Page 72 of Worthy

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Nothing like a lazy Sunday afternoon in your hometown.

The party at the Lockwood-Harper’s last night was pretty fun.Say what you want about those fools, but they sure know how to throw a proper shindig.

I would never admit it to anyone, but I’m happy to be back in their lives. I like how easily I was able to slink back into the fold with Ben, Ryan, and Jessica, as if the past eighteen months of me steering clear never happened. I do believe the time apart did us some good; spared us the drama and all. They spent it forming their little family, which yea, I guess is sorta cute. And I spent it… being me.

As usual.

Naturally, Jake and his wife, Laura, wouldn’t allow me to drive all the way back home last night, after having a few too many cocktails at the party, so I crashed in their guest room. Their twin daughters’ jokingly refer to it as “Uncle Tate’s room” because I probably stay in it consistently more than any of their other guests.

And now I’m just… thinking. Sitting out on Jake’s back deck, staring at the cacti and various stone sculptures they have bordering their yard.

I love the Southwest. I do. There’s a reason I always keep coming back to this place.

But I also love traveling. I love my independence. It’s something I’d never be able to keep up if I were… attached.

My throat feels a little thick, but I swallow it down with a mouthful of Laura’s famous lemonade.

My phone pings with a message, but before I can open it, it starts ringing. It’s my assistant, Troy.

“Go for awesome,” I croon into the phone, smirking at how witty I am.

“Hey, so I didn’t want to bother you earlier because I know you probably had a late night…” He starts, “But something was delivered to your place this morning.”

“Okay…” I mutter. “So? I’ll get it later when I go home.”

“The person who delivered it was asking all kinds of questions,” Troy continues, his tone a bit more sheepish than usual.

“Just tell me what’s going on,” I huff. “I’m not in the mood to decode your conversational riddles.”

“Right, um,” he breathes into the phone, “A guy brought you flowers.”

“Flowers??” My brow arches up to my hairline.

“Sunflowers,” he adds. “They’re actually really pretty.” Troy is swooning, but I’m just confused. “He was asking Luis if you were home, and if he could bring them up, so Luis called me. He sent me a picture of the flower delivery, I just texted it to you—”

“Troy, I don’t give a fuck about the flowers,” I bark. “Who is this intrusive delivery person?”

“His name is Lance.”

My stomach flops harder than Gaga’s ARTPOP album. “Wait… he showed up at my house??”

“Yea. Do you know him?” Troy has this hopeful lilt to his voice that makes me want to gag.

I sigh. “Unfortunately…”

“Alright, well, he was really insistent on needing to see you…” he trails.

“And…? What did you tell him?”

I can practically picture him fussing with that bow tie he always wears. “I told him you went to see your family for the weekend.”

“Troy…” I hum his name patronizingly. “Did you tell himwhere?” His silence answers the question for me. “God dammit…”

“I’m sorry! But he seemed really distraught,” he whines. “He said you guys are old friends and that he’s desperate to speak with you, but you’re not returning his calls…”

“What if he was a murderer?!” I hiss. “He could be some stalker trying to hunt me down and cut off my face so he can wear it around town pretending to be me, and you just fuckingtold himwhere I am?! Jesus, Troy, I thought we talked about this…”

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