Olivia
5:26 – Saturday Evening
My phone rang, I looked at it and didn’t bother fighting it.
I answered it.
“Hey,” I greeted.
“Hey,” Nick replied. “Got somethin’ that came up. Can’t do dinner tonight.”
My heart sunk.
“Text you when my shit’s done. You can come over or I could come to you,” he finished.
My heart got light.
I wanted him to come to me. I wanted his presence in my house, the memory of him in my bed.
But I did not want anyone who might be watching to see him come to me or see his Jag in my drive.
“Text me,” I said. “I’ll come to you.”
“Right, later.”
“Later, Sebring.”
We hung up.
I finished what I was doing at David’s office and headed home because I had to make myself dinner and then be ready for Nick whenever he was ready for me.
* * * * *
11:38 – Saturday Night
When the text came from Nick (that text being, I’m home), I should have let it go. It was late. Much later than I expected. Too late and thus rude to be texting a woman who you want to come over so you can fuck her.
I should absolutely not let him think I was up, waiting for him.
And I should never give him the impression a late summons such as that would get me in my car, driving the streets of Denver just to get a dose of him.
What I should do was answer it the next day, saying I’d gone to sleep and missed his text.
Or better yet, not answer at all and make him communicate with me.
I knew all of that.
However, the only thing I could muster was allowing twenty minutes to pass before I checked for signs anyone was watching the house and then I went to the garage to take the tracker off my car and I headed out.
I felt slightly better when I was barely on my way before another text came in from Nick.
You awake?
I didn’t text him back and not just because I was driving.
I went to his house. I parked. I walked up the iron stairs.
He had the door open by the time I made the top.