Page 37 of Body Check

My emotions, just like the Safe Space thread, are as chaotic as an Irish pub here in Boston on St. Patty’s Day.

By the fourth ring, disappointment thickens the lump in my throat. Convinced that he has no plans to answer, I pull the phone from my ear and hover my thumb over the red telephone button.

“Idiot,” I mutter to myself. I stare at the time stamp rolling at the top of the screen, mocking me with how many seconds I’ve waited.

Thirty-one seconds, that’s how long.

Thirty seconds too—

“Holly?”

His voice is tinny, small.

My thumb switches angles from the red button to tapping the speakerphone option.

“Holls, you there?”

Over the phone, his voice is pitched lower. Rougher. During the early days when we first dated, I used to live for him calling me just so I could hear him as he sounds now. I’m only a little ashamed to admit that the timbre of his voice still twists my insides and curls my toes.

One day, I tell myself,one day that’ll all just stop.

Because if I’m forced to spend the rest of my life lusting after my ex-husband’s voice, I’m calling it right now: in a previous life, I must have screwed someone over real bad. Worse than a burger in a recycling bin. What other reason would I have to pay this sort of penance now?

“Hey.” I clear my throat, laying waste to the lump that just won’t go away. “I’m here.”

The line dips into short, uncomfortable silence. Then, “Is everything okay?”

In the darkness of my office, with only the scant cityscape to create shadows, it’s so damn easy to support the illusion that this phone call is like any other we used to have. I can picture me sitting on the white, plush sofa that I’ve got pressed against the far wall, my skirt lifted to my hips and my fingers playing between my legs as Jackson whispers dirty, feverish words over the phone.

On the few occurrences when I couldn’t make his games, he never let the distance stop him from making me cry out his name. Or from him ducking into the hotel bathroom to keep his teammates clueless as to what he was up to.

“Holly, are you there?”

His voice is sharp now, not the seductive growl that tips me over the edge. It’s sharp enough to send me tumbling from the memories and back into reality.

With shaky fingers, I slip my hair behind my ears and drop my chin with a heavy breath. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m here.”Be normal. Don’t be awkward!“Why did—”

“Look,” he says, and I can almost picture him leaning his head back against the cushions while he reclines on his couch, “I should have told you the guys wanted you in the group chat, so I’m sorry if that caught you off guard. They’re persistent assholes.”

“Trust me, I’m aware.” If I wasn’t already, that group text definitely solidified it for me.Persistentmight actually be an understatement. “Why add me at all?”

His breath crackles over the phone, and I remove him from speakerphone to press the cell to my ear. “They said that you’re a part of the team now that you’re filming us for the next few months.” He pauses, and then adds, “You can mute them.”

“Mute them?” I ponder out loud, my thumb caressing the smooth edge of my phone case, “or you, too?”

Laughter greets me, deep and gritty. “Is that a dig at my voiceover skills?”

Even though he can’t see me, my shoulders lift in a shrug. “I’d say don’t quit your day job any time soon for acting, but it seems you’re heading in that direction anyway.”

This time, there’s no pause on his end. I hear rustling like he’s getting comfortable—on the couch? In his bed?—and then he’s speaking again: “It was cheesy, huh?”

I smile, just a little. “Now don’t go putting words in my mouth, Captain.”

He laughs again, and the sound heats me like basking under the sun after months of winter. “Don’t give me openings like that, Holls. You know I can’t resist the pull to make you blush.”

Only then do I realize theexactopening he’s talking about.

Oh, God. Talk about embarrassing innuendos.

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