Page 120 of Sunflower Persona
A deep sigh is the only sound that comes down the line. I can practically hear him shaking his head.
“That’s his business,” he says in a gentle tone.
The condescending jerk.
“Like hell it is.”
“You can’t block him out for months and then demand to know about his life on a whim. If you really want to know, ask him yourself. He still has a phone. You still have his number. We both know he’ll pick up if you call.”
“Fine.”
“Kori—” Nathan starts, but I hang up before he can finish the thought.
Iwillask Gage himself, then.
Fuck it, I’ll do one better. Why call when I can go check on him myself?
With the alcohol fueling my confidence, I call for a rideshare, plugging in my ex’s address as the final destination. My resolve doesn’t start to waver until I’m in the car and halfway to his place. A few shots are enough for some liquid courage, but not enough to make me drunk or stupid. And this idea is the definition of stupid.
My driver doesn’t look in my direction as they pull in front of the dark apartment and wait for me to get out. I hesitate for a moment before steeling my spine and climbing out of the back seat. Dim light flickers from the dying streetlamp a few units down, casting his front door in a dark shadow, making the approach even more ominous.
I’m not sure he’s even home. A strange truck sits in Brandy’s usual spot out front—either the car is fucked, or someone elselives here now. Five months is plenty of time for someone to make major life changes—he could have moved halfway across the country, and I’d have no idea. It’s not like his friends were giving me a play-by-play. This was a mistake, but I’ve made it too far to give up without at least knocking on his door.
With false bravado, I march up the stairs and pound my fist on the peeling wood. The wait stretches on forever without anything happening. No lights flick on inside and no sounds travel through the too-thin door.
And then he’s there—a shadowy figure looming in the doorway, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung sweats that leave nothing to the imagination. Sparks of heat that have lain dormant for months shoot straight into my core. God, he looks every bit as edible as I remember. My mouth dries at the sight, and my tongue darts out to rewet my lips.
“What?” Gage barks as he looks outside.
The harsh annoyance falls away when his gaze lands on me, and something softer takes its place.
“Low?” He says my name on a reverent breath and looks at me like I’m all of his hopes and fears wrapped up in a shiny bow. His hand runs over his face, and then he blinks like I’m a mirage he’s trying to clear away. The second it clicks, the softness in his features hardens again. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
This isn’t a conversation to have on his front porch in the middle of the night. The air between us is alive, crackling like dry kindling in the sun. All it will take is one spark to ignite it into a raging inferno, but I’m not sure if it will be a passionate blaze or a catastrophic explosion of every emotion I’ve tried to repress. Either option ends with the cops showing up if we give in to it out here, so I ignore his brusque questions and push my way inside.
Static erupts across my bare shoulder as it brushes against his exposed chest. I’m going to lose the plot real quick if he doesn’t put a shirt on soon. He closes the door and flips on the overhead light without a word. So much has changed in the dated space that it knocks me off-kilter. It’s somehow emptier than it was before—the television is gone, as well as several of the photos that decorated the shelves around it—and I’m almost positive the coffee table is different too.
“Why are you here, Kori? It’s late.”
In the light of his apartment, I can see the weariness written on his face that the shadows outside hid.
“Why aren’t you at work?” I ask, resisting the urge to run my fingers over his tired features.
“Because it’s eleven o’clock at night.”
No shit, Sherlock.
“I mean in general. You haven’t been at Cutter’s.”
“Been looking for me?” he asks with a hint of a smile, and my heart flips in my chest.
I’ve missed that elusive expression—I’ve missed him.
“What? No,” I stammer as my cheeks heat. “My friends said they hadn’t seen you around in a few months, and I got worried.”
“I quit,” he says with as much tact as I’d expect from him.
“Youwhat?” I screech.
