Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
TIGO
“Dude. My man. Why the face?”
I look up at Samson standing in front of me. I’ve been going through the motions this entire shift, not even noticing his arrival.
“I’m okay.”
He puts his hand on his hips. “Yeah, and I’m Jason Momoa. What’s going on?”
I shake my head, washing a few glasses out. There’s a lull in the bar as usual on a Sunday afternoon. “Nothing.”
“Is this because of that cute guest?”
I exhale, shooting him a glare. He raises his hands.
“Got it. Sorry. You can take off now. I’m here.”
I put the glasses in the rack and dry my hands. “Thanks, man.”
“No problemo.”
I grab my phone from under the counter, checking it for the thousandth time for a text from Cato. He sent his number, but I don’t want to bombard him. He’s probably flying anyway, and who knows how far he lives from the airport.
All I can do now is wait. And hope.
Two hours later, my phone buzzes.
Cato: Home safe and sound.
My heart races in my chest just from seeing his name on the screen.
Am I that gone over a guy I met two days ago?
Fuck. This is why I don’t fuck with guests.
I’m not a hookup kind of guy. I knew what I was getting into, and I did it anyway.
Cato’s pretty face was too much to resist. He’s probably home now, realizing he gave into a rebound. I’ll never see him again.
Cato: It’s fucking hot as hell here.
He adds a laughing emoji. I don’t know how to respond. I want to tell him I miss him and beg him to come back, but how fucking psycho is that?
Me: Glad to hear it!
Me: Not the hot part, lol.
Cato: I’ll text more later. Gonna unpack and shower. I need the airport off of me.
I smile.
Me: I’ll be here.
This might be hopeless, but tell that to my heart.