Page 33 of High Frequency

The last thing I expect is for her to burst out laughing, but that’s exactly what she does. Literally bending over laughing.

I was curious before, but now I’m pissed, and suddenly the feelings of anger I carried around for far too many years are back. I’m about to let it all out but I don’t get the chance.

“That’s hilarious,” she sneers. “You being rejected? I think you’ve got it backward. Aging clearly has affected your memory.”

“Nothing wrong with my memory,” I scoff.

“No? So you remember you were the one telling me to go in the first place?”

Now I’m the one with my mouth open, except I’m genuinely confused.

“Bullshit. When did I do that?”

“After your mother’s funeral. You had too much to drink and I walked you back to the cabin.”

“I remember that, but I don’t remember telling you to go anywhere. I just remember you were suddenly gone without explanation.”

“Yeah, because you told me to take the job. That was after you kicked me out of your bed, buck naked,” she snarls.

I am literally dumbfounded. Mute, unable to form words, let alone speak them.

Surely, I would remember Sloane in my bed, naked. Christ, I’m getting a hard-on just at the visual image that creates.

“Wait,” I wrestle from my vocal cords when it looks like she might get up. “All I remember from that night is you walking me back and tucking me into bed.”

The reflection of the few flames remaining is visible in her glistening eyes, revealing a darkness I don’t recognize.

“I did,” she answers in a soft voice, lowering her gaze. “And the timing was probably off, but I needed to know if there was any chance before I accepted the job in Billings.”

It’s like a fist squeezing my chest as I try to process what she’s saying.

“Any chance of what?”

Her eyes lift and she studies me for a beat before sharing, “Any chance for you and me.”

What the fuck?

That fist tightens, making me want to hurl so bad I have to swallow down the bile.

“You asked me that?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

She shrugs. “Well, technically, after telling you about the job offer, I wanted to know if there was any reason for me to stay.”

“That’s not exactly the same.”

I must’ve been drunker than I recall, because I can’t for the life of me remember any such conversation.

“It was pretty obvious,” she counters. “Since I was not wearing any clothes when I asked you.”

“If that was the case, I must’ve been comatose because, even with a single functioning brain cell, there is no way in hell I’d ever kick you out of my bed.”

I lean forward with my forearms on my knees to make sure she hears me loud and clear.

“Naked or otherwise.”

Sloane

What just happened?

---