Page 35 of Get to You
“Her.”
“Pardon?”
“Croft is a female, as in Laura Croft.”
I blink several times, while he stares at me waiting for me to get it. I don’t.
“Oh sorry, I didn’t realize.”
He gives a small tight smile, “I’ve had her going on four years now. Ferrets have a life expectancy of around six to ten years. I’ve been thinking about getting her a companion.”
I don’t know what to do with this information. I really hope we don’t end up talking about Ferret breeding.
God, someone save me. It's times like this I wish I had a girlfriend to send out a S.O.S, a bat signal, something.
When dinner is finally over, he leads me out to the sidewalk. His hand rests on my lower back. I hurry my steps feeling uncomfortable with him so close behind me.
“Do you have any plans for the rest of the night?”
“No, I’ll probably just head home. You?” I ask more out of courtesy than any real desire to know.
“I’m actually headed over to a friend’s LAN party.” His brows are raised again like he’s waiting for my acknowledgement.
“A land party?” confusion clear in my tone.
He sighs, “No a L-A-N party. We have a small group of us that get together to test out each other’s video games or play old favorites. You could come, it’s fun even if you just watch.” He adds hopeful.
My denial is automatic, “Maybe next time Nate.” I kick myself the moment my reply leaves my lips. In trying for politeness, I’ve made it seem I might be up for another time. Damn it!
I signal for a cab. Thank God cabbies take cards, because I used my cash to pay for my half of dinner.
I kick of my shoes as I enter the cab, not even caring about the grime on the floor. I don’t take a full breath until we pull up to my studio. I’m so done.
I snap my book closed and growl. I don't know why I'm rereading this damn thing. I don't need to. I've already read it twice, plus I barely even talk at book club. This is just some strange form of self torture. At this rate, I'll never have sex again. Considering the two times I have had sex ended in disaster, it's pretty damn sad. I’m going to die alone with book boyfriends and vibraters as my only source of pleasure.
What a way to spend a Saturday night. Alone, hungry and sexually frustrated, I look to the timer. It has six minutes left. At least my dinner is almost done.
I'm in such a funk, I'm listening to my Sunday morning playlist. John Legend is powering through a ballad in the background. I pull my cheesy garlic baked chicken from the oven. The fried potatoes should be done as soon as the chicken is done resting, so I turn my oven up high to roast some asparagus. I drizzle them with olive oil, garlic, and coarse sea salt, before sliding them in.
I hear a loud buzz. I pause in shutting the oven door. A few seconds later, I hear the noise again and realize it's my intercom. I look out the window, but I can't see the door from this angle.
It buzzes for the third time, so I pick up the phone.
"Yes," I say quietly.
"Sam, can I come up?" Beau? What is he doing here? I am suddenly aware that I don't even have a bra on. Oh holy hell. "Sam?"
Shit.
"Yeah, can you give me like two minutes. I'll buzz you in and unlock the door, but I just need--- a minute." I say in a rush.
I don't wait for him to respond, I push the button for a long moment and unlock the front door. Then I run. I run like I'm being chased by a pack of wild dogs. My socks slide across the floor. I grab the first bra I see and run to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me.
I pull my white tee shirt over my head. Getting it caught in my hair.
I look down and curse. I grabbed a fucking black bra. I walk to my dryer hoping there are some clean clothes in it but find nothing. Fuck.
I hear the door shut, and I scramble for a brush. I don't have time for mascara and that'd be stupid anyway. I brush out my hair and leave it down.
