Coffee Cup Confessions - Trish Williford Page 0,26
for me to keep him on track with the conversation that needed to be had. So, maybe I should thank you instead.”
We arrive to her brand-new Audi R8, and I admire the vehicle while I open the door for her.
She slides into the driver’s seat and looks up at me through her dark lashes. “There’s a girl, isn’t there?”
I don’t speak of my personal life with clients. Ever. Not only is it unprofessional, but then it also opens up the possibility of misunderstandings of our client-escort relationships. “Just a headache.”
She rolls her eyes. “Liar.”
“Drive safely.”
The purr of the Audi’s engine echoes in the parking garage, and I shut Sophia’s door. “Drive safely.”
With a wave, she pulls out of the parking spot and disappears around the corner toward the exit. My truck is parked just a few spots over, and as soon as I’m out of the parking garage and my cell has service, I connect a call to my Bluetooth.
Mandy answers with an annoyed tone, “What, Jake?”
“Am I interrupting something?”
“I’m at my boyfriend’s house. Can this wait?”
Between her attitude and hearing her mention her boyfriend, I’m instantly pissed again. “Your boyfriend, huh? As in Misha’s ex-boyfriend, I’ve heard.”
She exhales into the phone. “Did Misha come crying to you, playing the victim? She’s really good at that.”
“What’s wrong with you? How could you think this was okay?”
“She said she was over him, so what’s the big deal? And why do you care?”
“Are you kidding right now? I care because you lied to me, so I would agree to take your sister out. You said it was to help build her confidence, but it was just for you to feel less guilty about dating her ex. Then, you lied again and told me Misha was upset because her ex was dating again, but you failed to mention that he was dating you. Don’t you realize how fucked up this is?”
“I’m not doing anything wrong. You wouldn’t want me to let Misha know the truth about how you two met, would you?”
Blackmail? “You’re fucking unbelievable.” My grip on the steering wheel has my knuckles turning white.
“That’s what I thought. Mind your business, and we’ll be good. Don’t try to fight my sister’s battle. She’s a big girl.”
The call goes dead, leaving the cab of my truck silent.
It’s not until I arrive home that I check my messages from when I was out with Sophia. There is a text from Misha from a few hours ago.
Misha: Thank you again for this afternoon. I feel considerably better, and I’m not sure if it’s because of that awesome nap or because I saw you. Part of me thinks it’s a combination of the two. Thanks for not giving up on me. Let’s hang out soon.
It’s well after midnight, but I decide to text back, so she’ll get the message first thing in the morning.
Jake: The nap was pretty epic. Unless you tell me to, I’m not going to give up. No rush and no pressure. Let me know when you want to hang out. I’ll be there.
Just her message makes me feel better after the call with Mandy. Knowing I won’t get a response from Misha until tomorrow, I put my phone on the charger and begin to undress. My suit gets discarded on a pile with the rest of the laundry that needs to go to the dry cleaner.
Much to my surprise, my phone begins ringing. Misha’s name pops up on the screen, and I feel a smile come across my face.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” Her voice is low and sleepy.
“Did I wake you?”
“No. I was lying in bed, reading a book. If I wasn’t tired, I’d tell you to come over, so we could hang out now.”
The thought of her in bed makes me want to throw clothes on and go over to join her for a repeat of our afternoon. “You sure? I could be there in twenty minutes.”
“I’d be a really crappy hostess. I’d probably fall asleep on you again.”
“I wouldn’t mind.” I sit on the edge of my bed, contemplating putting on clothes in case she asks me to come over.
She’s silent for a few beats, and I wonder briefly if she’s fallen asleep.
“I like you, Jake.”
Her words have my heart thumping against my chest. It feels like I’m fifteen again and my crush just admitted she liked me for the first time.
“I like you too.”
“I’m scared of getting hurt,” she admits.
“Me too,” I confess.
“If you’re up to it, I want to go on