Chapter 15
“If these walls could talk…”
“You’d probably masturbate less.”
Adelaide
Unknown: Thank you for coming by and taking care of me.
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: How many sick people have you been tending to?
Me: Finn? How did you get my number?
Unknown: It is. I wanted to thank you, and I didn’t want to wait for days to pass.
Me: You’re welcome.
I slide my glasses to the top of my head and rub at my eyes.
This is about the last thing I expected.
I’ve been working nonstop for…glancing at the three-foot round clock hanging high on my wall…
six hours. I lost track of time again, and now, I’m stiff.
Hefting my computer and lap desk to the table next to the chair, I slowly start to unfold myself.
A low grumble of discontent sounds from under the blanket by my feet, and Eric wiggles his little body out, blinking at me.
It’s a standoff. If I hold perfectly still, he’ll go back to sleep, but if I move an inch, there’s no way I’ll be able to put off his walk for even a minute.
His eyes are just drifting closed when my phone vibrates with a handful of text messages back to back.
The sensation, while not at all unpleasant, startles the shit out of me since I dropped it in my lap after responding to Finn.
It might have slid to strategically rest right against my lady bits.
Eric takes my subtle shift as confirmation of his deepest desires, and he bolts for the door, sliding to a stop before he dances in an awkward circle.
Sighing, I push myself up, grab my jacket and bright-yellow scarf, and shove my feet into my boots. “Buddy, it’s cold out. This is going to be a quickie,” I tell Eric as I scoop him up to expedite the whole process.
Eric, of course, is oblivious to the cold and hops and skips down the sidewalk, looking for the ideal spot to poop.
Honest to God, what makes the spot three blocks away from my warm apartment so much more desirable than the snow bank right outside the door?
Dogs are stupid. Or maybe the male species in general are the stupid ones.
I’m frozen solid by the time we walk back through the door.
Eric does his helicopter dance in front of his bowl for his post-poop feeding.
So gross. I scoop out some kibble for him and go straight for my coffeemaker, fixing myself a fresh pot.
The aroma fills the air around me as I fix myself a cup.
With my hands wrapped around the warm mug, I realize I have a big decision to make. More work? Or lose myself in a book for an hour or two? There’s not really a question to it. I grab my Kindle, and after a few minutes, just when things are starting to heat up, the cushion under my ass shakes.
Shoving my hand down into the side of the chair, I dig around for a bit before scoring. There are a ton of text messages, almost as many emails, and a missed call. I don’t talk to this many people in a given day, but there is someone new who has my number now.
“Eric, should I even look?”
Eric truly acts like he doesn’t give a shit.
Swiping at the screen, I see that Brielle sent me a ton of pictures of her and Not Brad. The guy is seriously hot and looks super familiar, but I can’t quite place why. The emails are from clients, and I decide to answer those later. The missed call is my dad. That’s a no.
Nothing further from Finn. Another surprise.
I figured he’d be all up in my business now that he had my number.
He’s not used to hearing no, and I have given him nothing but.
I stare at my phone for a minute. Look around my apartment and take stock of my life.
I’m twenty-five, I live alone, I work from home, and my best friend lives a thousand miles away and is sending me pictures of her and a hot guy who is definitely not her fiancé.
My only consistent interaction is with a foot-long wiener named Eric.
And, now, I’m bothered that one of the man-whore bartenders has my number and is not blowing up my phone.
I don’t know what to do with this, but it doesn’t look good for my social life.
I drop my Kindle and send a quick text to Bri, asking who the guy is, but the bouncy dots never bounce.
Nothing. I pull a strand of hair from my braid and wrap it around my finger while I wait.
The colors blend and shift as the strands wind and layer from deep, dark green to a much paler hue.
I glance at my phone and still no bounce.
I’m lonely.
Really freaking lonely. It’s never bothered me before. I like to be alone—like, really like it. No people. No germs. No feet. No attitude.
But it’s lonely.
I check again, and there are still no bouncy dots.
It’s fine. My book will keep me company.
I don’t need anything else. I mean, I moved here to get away, so I’m away.
I turn off notifications and drop my phone in my lap, diving back into my steamy story.
But the silence is interrupted by a voice.
Eric cocks his head from side to side, staring at my lap. At where my phone rests.
“Bri, is that you?” I call, fumbling with the button, so I can just put it on speaker. “Hang on, you’re stuck between my thighs.”
The laughter is deep, deeper than Brielle’s voice. Maybe she’s with that guy in her pictures. Lord, that would be mortifying. But, when I check my phone display, it’s not my friend’s number I see.
“I can’t think of a better place to get stuck.” The accent is raspy and a touch nasally, but it’s his.
My fingers slide through my loose strands, and I groan. “Hey, Finn. I, uh…that wasn’t meant for you.”
“I’m not your Bri, but I wouldn’t mind getting messages like that.” He coughs out the last word and pulls the phone away from his mouth until he’s back under control. “Sorry, that got away from me. Probably the excitement.”
“You’re not better yet? Do you need anything?” I guess I just assumed he was over this cold.
“Mostly better, no more fever, but—” He grunts a little, and it sounds like he’s walking. “Sorry, I wanted some privacy. Since I’ve got you, erm…I, ehm…” He laughs quietly and blows out a barely audible, “Wow.”
“You don’t have me; let’s just get that straight.” Realizing how prickly that came out, I try to soften things. “But what do you need?”
“That didn’t make it any easier to ask.” Finn huffs out a laugh. “I would like to show you a good time.”
“Show me a good time?” I snark. “You really think you’re up for that?” Does he even hear himself? I gave him a chance. I tried to be nice. “Why don’t you just—”
“That’s not what I meant. I want to take you out,” he rushes out. “Will you…” I hear a muted thud, like he banged his head against the wall or door or something. “Would you allow me to take you out on Friday evening?”
I’m stunned silent.
Whatever smart-ass direction I was about to tell him to go fuck off scatters from my brain when I hear a quiet, “Please.”
“Okay.”
“You will?”
I don’t know what possessed me to say yes. Well, I do. It has everything to do with that whole lonely thing going on with me.
“Yeah. But I should go. I, um…I have to…I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Addie.”
“Adelaide. It’s—”
And he’s gone.
“Adelaide.”