Page 27 of Inarticulate

Unknown: I deserve to be on that list.

Damn it. She was dying.

Unknown: It’s Keenan.

Everything inside her shifted. Her heart fell to her stomach, her stomach to her feet, then they all climbed back up again in a rush of euphoria.

Savannah: How did you get my number?

She didn’t care, didn’t even want to know, but her brain lacked the clarity to find another sentence to continue the conversation. He was speaking to her. These were the first words they’d shared apart from his scribbled message to meet her at the Sated Palate.

Keenan: I’m silent, mysterious, sexy, AND resourceful. Accept my apology?

She smiled at the echo of what she said at the bonfire and pretended her chest wasn’t about to explode.

Savannah: There’s no need to apologize. I’m the one who should beg for your forgiveness. I was insensitive and I’m sorry.

Every time she relived last Sunday night she shuddered. Her comments had been heartless. They were unintentional insults, but insults all the same.

Keenan: I guess both of us were out of our element. But I have a better excuse for being flustered. I acted like an A-grade ass because I’m completely enamored by you.

Her trembling fingers threatened to drop her cell into the bath. She frowned, questioning the legitimacy of his message, questioning whether it was really him texting at all. She even questioned if this was all a dream and she was about to drown in a pool of frangipani scented water.

Keenan: Savannah?

How could she reply? There was no response, only internal giggling like a schoolgirl. He’d turned her into someone she didn’t recognize, again, in the space of seconds. She didn’t know how or why. If anything, her time with him was constantly awkward. Yet she wanted more.

Savannah: Have you been drinking?

It was a legitimate question. It had been days since he walked out on her. Alcohol or drugs had to have played a part in his desire to make contact.

Keenan: Can’t when I have to drive home soon.

Ah, so this was a spontaneous conversation.

Savannah: Are you at work?

She tried to picture what he did in his day-to-day life and made sure her mind didn’t stray to menial tasks in a position that lacked authority. He deserved a powerful position. He’d brought her to her knees, after all.

Keenan: No. I’m on the street outside your building.

Her heart stopped.

There was a second of surging blood through her ears. Then another before she scrambled from the bathtub and pulled a heavy white robe over her soaked skin. She rushed to the window and pulled the curtain aside. She didn’t need to search to find him. He was near the curb, leaning against a lamp post. Everything about him spoke of casual indifference. He was dressed in dark jeans and a cream jacket, his ankles crossed at a GQ cover model angle.

“So damn fine.” Even from three floors above, he was suave. Dark stubble lined his face and his penetrating eyes peered up in search of her window.

Savannah: I’m not dressed for visitors.

She pressed send and enjoyed the resulting smile that crossed his face. No man had ever been more appealing, yet all he did was lean against that lamp post like he owned it and tapped something back into his phone.

Keenan: I’m not asking for an invitation. Although I wouldn’t protest being beside you right now, staying down here is a better option.

After nights spent tossing and turning, all for the sake of hearing his words, talking seemed overrated now. She was beyond the need for conversation. She wanted that smirk right in front of her, and those hands that were always controlled.

Savannah: And why is that? You don’t think you can keep your hands off me?

It was an off the cuff joke, but as soon as she pressed send, she was dying to read his reply.

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