Page 114 of Smut

I head back inside, the heat already strong this morning, and put on The White Stripes to get Elton John out of my head. I pick up my phone from the charger on the wall, hoping Amanda has texted me.

An email displayed on my lock screen puts my heart in my throat.

It’s from Rachel.

Funny how life works like that. Like when you have a dream about some random person and then happen to see them the next day.

I breathe out slowly, trying to expel the tension in my chest, and sit on the bed, taking a moment before I open the email.

Here I go.

Bollocks.

There’s a lot to read.

I scan over it, blinking hard at what she’s written and going back over it again.

It’s not a friendly “hi, haven’t talked to you for a bit, how is life?” email.

It’s the “I made a huge mistake and I’m alone now and I realize I still love you and miss you more than ever, please come back, we can make this work” kind of email.

The love of my life, the love that ruined me, is admitting she was wrong, is asking for a second chance.

And now.

Now of all times.

Bloody fucking hell.

I drop the phone, my head swimming, trying to process it all, trying to think.

It's enough to make kings and vagabonds believe the very best.

Fucking song.

I think I’m going to need to add a little something to my coffee.

I’m about to get up and rummage through my rapidly-depleting liquor cabinet when the phone starts to ring.

Shit. Don’t tell me she’s calling me too.

I cautiously pick it up and see Amanda’s name flashing across the screen.

Seriously? She never calls me, I’m always calling her.

“Hello?” I answer urgently.

“Hey,” she says, sounding small and far away.

“You never call.”

“I know.”

“How are you feeling after last night? Did you guys stay long? Did you go somewhere else? Did you have fun?” I’m totally rambling like a runaway train here.

She laughs. “You goof. Of course I had fun. I’m good. I just went home after.” She pauses and it’s obvious there’s something on her mind.

“So…”

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