Page 43 of Taste of Addiction

“What’s wrong, baby? I’m on the plane back to Oregon. Just called to check in on you.”

“Oh, nothin’ much here goin' on. Just my entire project that my grade departure. No, describes, nope.” I giggle like a demented clown. “Depends, yesdependson is disappeared.”

“Are you drunk?”

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at the screen in disgust. Oh, the nerve of him. He is riding mighty high on his horse today.

“Shut up,” I hiss into the phone. Then, I end the call and hide a pillow over my head to block out the light.

My phone buzzes on my chest, and I shut it completely off. I don’t have time for any of this shit.

* * *

I wake from my stupor to someone picking me up. I scream at the unexpectedness and am quickly shushed.

“Angie, it’s me.”

“Graham, what are you doing here?” I ask, turning in his arms. It hurts to open my eyes but I do so anyway. He is wearing a River Valley U hoodie. His hair is tucked under a black ball cap. “We can’t be together. That’s what you said.”

“I just landed and had to see you, baby. You hung up on me and refused to answer my calls. I parked down the street behind the row of homes and snuck in through the back door.”

I hug him tighter; it feels good to see him. I sniff his neck and fall in love with the woodsy rainforest scent. I lose myself in the moment and then remember why I have been so stressed out. “My article I’m writing in order to graduate is gone.”

“Gone?”

“The laptop you gave me has a virus, and my flash drive is now corrupt.”

“I’ll take a look at it. But I may have to call Nic to come here. He has way more experience with this type of thing than I do. But, first, let me look at you.” He places me gently on the sofa and sits beside me, taking my hands in his. “You seemed out of it on the phone. What’s going on?”

“I just got a little tipsy from the fear of losing my project. Just had a little drink and it went to my head faster than I was expecting.”

“What did you have to eat today?”

I pause and look up at him. I honestly don’t even remember if I ate anything today. The day itself seems impossibly long. Longest Sunday ever.

I brace myself for the inevitable. I am not in the mood. I try to hide my head into his muscular chest.

“For fuck’s sake, Angela. This shit again?”

“I probably did eat, and I just forget what exactly, Graham.”

He gets up from the couch and stomps into the kitchen. I rest my head in my hands and massage the back of my neck. He is giving me a headache. I hear the sound of cupboards opening and closing. The sound of bags crumpling. He returns minutes later with a chicken salad sandwich on toasted focaccia bread.

My stomach growls at the sight of food, and I take the plate from his hands and eat the entire sandwich with just a few bites.

“You drive me absolutely nuts,” he barks.

“You drive me absolutely crazy too,” I snap back.

Despite his pissed mood, my body reacts to the sound of his voice. I hate to admit it to myself—and refuse to let him know—but I missed his controlling nature while he was gone. His stalking and flirtatiousness and overbearing behavior—

Yeah, I missed that.

Graham takes my laptop and looks at the death screen. He fishes his phone from his pocket and places it to his ear. “I need your help. Angie’s place. Come through the back door and disguise yourself.” He places his phone down on the coffee table and grabs my feet to rub. “Nic’s on his way. If he can’t fix your machine, then no one can.”

I nod. There is still hope. Does he even want to help me if he knows it may disrupt the FBI investigation? I guess I will cross that bridge when he gets here. They both probably think I chose a different topic. In a way, I did. But publishing emotional testimonies before the case fully goes to trial could be bad. The publicity alone may make it challenging for the key players in the ring to accidentally make a mistake and reveal themselves. I haven’t even decided whether I am submitting the article to any media sources offering internships. I have to graduate first. And then apply for internships.

I moan and sink my body farther into the cushions as Graham’s expert hands work out the stiffness in the bottoms of my feet.

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