Chapter 38 Hannah
Hannah
“Do you want my big cock, Ruby?” David, my tenth caller of the day, heavy-breathes into my ear. “Tell me how much you want it, Ruby.”
“So much,” I mutter, my head falling into my hands.
“Oh yeah, I bet you do. You’re a greedy girl who loves big cock.”
I roll my eyes. “Cock-a-doodle-do.”
“What?” he asks, his heaving gulps coming to an abrupt stop.
Shit. “Um, yes. I love big cocks. Especially yours,” I quickly say, hoping to get him back on track so I can be done with this call.
But good news! After this call, there’s going to be another call. And another call. And another call. Until fucking infinity . . .
I sigh and lift my head from my hands to let it fall back onto my chair.
Is this really my life? Doing phone sex with strangers?
Well, it wouldn’t be if you would’ve let Dom help you.
It’s been just over thirty-six hours since he broke the news that he paid off my reverse mortgage. A day and a half since I ripped up the six-figure check he wrote me and broke up with him. And ever since then, he’s called and texted me, but I haven’t answered.
I can’t answer, because I don’t know what to say.
On one hand, I am hurt that he did what he did without talking to me about it first. I’m mad that he didn’t give me an option to tell him no. On the other hand, a small part of me understands why he did it.
But making those sides mesh together feels impossible.
David continues to ramble on about how hard he is, and I have to force myself to respond in the ways I know he wants me to—needy moans and desperate yes, pleases.
It’s all so predictable. And tragic. Past me would be so disappointed in where we’ve ended up.
My cell vibrates on my desk, and I look down to see a missed text message from Dom. I hate that I check it.
Dom: I’m so sorry, Hannah.
Tears prick my eyes, and a painful mix of anxiety and anger forms a vise around my chest. While my current caller moans in my ear about wanting to come inside my mouth, all I can think about is the fact that Shane is out in the van listening to my calls and how working at CMA has never felt more wrong than it does right now.
It’s like without Dom sitting in my stupid sex cubicle, nothing makes sense.
“I’m coming!” David exclaims through several harsh pants, and I just sit there, my phone in my hands, staring down at Dom’s last text.
When I’m certain my current caller has officially blown his load, I congratulate him and get the hell off the call. “Thanks for calling Ruby’s line and letting me make your dreams come true. Call me anytime!”
Instantly, I rip my headset off and hit the “off duty” button on my phone.
Tears are streaming down my cheeks now, and I rush out of my cubicle and toward the small bathroom at the opposite end of the hall.
Though I only make it a few feet before a gentle hand reaches out to grab my shoulder.
I turn on my heels to find Lana standing there, having just walked out of our break room. Concern etches her face.
“Hannah, are you okay?”
“Y-yes,” I stutter, but she eyes me closer. “Okay, no, not really.”
She wraps a tender arm around my shoulders and walks with me to the private bathroom stall, closing us both inside with a click of the door.
I stand in front of the sink and catch sight of the mascara that’s now running down my cheeks. Lana wets a paper towel and hands it to me.
“Thanks,” I say and get to work wiping the smudges off my face. But the tears keep flowing.
“You want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “No, not really.”
“You sure?”
I meet her eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Do you like working here, Lana? Like, really like working here and doing this job?”
“Hell no.” She snorts. “But I love what the money from this job does for me and my son.”
It feels like every girl who works at CMA is doing it for the very same reason I am—because there’s no other option.
And how sad is that?
Dom wanted to give you an option, my mind cruelly reminds me.
Which only makes me cry more.
“Whatever it is, Hannah, it’s going to be okay,” Lana says and places a gentle hand to my back as I splash cold water on my face. “Everything is overcome-able.”
“Thanks, Lana,” I say, even though I don’t feel it at all. “You mind giving me a minute?”
“Of course, girl,” she answers and squeezes my shoulder before leaving the bathroom.
But is everything overcome-able?
The past five years have been an uphill battle. And I ended up so tired from the constant climb that I took a job as a phone sex girl just to make ends meet.
And now, without my Dom security blanket inside my stupid sex cubicle, without Dom in my life at all, I feel like I’ve been washed out to sea.
How did I become so attached to one man in such a short amount of time?
Because you love him.
I inhale a deep breath, take a fresh paper towel, and pat my face dry. I give myself a mental pep talk—you know, the whole “you got this” song and dance.
But before I can step out of the bathroom, my cell phone vibrates in the back pocket of my jeans, and I pull it out to find another text.
Dom: Fuck, I miss you, Hannah. Please talk to me.
My back hits the closed bathroom door and my body slides all the way down it until my ass hits the tile floor, as tears stream down my face.
Everything feels like such a mess. A big, fat mess. And the last thing I want to do is go sit inside my red-lit cubicle and take more calls.
I want to be anywhere but here.
Probably because you can’t go on like this.