Page 81 of Chemistry: The Chemist

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

A knock at the door alarmed me. I was up and on my feet within seconds, pulling the leggings back on while rushing toward the door. I hopped on one foot as I pushed the other through the last hole.

“Who is it?”

“Delivery for Eden Reid.”

Delivery? I thought, peeping outside. Michael from concierge stood on the other side of my door. The familiar face prompted me to open it.

“For you,” he said, handing over a bag and a phone with a fully lit screen.

“Thank you, Michael. Who do I thank–”

“I have the slightest idea but someone is waiting on the line, adamant I keep it open until the phone is in your possession.”

“Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure.”

I stepped inside with the phone and black bag. Chanel was written in a simple, yet captivating font. It held the least of my interest. The cell, however, had nearly every ounce. I pressed it against my ear, finding my way to the window in the living room where I peered down toward the street in search of my suitor. I wasn’t psychic, but I didn’t need to be to know who was on the other end.

Silence coated the line for seconds, dragging on for what felt like minutes. And then, when he was absolutely ready, he spoke.

“Get off the phone, Eden, and get some rest. Pick it up again and it’s going to lead me to believe whoever on that line doesn’t cherish their life.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Addictive. Interesting. Even a bit concerning, but insufferable? Not anymore, Choc.”

“I was talking to a friend.”

“With balls and a dick. Don’t insult me.”

Chuckling, I said, “Maybe once upon a time, but she’s transitioned.”

“Let me find out otherwise and she’s going to transition again. To her final resting place.”

The dull silence on the line made it clear he’d hung up. With worried eyes, I searched the busy street for signs of Chem. There were none.

Where are you? I wanted to know. I needed to know. The phone vibrated in my hand. I answered instantly, not waiting for it to ring a second or third time.

“Don’t worry yourself. If I wanted you to find me, I’d be at your door and not on your phone.”

“Where are you?”

“Wherever I’m at,” he teased. “You need rest. You’ve hardly slept a wink.”

“I miss you,” honestly, I breathed out.

So much it hurts. And it would keep hurting because no matter how far we’d come, we’d taken a hundred steps back at dinner the other night.

“I miss you more, Eden. I miss you more,” he rattled off, sucking the skin of his teeth. Afraid he’d hang up, again, I rushed more words from my mouth though they came out calmly, slowly.

“I can’t sleep.”

---