Chapter 16
DALTON
Sage texts me back immediately.
Being too cool for school, GrumpyAndAnnoying. Ha-ha.
I can’t stop myself from smiling. I’m immediately wondering if I’m making two huge mistakes tonight.
But I don’t just want to text with her. I want to hear her voice.
I want to hear her laugh. Before I think about it for too long, I dial her number.
It rings a couple of times, and she answers breathlessly.
“Hello?”
“Hi. What are you doing?” Lounging on my bed, I push my pillow behind my back and lean against my headboard.
I wonder if she’s in bed as well. That would make this call romantic. Not that I want it to be.
“I’m speaking to you on the phone. What do you think?”
“What were you doing before I called you?”
“Why do you want to know? Is this twenty questions?”
I hear the sounds of traffic on her end, and I wonder if she’s walking. Hopefully not back home from a date.
“Have you set up your profile already?” I ask before I can stop myself, grabbing the remote control to turn on the TV so she can hear something in my background as well.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I was about to, but then you called me.”
“I see.” Relief floods through me as I realize there’s no possible way she can be on a date. “So, what are you up to then?” I ask casually, flicking channels like I’m not invested in the conversation.
“Walking on the moon with Mickey Mouse,” she says sarcastically.
I can’t help but smile. I stop on a channel showing a rerun of The King of Queens and turn the volume up a bit.
“Why? Where are you? It just got loud.”
“I’m somewhere cool,” I say, deliberately being vague.
If she’s not going to tell me, I’m not going to tell her.
“Okay, Pinocchio. You don’t know the meaning of cool.” She giggles, and I wonder if she’s drunk.
“I’ll have you know, I am the very definition of it.”
“Sure you are. Maybe cool as in cold to the touch.”
“Is that your way of saying you want to touch me?”
“Hell to the no.”
“Sad. My heart might never heal from that slight.”
I laugh and then reach over to grab my water. I take a sip and turn my gaze to look around my large, luxurious bedroom. It’s my favorite room in the house, but it’s all gray and black, and it needs a woman’s touch. I wonder what Sage would think of the room. I bet she’d hate it.
“Dalton, why were you texting me?”
“Do you not want me to text you?”
“No, I didn’t say that. I was just curious why.”
“I was just trying to figure out how your first weeks of work are going, if you were enjoying yourself.”
“Enjoying myself at work?” She bursts out laughing. “Now, I don’t know if you want me to lie and say it’s the best job I’ve ever had in my life, but—”
“What do you mean, that would be a lie? It’s not the best job you’ve ever had in your life?” I tease.
She laughs again. “Dalton, what is going on? Are you trying to ruin my good mood?”
“Why on earth would you think that?”
“I don’t know.” She pauses. “I’m just curious why you’re calling, is all.”
“Maybe I called because I wanted to hear your voice.” That is far more honest than I really want to be, but she doesn’t have to know that. “You sound like a movie star I used to like.” Liar, liar.
“Sure, you’re calling to hear my voice because you love it, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say sarcastically. “You could be the next Mariah Carey or Celine Dion.”
“Yep, I can sing just as well as them, you know?”
“Oh, I’m sure you can. Why don’t you sing for me?”
“Why don’t I sing for you? Why don’t you sing for me?”
“I’m not the one who said I’m an amazing singer.”
“Dalton?”
“Yes, Sage?”
“Are you trying to be the bane of my existence?”
“I would hope not. I’d rather be the reason for your living.” I shift back on the bed, close my eyes, and listen to her voice. “That sounds weird. I guess … I guess I was just bored,” I say.
“So, now you call me when you’re bored.”
“Do I need an excuse to call you?” I picture her next to me.
“Yeah, you do. Most people’s bosses don’t call them because they’re bored.”
“Maybe I wanted to ask if you could come in to work early tomorrow to work an extra shift.”
“Now, that doesn’t sound like fun.” She yawns. “Is that really why you’re calling me?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Dalton?”
