5. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
When I wake in the morning, I'm horrified to find my pillow has a perfect outline of my face. My cell is still in my hand, the screen open to my text messages.
Jordan and I were texting until 4am, when I finally passed out mid-text.
I check the time and discover it's only 10am. I could definitely do with a few more hours of sleep, but I'm excited to continue messaging Jordan and check on the weather situation.
I make a quick detour to the bathroom, scrolling through the messages on my cell. I re-read our texts, mesmerized by how funny this guy is. Jake had a good sense of humor, but his jokes weren't really funny to me. His idea of trying to make me laugh was to steal my cell and hide it, or pretend to eat the last of my food. I used to think maybe I was just a prude, but now I'm believing we just didn't have the perfect chemistry.
Sometimes, we want something so bad that we'll do anything to make it fit into a box. I guess that says more about our character though. I bent and molded myself to Jake, tried to follow his interests so that he felt seen.
Knock knock.
"Are you in there, Sky?"
Jesus, fuck.
My cell flips out of my hands and I just manage to catch it. Thick thighs save lives… which is a relief since my hand coordination skills aren't overly on par this early in the morning.
"Yep! I'm done. Just give me a minute," I shout back to Blaise, putting my cell on the basin while I finish up.
When I open the bathroom door, Blaise is leaning against the hallway wall, waiting patiently. I'll never understand how someone looks so together in the mornings when it takes me at least two coffees, a shower and a dark sacrifice to look half-decent.
"You look tired this morning," he points out with a smirk, looking me up and down. I'm disheveled, living up to my hot mess reputation.
"I know," I groan, rubbing my face. "I went to bed at 4am."
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Why so late? Or early?"
I'm tempted to lie or give a lame excuse but Blaise just looks at me, pausing.
"Ahh… you were texting your mystery man."
"What?" I gasp. "No, I wasn't."
Blaise lets out a hearty laugh, pushing past me to the bathroom. "You have that stupid smile on your face again. Work on your lies. You're shit at it."
The bathroom door closes behind him, the sound of his laughing now echoing around the tiles. I quickly head into my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I lean on it for support, gazing down at my cell in my hand.
I'm in trouble, aren't I?
After successfully getting dressed and brushing the bird's nest on top of my head, I emerge with my head held high into the living room.
There's no sign of Blaise around, so my shoulders relax, and I head into the kitchen to source some coffee.
I'm relieved to find a fresh pot on the stove, and decide to let Blaise off the hook for his comment. I'm pretty easy to win over, and I guess that's my downfall.
Heading into the living room with my hot mug, I switch on the television to suss out the weather situation. Apparently, it's not much better today but they forecast it could ease up as early as tomorrow.
When a text message notification appears on my screen, I forget about the weather, hastily opening it with excitement. I'm quickly disappointed to find it's Marco, and I join the club of ever growing women that probably feel the same about him.
Marco: I need you in tomorrow. Don't be late. 9am.
I flip my cell the bird, my day immediately ruined by Marco Barfo, as kindly dubbed by Blaise. Feeling petty, I change his name in my contact list to that.
Well, at least I can stay inside today. That's a plus. I've been meaning to tidy up my bedroom and rearrange a few things. Hell, maybe I can look for a new job too.
My train of thought is momentarily interrupted by a knock at the front door, and I'm frozen in disbelief. It's pouring outside, so I have no idea who would be here.
"I'll get it," I call out to Blaise, who hangs his head out of his bedroom door, equally confused.
I don't know why, but part of me wonders if it might be you-know-who. Pulling open the door, I kindly remind myself that I'm an idiot.
Standing on our front porch under an umbrella is a police officer, looking unimpressed about being on duty in the rain.
"Hi," I greet politely.
"Are you Skylar Nixon?" he asks bluntly.
I swear my heart stalls in a mini-attack, before I quickly realize what this conversation is going to be about.
"I am," I confirm. "Is this about my car?"
The police officer nods. "Well, it's good to see you escaped unscathed. That was my first question."
"Alive and kicking," I mutter sarcastically. "Is she still floating on Saint View Road?"
He nods again. "Did you call a tow truck?"
"I had no service signal," I tell him sheepishly. "And I was kind of stranded inside for a short while. I was going to get it all sorted today."
"Right," he says dryly. "I hate to be the bad guy here, but you will need to get your vehicle removed as a matter of priority. I understand the water is making it difficult, but you'll need to act now. If the water gets higher, it's likely your vehicle will be swept into the creek. If the water does drop, you'll be impacting traffic flow."
"I understand," I mutter. "I'll call someone."
The police officer scribbles something on a card, handing it to me. "This is my badge number, name, and the station contact number. If you have any issues with removal, report it. Otherwise, I trust it will be taken care of."
He doesn't wait for my response, disappearing back into the rain. I sigh, closing the door behind him.
Turning around, I jump slightly, spotting Blaise behind me.
