Shock - Marie Johnston Page 0,73
pair of black shorts and a T-shirt. All I’m going to do is sleep in them and change out of them for work in the morning.
I glance at my phone as I walk out of the room, stomach growling.
The name on the screen stops me short.
Lia. I’ve been thinking about you. How are you doing?
I go back to the bed and stand over it. Wasn’t that the same weak-ass message that Samuel sent her once?
And I told her not to ignore it but to tell him point-blank that he doesn’t have a shot.
What does she want out of me? I can’t tell her she doesn’t have a shot. That’d be the biggest lie I’ve ever told. So what do I do?
I stare at the phone.
I can’t ignore it after I told her to tell Samuel off—and then she did.
I can’t send a simple message like Fine. I’m not fine. Not at all.
I can’t…I can’t quit fucking thinking about her. I can’t quit dreaming of her. I can’t quit wanting to tell her about my day, or vent about lawyers—I know she’d understand. I can’t quit regretting what I did even though I saw no other way.
I can’t quit loving her.
So I pick up the phone and bring up a number I’ve dialed several times before.
My boss answers. “Hey, Lori. Can I take a sick day tomorrow? I’m feeling rough.”
I’m not above a little bit of lying.
“No problem, Monroe. You’ve been working so much since you started I worried you’d burn out. Get some R&R, come back when you’re refreshed.”
After hanging up, I whip through my room and pack a bag. In a few minutes, I’m in my car and driving. I don’t stop until I reach a condo with a neglected flower bed and a nosy neighbor.
Lia
My doorbell rings. It’s well past the time anyone with altruistic motives would be knocking.
I rush to the peephole in my flannel pajama pants and oversized shirt, hoping to catch them before they ring again and wake Mrs. Rosenthal.
I can’t make out who it is other than a big figure enclosed in shadows. My heart rate kicks up. “Who is it?”
“Ford.”
I open the door before the answer registers in my conscious brain. “Ford?”
He pushes in but I offer no resistance. He stares at me, drinking me in in the dark. The last time we did this runs through my brain and I recall every taste, every sensation from that night.
“I got your message,” he finally says, his voice rough. His hair is spiked like he’s run his hands through it a thousand times.
“Yeah?” I’m breathless.
“You knew I couldn’t ignore it.”
It’s true. I did. “Yeah.”
“So, I’m here to tell you I’m not doing well. Melville fucking sucks, my job’s fine, but I work all the time and the house hasn’t sold so I haven’t made any headway with custody. I’ve also applied for ER residencies and haven’t heard back yet.”
“Oh. Oh, okay.” I nod like this is anything close to a normal conversation. “I’m not doing well, either. I don’t have a set partner so I get paired with Russel way too much and he’s such an ass.”
Ford drifts closer. “You’re part of the douche crew.”
“It’s awful. But school’s going well. My parents have been down to visit.”
That makes him pause. He’s so close, he’s towering over me. “That’s good. That’s really good.” Another step and we’re inches apart. “I’m not doing good without you. I don’t care, Lia. I don’t care that we’re in different cities, that you don’t want to move, I’ll make it work. I’ll make it fucking work because I’m so in love with you I’d rather have you a phone call away for years than never have you.”
He says everything my dream Ford has been telling me the last few months. Am I still asleep? Is this still my dream Ford? “I realized that I don’t really have a good reason to stay in Sunnyville. And that means I don’t have a good reason not to be in Melville when I’m so in love with you.”
His forehead touches mine. “I don't care where you’re at, as long as we’re together somehow.” He drops his mouth and his lips press mine, increasing in pressure until he wraps his arms around me and lifts me against him.
My back hits the wall. We’re on the same page, about to do exactly what we did the last time he showed up on my doorstep late at night.
Our hands are all over each other, pushing