I hear the annoyance in her voice, but I don’t want to let her go.
“Yes, Sage?”
“I don’t really know what this is about, but—”
“But what?”
“I hope you’ll tell me soon, or I’m going to hang up.
I’m currently standing outside, and I want to go back inside because I have a feeling your sister and my sister have eaten all the chili cheese fries and probably all the onion rings, and Rosie’s probably eaten my burger as well, and I’m still hungry. ”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you were still at the restaurant with the girls.” I laugh, suddenly feeling lighter. “Why did you answer the phone?”
“Because you called me and I thought it might be something important, but if it’s not, can I go back to my food?”
“You can come over if you want.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“To get some food. I could make something for you,” I say casually, and there’s silence on the line.
“I’m just joking, of course. I’m not going to make something for you.
I was just trying to have my wicked way with you, like the big bad wolf that I am.
” I run my fingers down my chest and let out a low, teasing growl.
“Yeah, okay, Dalton. If there’s nothing else, I’m going to go.”
“There’s nothing else,” I say softly, and she hangs up the phone.
I groan into my hands as I sit up and then get out of bed.
That entire conversation was bullshit. I sounded like a thirteen-year-old guy calling his first crush and not knowing what to say.
I don’t know what it is about Sage. Maybe it is because she is so prickly and so confident, and yet I can see her soft interior.
Maybe it is the way that sometimes, I stare into her eyes, and I can see the longing and the wonder and the hope, and I want to know what is in her brain, what she is hoping for, what she is seeking.
Occasionally, I even think she is the sort of woman who can understand me, where I came from, the things I have done, how much I hate the man that I was, and how I am trying to atone for my sins.
Yet there is a part of me deep down inside that doesn’t think that there will ever be a woman who can accept and understand that I am a deeply flawed man with a complicated past. Not that I deserve that.
“Get a grip, man,” I lecture myself as I enter the bathroom, grab my toothbrush, and brush my teeth.
My mind races back to the app, to Sage looking for dates, to Sage chatting with other men, to her opening up. I bet she’d answer their questions. I bet if I were a man on the app, I could really get to know her.
“Don’t do it, man,” I mutter to myself. But as I finish washing my face, I’m mentally creating a fake profile.
I grab my phone.
“This is not a good idea, Dalton.”
I want to stop myself, but I can’t. My fingers rapidly type in the name for the dating app and download it. Before I know it, I’m signing up with a fake name and creating a fake profile.
Username: Lovemakesiteasy
Name: Bradley
Career: Equity Banker
Net Worth: Ten Figures
Searching For: Love and Marriage
I find an old photo from college and run it through an AI app. I give myself blond hair, blue eyes, and a deep tan and upload it. I pause before I hit the button to confirm my membership. I am signing up as a fake billionaire, as a handsome man who is looking for true love and marriage.
I feel like I am crossing a line, but I can’t help myself.
I want access to Sage that I can’t get as myself.
I am doing it so that I can see who Sage is, if the person she is inside is the person she shows me.
I don’t know if I will even message her, but there is something in me longing to get to know her on a deeper level, and I know that can’t happen in person, not with the way that we began.
Maybe it’s just in my head. Maybe it is just for fun; maybe it is just to alleviate my boredom when I am home at night, but as I complete the transaction, type in her username, and see her beautiful photo pop up on the screen, I feel a dull ache in my heart.
Part of me wishes I could be me and message her to see if she’d go on a date, but I know she wouldn’t, so this is the second-best thing.
I can be the man she wants—at least, I can pretend to be—and then I will find a way to truly get to know her.
I don’t know why I feel this way. I don’t want to second-guess my reasons, but it doesn’t matter.
She likely won’t even respond, and then it won’t matter.
But if she does, then the conversations could be endless, and all I want, just once in my life, is to feel a connection with someone who doesn’t know who I am, who doesn’t judge me, who gets to know me for the person I am inside, and I want that person to be Sage.