Page 93 of First-Time Caller
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
She grins at me. I think I’m jealous of the guy I got to be when wanting her was something I was allowed to do. I’m torn between who I am and who I want to be.
“Will you see him again? Your mystery Skee-Ball man?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, back to her tiny airplane. She creases one of the lines with her thumb and then folds again. “I don’t know if he had a good time. Maybe he doesn’t want to see me again.”
“I’m sure he does.”
Her eyes snap to mine and she folds another tiny wing. “I haven’t heard from him since.”
“Maybe he’s got a good reason,” I rasp. “Maybe he’s trying to figure out some things for himself.”
Maybe he’s trying to hold himself together. Maybe he’s trying to give you everything you want.
She finishes her paper plane and throws it at me. The point digs into the center of my chest then falls to my lap. Bull’s-eye.
“I guess we’ll see,” Lucie says.
“I guess so. In the meantime, see you never, Oswald.”
“Oliver,” Lucie corrects, a reluctant laugh tumbling out of her.
“Whatever.”
We stare at each other. Static fills my ears and my head and my lungs.
“It’s late,” Lucie says. She tilts her head toward the clock without looking away from me. “We should probably wrap up. Do you want to tell the good people of Baltimore good night, or should I?”
“Good night, good people of Baltimore.”
Lucie laughs and the sound vibrates against my bones.
“Lucie.” My voice cracks on her name. My heart is pounding like a drum in the center of my chest. “It’s always a pleasure to have you in the booth.”
She tries to hide her smile in her shoulder, but I see it anyway. “Right back at you.”
I wrap up the rest of my sign-off and try to rationalize. I tally the score while a whirlwind whips at the edges of my reason. It’s normal to feel affectionate toward Lucie, I tell myself. We’ve been spending three nights together a week, every week. But affection isn’t the thing I’m feeling. It would be easier if it was.
I’m drunk on her smile. Desperate to know more about her. I want to know her favorite pizza toppings. What sort of toothpaste she uses. If her blush disappears once it reaches the top of her chest or if her whole body flushes pink. I’m buying mint chocolates at CVS because I can’t quit the craving. I want my hands in her hair and my mouth at her throat. I have fantasies where I bend her over this table. Others where I wrap her in a blanket and feed her toast.
I’m not standing at the edge. I’m all the way over it.
“Show’s over,” she says, her voice muffled through my headphones. Hers are flat on the desk, set on top of her tiny notepad like they always are. I don’t touch them when she’s not here because I like the reminder that she’s coming back. “Are you going to . . . ?” She gestures at my headset.
I swallow. “I haven’t decided yet.”
A smile ghosts across her mouth and she reaches between us, tugging them off. Her finger glances over the shell of my ear.
She puts my headphones next to hers.
“Are we going to talk about it?” she asks, one eyebrow raised. She’s calling my bluff while I can’t stop looking at her mouth.
Eileen left five minutes ago, flicking off the lights in the hallway. The only thing illuminating the room is the glow of my computer screen and the streetlight streaming in through the window. Her face is shadow and light.
We are the only two people in the building.
