Page 23 of Fit for Love

Screw that.

I pull out my phone and text her.

No reply comes.Not that evening, not the next morning, and not at any point in the next few days.And with each passing hour, I get more and more irrationally upset.

What the fuck?I thought we had a really good connection, and the sex was out of this fucking world.

If any other woman had done this to me—though none ever have—I would think “good riddance” and move on.But for some reason, with Kendall, I can’t bring myself to do that.So I try calling her over the weekend, only to get her voicemail.

I debate hanging up—and again, with any other woman I would—but I feel compelled to say something.

“Hey, Kendall.I think I’m getting the message, but just in case you’re simply not a great communicator, I want to tell you that I had a great time and would like to see you again.”

There.The ball is officially in her ghostly court.

Right?

Or should I try something else?

Would I seem like a stalker if I did?

Fuck.I can’t believe a woman I’ve known for such a short time has me so wound up.I literally want to chase her down, throw her over my shoulder, bring her to my bedroom, and demand to know what the fuck went wrong.And after she explains—and it’d better be something good, like her grandmother died and she had to fly to a cell-phone-free resort in Timbuktu to bury her—I want to fuck her brains out and make her promise never to do this again.

Yeah, I’m officially losing it.

I think I need some perspective.

Taking my phone out, I sprawl on my couch and dial my sister, Jordan.

“Hey, bro,” she says, intentionally trying to sound like a fraternity douche.

“Hey, Jojo,” I say.“I need your expertise.”

“Oh?And you think calling me Jojo will make me want to help you?”

I sigh.I forgot she hates her childhood nickname.“I’m sorry,Jordan.”

“That’s better.What’s up?”

“I met this girl—” I start, only to be interrupted by a squeal.

“Tell me everything!”

So I tell her about the events that transpired before Kendall came to my place, ending on, “What happened next is the kind of thing where a gentleman doesn’t go into detail.”

“Eww.But if you got that far, what’s the problem?”

“She was gone in the morning.”

“Just poof and gone?”Jordan asks.

“Exactly.No note, no text, no voicemail.And she hasn’t replied to any of my texts or picked up the phone when I’ve called.”

“Huh.”I swear I can hear her scratching her head on the other end.“Usually, it’s the guy who does the ghosting after they get the sex, but?—”

“Did some guy do that to you?”My fist clenches involuntarily.

“I was talking hypothetically,” she says, a little too quickly for my liking.“But yeah.You got ghosted.”

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