Chapter 12
twelve
. . .
Brynnlee
Rolling overin bed I reach for my phone on my bedside table and squint at the awaiting message.
Steele: Wh er yop bei now?
I read it a few times, wondering what on earth he was trying to say. Sitting up in bed I pull the covers around me and read it one more time.
Finally giving up, I tap the green button and bring the phone to my ear. It rings twice before someone answers and then there is a thumping noise followed by a rough sliding, as if the phone is skidding across a floor or table.
Someone says hello, then hello again but it sounds far away.
I hold the phone tighter, then without warning his voice shouts hello again and I quickly move the phone away from my ear.
“Brynn?”
“Yes.” I laugh, imagining all the different scenarios that led to such a rough entry to this call.
“Shit,” he sighs, “sorry. I dropped my phone.”
“Sounded more like you tossed it into oncoming traffic.”
“Where are you?” he asks and I swear I hear a door slam.
“Home,” I say, hearing him mumble something. “Why?”
There is a thud and he groans. I feel like this is the weirdest interaction I have ever had with another human being in my life. There is entirely too much unexplainable noise taking place on the opposite end of this call and I’m afraid to ask what is really going on. But without me asking he falls into a long-winded explanation that leaves me speechless.
“I missed your text. I was with Connor and had finally accepted the idea that you’d ghosted me. So I let him get me drunk and I’m not even sure how I actually got home but here I am. I’m sitting outside my apartment, on the floor. I seem to have locked my keys inside and here you are calling me. This night couldn’t be more of a mess.”
I bite my lip, unsure of what to say.
“Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“Okay.” Again he sighs and I cover my mouth, afraid of losing it.
Of all the interactions I’ve had with this man not once has he ever been in this state. He’s confident and so sure, he seems to dominate any given space and demands order without asking. Yet here he is, drunk and rambling.
“Why did you think I ghosted you?”
“It’s been a week.” His voice is low and drawn out. “And no one is that busy. The redhead said that a good hookup takes minutes and I’m good so I could do it in five.”
This time I laugh, because honestly how could I not.
“Oh really?”
“Yeah.” There is a pounding noise. “Now I’m stuck outside, sitting on a hard floor, when I have a perfectly soft bed inside.”
“How did you get on the floor outside your apartment?”
“I thought I was leaving to come see you. I ran out in a hurry and didn’t grab my keys.”
Climbing out of bed, I slip on a pair of leggings and walk out of my room. The noises coming from Taylor’s room sound like a porno playing and I hurry passed, with a shiver. She decided it would be a good idea to hookup with an old friend.
“Do you have a doorman?” I ask in a low voice. “Or someone that has a spare key?”
“Connor,” he replies groggily. “But I’m pretty sure he went home with the redhead.”
“The same redhead that told you how long a good hookup takes?” I don’t even want to know what that conversation consisted of, or just how it got started.
He doesn’t reply.
“Jensen?” I swear I hear him snoring. “Hello.”
I’m met with nothing. Pulling back the phone I make sure we are still connected and notice the seconds ticking away on the call.
I’m at a loss of what to do next.
Searching around the apartment for my bag, I dig out my wallet and dump everything onto the living room floor. I sift through the business cards in search of a specific one. The day at the hotel both Connor and Jensen offered theirs to me and until now I never had a reason to call his partner.
After witnessing the condition Jensen is in, I’m not sure I’ll find Connor any more helpful. But what option do I have?
Down to the last pile I finally find his card and quickly dial his number. With each ring my hope grows weaker and when it goes to voicemail I literally groan in frustration.
Ending the call without leaving a message I dial his number again and make the decision to harass him until he answers.
“Detective Nixon.” His voice is clipped and smooth, much more clear than his partner’s was a moment ago.
“Is this Connor?”
“Yes, can I ask who this is?”
“Brynnlee Webster.” I am met with silence so I continue. “It would seem that your partner has locked himself outside of his apartment and has since passed out in the hall. I have no clue where he lives, and you are the one with the spare key, I’m hoping you can go rescue him.”
Again, silence.
“Hello?” What is with these men tonight?
“You’re fucking joking.”
“Um.” I lean back against the couch and am thankful that he isn’t as hammered as Jensen. “I wish I was.”
Suddenly he bursts out laughing and I can’t help but smile.
“I got ‘em,” he assures me before ending the call to the sound of him enjoying his friend’s situation far too much.