“Nothing. About to head home.”
“Alone?”
“Alone.”
She takes me by surprise when she shoves her hand in my back pocket and finds my cell, pulling it out.
“What’re you doing?” I ask when she starts punching something into my phone.
“Storing my number,” she explains. She hands it to me when she’s done and says, “For when you don’t want to be alone,” before heading inside.
Chapter Four
“Dude! You said help with some furniture, not a whole house full,” I complain to Max as we stand inside Traci’s home.
“You have something else going on today?”
“If I said yes, would you let me off?”
He looks over at me with a straight face and admonishes, “You want me kicking your ass?”
Shaking my head, I laugh and say, “That’s what I figured.”
Walking over to her large sectional couch, he starts pulling off the cushions. “Come on.”
We begin to load the furniture into the U-Haul when Max asks, “What are you doing later tonight?”
“No plans. I need to run up to the bar to see if Michael was able to get any bands booked,” I say as I jump down from the truck to go inside for another load.
“You wanna stop by later? We’re having a few friends over.”
“We’re?” I question.
Max just looks over at me and laughs. Although he and Traci have been together for a while, I know I’ll be seeing much less of him now that they’re living together. But hanging out with a house full of domesticated bliss isn’t my idea of fun, so I tell him, “I’m probably gonna call it an early night.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
We spend the next two hours loading everything up in the truck before driving it over to Max’s house. Once everything is moved, I head into the office to get some work done and to talk with Michael. He was able to book a few bands and hire Chase, Max’s buddy, to work the door. Since it looks like he has everything under control, I call it a night and go home.
Hopping out of the shower, I throw on a pair of pajama bottoms before going downstairs to watch some TV. I settle myself on the couch and flip on an old movie, one that I’ve seen countless times, but I watch it anyway.
An email notification lights up my phone, and I pick it up to see that it’s work stuff that Michael sent. Not wanting to hack into it tonight, I start mindlessly going through my phone, opening apps, and wasting time. I begin scrolling through my contacts and stop when I see Gina’s info scan by. I tap on her name and stare at her number.
“For when you don’t want to be alone.”
She’s one chick that didn’t make me feel bad after we hooked up. She got it. She accepted it for what it was, and clearly she’s on the same page as me.
Before I know it, the phone is ringing, and when she answers, I say, “Hey. It’s Ryan.”
“Hi. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. You busy?” I ask, keeping the chitchat to a minimum.
“Not anymore.”
“Gotta pen?”
I give her my address, and when there’s a knock on my door about thirty minutes later, I drag myself off the couch to see her standing on my doorstep.
Long blonde hair, tall, and wearing clothes that makes her look like she’s trying a bit too hard for something that’s a guaranteed giveaway.
Her heels click against my hardwood floors when she walks in, smile-clad face as she gives me the lookover. At least I won’t feel guilty with her. I tell myself this a couple times before I take her hand and kiss her. She doesn’t stop me or even slow me down as we stumble across the room.
It isn’t long before she’s bent over my couch, ditching her self-respect just to moan my name in what is nothing more than another throw of diversion. But I’m no better. I’m far from respectable. So the both of us use each other for the mere minutes that we’re able to hold on before lust takes over, and we lose control of ourselves.
As I yank up my pants, she rights herself and turns to face me, sated.
“I’m glad you called.”
I nod my head and start walking over to my kitchen to grab a drink. “You thirsty?” I offer.
“Yeah. Umm, where’s your bathroom?” she asks, and I point down the hall.
“It’s on the right.”
“Thanks.”
When she returns, she situates herself close to me on the couch, getting more comfortable than she should, but I don’t say anything.
As she picks up her glass of water, she says, “So you have the night off?” before taking a sip.
“I don’t keep a schedule,” I tell her, and when she doesn’t respond, I clarify, “It’s my bar. I own it.”
“That’s right. I remember hearing that from Gavin.”
“How do you know Gavin?” I ask.
“He stops by my place every now and then.”
Giving her a confused look, she assures, “Not to see me. My roommate, Ashley, and him have known each other for a while.”
Nodding my head, she continues, “Bar must do pretty well.”
“Why do you say that?”
“This is a big space you have. It’s nice.” She takes another sip of water and sets the glass down on the coffee table.
I bought this loft with the money my father left behind. When he died, everything stayed locked up in an account, untouched for years. My mother wanted nothing to do with it for the longest time. She lived off of the interest, which was more than enough to support us.