My phone beeps with a text and I frown when I see the number come up. Who’s that?
Hope the move went well.
See you tomorrow.
xoxo
My eyes widen. Oh my God.
Brock! What does he want?
I throw my phone onto the floor as if it’s a bomb, and angry tears burn my eyes.
“Leave me alone,” I cry. “Don’t call me again. I hate you for making me feel like this.”
I cacoon myself in my sleeping bag and roll into a ball. My misery takes over and I cry tears of shame.
Brock
I dial the phone number and stare out the window, looking over at the horizon as I wait for the call to go through.
It’s dusk, and the lights from the city are twinkling down below.
I’ve been counting the hours until I could call Tully. Weirdly, I’ve never been so keen to meet up with a chick in my life.
“I’ll take her for dinner, and then for drinks. After that…” I stop and listen as it starts to ring.
It rings and rings until it rings out. I hang up before leaving a message.
I frown. Hmm, maybe she’s in the shower.
Annoyed, I open a beer. Patience isn’t my strong point.
I pick up the remote for the television and flick through the channels, waiting an hour for her to call back. It’s 7:00 p. m. now and I’m getting antsy.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.
“Pick up!” I snap. I wait for her voicemail, and then I hear her cheerful, husky voice.
Hi, this is Tully.
Leave a message.
I pause for a moment. “Tully, this is Brock. Call me.” I hang up, sip my beer and turn my attention back to the television, unimpressed.
I don’t wait for chicks to call me back. They always fucking answer my calls. This is annoying.
I had plans for us tonight.
10:00 p. m. now, and I glare at my phone on the coffee table. So, she’s not fucking calling me back, hey? What’s her problem?
This is a first.
I walk into the bathroom and tear off my clothes to get into the shower.
I let the hot water run over my head and down my face as I stare at the tiles.
An uncomfortable feeling comes over me as I scrub my body aggressively.
Fuck her, then. I don’t need this shit.
I do my last chin up and pant as I fall back to the floor, taking a quick glance at the front door of the gym.
With my towel, I wipe the perspiration from my face and neck. I check the time on my phone and stare at it for a moment.
It’s 9:30 p. m. on Monday night. Tully’s not here like she was all last week. She hasn’t called me back and I’m getting majorly pissed off.
What is her fucking problem?
I put my earphones in and lie back on the weight bench to do some flies.
I push the weights into the air as replay the last time I was with her here.
She was happy to see me, and then she met me in the bathroom. I was naked.
Then we…
I frown.
Maybe I was too much for her?
An uneasy feeling sweeps over me again. It’s the same one I’ve had since yesterday, and I don’t like it one little bit.
I push the weights into the air angrily. The sex isn’t her issue. It can’t be. She loved it. She loved every damn minute of it.
She came like a fucking freight train.
Then, why?
Maybe she’s got a boyfriend. I sit up and drink my water from my bottle as I contemplate that for a second.
I narrow my eyes and stare into space. No. If she had a boyfriend she wouldn’t have let me kiss her in the public bar the other night.
Fuck me. Fill me up. Her words come back to me. Oh, she wanted it, all right. I didn’t imagine that.
I sit up and stare at my phone again, clicking through to find her name. My finger hovers over her number.
Do I call again? Fuck it.
I dial her number and I sit, waiting as it rings out again. I clench my jaw. I dial again, and this time I wait for her voicemail.
Hi, this is Tully.
Leave a message.
“Tully, it’s Brock. Stop playing your stupid fucking games and call me back,” I snap. I hang up, stand, and grab my bag, heading straight for the door.
When she does call me back she’s getting a fucking mouthful.
I’m not putting up with her shit. I storm out of the door and throw my bag into my car. My phone rings and I scramble to pick it up. But the name Ben lights up the screen instead of hers. Fuck’s sake. I answer in a rush. “What?” I bark.
“Jesus, what’s up your fucking ass?”
“Nothing. What the fuck do you want?”
“I’m calling to see if we’re training in the morning, you fucking moody bitch.”
I roll my eyes. “Yep. See you at 5:30.” I hang up, annoyed, and scroll through my phone until I get to her name. My finger hovers over her name again.
No. Don’t call again.
I bite my thumbnail as I stare through the front windshield of my car, my leg bouncing as I think. I don’t know her surname. I don’t know where she works. I don’t know where she lives. I have absolutely no way of finding her unless I look her up on my work computers, which I have warned my staff against ever doing. It’s instant dismissal to trace someone and invade their privacy that way. I narrow my eyes, clench my jaw, and start my car in a temper.
I should have dragged her back to my house that night. What was I thinking, letting her leave? My fury begins to boil.
I can’t pursue this any further unless she calls me back or comes to the gym.
The ball is completely in her court.
And it fucking pisses me off.
I push the heavy weights up with my legs. It’s 6:00 a. m. now, and I’m in the gym with Ben, my closest friend. He’s not my closest friend because he’s been my friend the longest, because he hasn’t. But Ben was in love with my sister Bridget for five years from afar. He called me every week to check in on her and put her wellbeing in my hands. During that time, and with all those late-night phone calls, our guards were completely let down with each other.
We talked about shit that we don’t talk about with anyone else.
I suppose, because he had to share his weakness with me, I have shown him mine in return, it has grown into a deep understanding of each other.
He thinks like me, he feels like me. We just get each other.
He probably knows me better than anyone, and at a time like this, when I’ve got something on my mind, it’s impossible for him not to notice.
“Spill,” he says.
I push the weight in the air.
“Spill what?”
He gives me a sarcastic glare. “You’ve been a cranky bastard for two days. What’s your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem.” I huff as I stand.
He takes his place on the bench. “Bullshit.” He does his set.
I lie back down to do mine. “I’ve got the shits with that chick, that’s all.”
He frowns. “Who? Miranda?”
I roll my eyes. Miranda is a girl I see sometimes. She’s trying to make friends with my sisters to get to me and it annoys the hell out of me. “No, not fucking Miranda. I’m off her.”
Ben frowns.
“That chick from here. Tully, the hot redhead.”
A smile crosses his face. “Oh, her.” He sips the water from his bottle.
I clench my jaw. It annoys me that she’s so hot.
He lies down to do his set. “So, what’s the problem?”
I shrug. “You tell me. We hooked up. It was smoking hot and now she’s not returning my calls.”
“This is the time we talked about the other night when you didn’t close?” he asks.
“No. I saw her again.”
He smirks and raises a brow. “And?”
I shrug.
He smiles. “Where?”
“Here.”
“Did you close?”
“Slammed the door shut.”
He chuckles and does another set. “And now she’s not answering your calls?”
“Nope. And I don’t fucking get it.”
He thinks for a moment and we move to another weight bench. “Well… what happened?”
I shake my head. “We hooked up, it was white hot, she fried my fucking balls, and now she’s disappeared.”
He frowns. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” I think for a moment and I push the idea out of my head.
“What?”
I shrug. “I lost my head a bit.”
“You were rough with her?” He frowns.
“Rougher than I meant to be.” I run my hands through my hair. “She was just blowing my fucking mind, you know?”
He watches me carefully. “Did you hurt her?”
“What?” I shake my head. “No, I didn’t hurt her. She was fucking loving it.”
My face falls. “It was her…” My voice trails off.
“Her what?”
I wince. “I popped her cherry.”