middle of the night, needing to throw up.”
“Thanks, Dr. Hodges.” She paused. “You didn’t go out with Donovan… or your girlfriend?” See, she wasn’t in denial. She could talk about Melinda without sounding like a jealous harpy. Sloane Dell was the very picture of maturity.
“I did for a while, but I hit my limit of peopling and came home to recharge.”
She made a face at the starry ceiling. “And I called, interrupting your peace.”
“It’s okay. I’m just chilling. What are you up to?”
“I was thinking about watching Notting Hill . It’s my favorite.”
“That’s the movie with—”
“Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant. And if you badmouth it, I will—”
His laugh cut her off. “What? I was just going to say it’s old.”
She gasped. “It is a classic, sir!”
“Yeah, okay.”
She harrumphed. “What are you up to?”
“Umm…”
Now, she was unbelievably intrigued. “Spill it, MOTY. Unless it’s porn, which, if that is what you’re up to, you can keep it to yourself.”
He groaned. “It wasn’t porn.”
“Then what?”
“It’s going to sound really nerdy.”
“Okay, now I really want to know.”
“I’m reading August Wilson’s How I Learned What I Learned .”
“How old is that, hmm?”
He laughed again. “You got me. You got me. I’m taking a class on August Wilson. I have to read it.”
“So you don’t want to read it?”
“No, I do. He was my mom’s favorite playwright.”
Sloane sat up in her bed. “She named you after him.”
“Yeah.” He sounded a little shy. Her heart melted a little more.
“That’s cool. Read it to me.”
“You want me to read to you?”
“I usually stick to romances, but yeah.” Anything to hear his powerful voice. “You must have a soft spot for him, too, if you’re reading his work on a Saturday night.”
He laughed again. She’d never tire of hearing that sound from him. He always sounded half-surprised that he was capable of such a whimsical activity. “I do. I’ve read all his plays.”
“Read it to me. Please. I need a bedtime story to fall asleep.”
“Okay, okay. If you get bored, let me know.”
“Never.”
Sometime later, she fell asleep to the sound of his soothing, mesmerizing voice.