"Jesus. How long were you standing there?" I ask him with my hand on my chest.
"The entire time. You really need to work on your self-awareness. I could have been a serial killer."
"In our own house? In the rain? Yeah…"
He smiles, giving me the stern look which says a lecture is coming. "Do you want me to get the number of a tow truck service?"
"I can Google it," I murmur. "I'll call around and get some quotes."
"Where on Saint View is it?" he asks.
I think back, trying to remember my surroundings. "The little crossing that goes over the river. Where the road dips."
"Got it," he says, turning around and heading to his bedroom with an air of authority.
I chase after him in a panic. "Blaise, what are you doing?" I yell.
He looks over his shoulder, giving me a small grin before slamming the bedroom door closed in my face.
I pound my fists on it, listening for a response. When I hear his voice though, it's not to me.
"Yes, hi. I need to organize a tow truck to collect a washed out vehicle on Saint View Road. Yes, that's fine. I'll pay over the phone."
"Blaise!" I call out again, trying the handle in desperation.
He hasn't locked the door, and when I push it open, I yelp when I find him standing at the doorway. He puts his free hand on the doorframe, blocking me from entering. The cell is still attached to his ear as he listens to the other person on the line.
"Yep, that's fine. Take it to Wheatley's on Beachton Avenue. My buddy is a mechanic there. I'll let them know to expect it. My card number is…"
Locking eyes with him, I plead with him to stop, but he just smirks back, knowing I'm broke and pathetic.
"Okay, thanks."
Lowering the cell from his ear, he tilts his head. "Yes?"
"You're unbelievable," I mutter. "I don't know whether to hug you or punch you."
"Aw, I love you too. I love a good threat in the morning. How's your head this morning, by the way?"
I groan. "Shut up. And thank you. But shut up. You're impossible."
"I know," he agrees.
"Blaise," I start, giving him a sad glance. "I can't afford a tow truck. Let alone the repair costs right now."
He nods sympathetically. "I know. It's fine. We will work it out. But let's see what the damage is first before we go into full panic mode."
"I'm serious, Blaise. I'll pay you back for the tow truck when I get paid next week. But don't authorize any repairs, please."
The expression on his face changes, the playful taunting disappearing as he opens the door fully. "Look, Sky. I know things are tough at the moment for you. I have the means to help. That's what friends do. You'd do the same for me."
"Of course I would," I confirm. "But I feel bad."
"Shit happens. Honestly, we have to just ride it out together. Let's just get the car out of the street so you don't get fined. My friend, Harry, works at the repair shop. I'll give him a call and see what he says. At least that way, if there are significant repairs, we'll probably be able to get them cheaper or I can work out a deal with them on your behalf."
I decide to engage one of the options, leaning in to give him a hug. "Thanks, Blaise. I really appreciate you."
"Just remember… you can always do my boring admin work if you feel guilty."
"Nice try," I say, ripping back. "Do your own admin work, business boy."
Laying on my bed, I go back into my text messages, ignoring Marco Barfo. I send a quick message to Jordan, apologizing for falling asleep.
Jordan: That's no problem. I kept you up a bit late, didn't I?
Me: Do you even sleep? Stop texting back so quickly. It's weird.
Jordan: Sure. I slept between 4am and 9am. I'm just doing a quick workout before I head to work. And what do you mean weird? Should I ignore you for a few days before replying? Girls love being left on read, right?
I snort, quickly typing back a reply.
Me: Depends on what your intentions are. I thought you were just going to check up on me.
Jordan: I am checking up on you. But I'd feel more comfortable if we could do it in person. Just so I can make sure you haven't been kidnapped or hacked. I could be talking to a scammer from Nigeria right now, for all I know.
Me: Surely my texting skills are much better than a Nigerian scammer?
Jordan: I dunno. AI is pretty advanced now. Perhaps you should send me a picture to confirm it's you.
Frowning, I touch my hair to check for knots. I definitely look better than yesterday, but still, I'm not sure he's ready for morning Skylar.
Me: You might not recognize me. I'm not wet like I was yesterday.
As soon as I hit send, I immediately regret it. I'm entering into dangerous territory. I see the bubbles pop up and cover my eyes in embarrassment.
Jordan: You looked stunning yesterday, even if you were wet. I'm pretty fond of wet things. Here, I'll go first.
My mouth parts as I read his message, before a photo of him drops into the chat. It looks like he's in his garage, sitting on a bench with weight and gym equipment surrounding him. He's kept it quite modest, but I can still see little beads of sweat on his shoulders, the tops of his strong muscles barely visible.
I feel my cheeks flush again and before I can stop myself, I snap a quick picture and send it back. I'm tempted to fling my cell across the room, but I wait…
Jordan: You're absolutely beautiful. Breathtaking even. Still, there could be a kidnapper behind the screen so I'll need to check in person. How does dinner tomorrow sound?