Page 75 of The Winslow Brothers

I hack my way through the discomfort until I get a handle on it, dabbing my mouth with my napkin and setting my fork on my plate to ask, “Excuse me?”

“You’ve looked at your phone a lot today,” she repeats slowly, as if I’m not fluent in English or something.

My eyebrows draw together, a little defensive. I mean, I haven’t looked at it that much. Have I? “Why would you say that?”

“Because, on average, you look at your phone five times a night when we’re together, and so far tonight, you’ve looked at it fifteen times.”

“Fifteen?” I question with a shake of my head. “That can’t be right.”

She eyes me earnestly, and I immediately shake my head.C’mon, Jude, who do you think you’re talking to? You can’t snow Lexi on the facts.

My chest burns with unease at having completely lost my normal indifference, and as it’s not something I’m used to, I don’t like the feeling.

I suppose I could ask myself why I’m waiting so eagerly to hear from Sophie Sage, but being that I’m here with my niece and the thoughts associated with Sophie are anything but appropriate in mixed company, that doesn’t seem like a good idea at all. My only other option, of course, is to deflect. Thankfully, executing an old swerve and strike on one of my brothers is much easier. It’s like second nature, to be honest.

“Yeah, but I bet your uncle Remy looks at his phone way more when he’s with you.”

He’s a day trader, for fuck’s sake. He has to keep up with stocks and shit.

Lexi shakes her head, and I swear, if I didn’t know her better, I’d think she was smirking and mocking me. As it is, I know better. Still, the look stings. “Uncle Remy doesn’t get on his phone at all when I’m with him.”

“Not at all?” I ask disbelievingly.

She nods. “Only to call my mom or dad when he’s bringing me home or they’re picking me up.”

Well, hell.No wonder the suck-up is the goddamn favorite uncle.

Determined, I resolve to dispense with the phone shit for the rest of the night.

If only getting rid of the nagging need to hear from Sophie were that easy.

Wednesday, March 14th

Sophie

The now infamous paper feels damp between my fingers as I flip it over again and read through the numbers one more time.

917-555-8858

With the number of times I’ve read through them in the last few days, I most definitely have them memorized. And still, I haven’t been able to bring myself to throw it out or burn it or even stow it away.

Instead, it lingers. In my purse, in my pocket, and when I get a free moment like right now, in my hand.

Despite all of that, I haven’t decided. To call him, not to call him, to let fate take its course or to pointedly avoid him. All of them have some level of appeal, and the more I think about it, the more I talk myself in circles.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and after a quick glance at the still-closed door to the office, I take it out and tap on the screen to wake it up.

A message from Belle sits front and center on the screen, but before I can open it, another one layers itself on top.

Clicking on the stack of them both, I open her message thread and scan quickly.

Belle: Why the hell are you so busy all the time? Isn’t working for yourself supposed to provide flexibility?

Belle: I want to get a drink. Come with me.

I wish I could ignore her, but I know my sister better than that. The more I don’t answer, the more she’ll text, and my phone will be doing a perpetual dance of vibration until it’s time to go to sleep.

Me: I can’t tonight. I’m busy. Sorry. Ask Kate to escape New Jersey. She probably needs the night out.

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