Page 3 of Connectio
I roll my eyes at his lame excuse. Pfft. Caught up? More like forgot.
Today isn’t the first time Oliver—a teacher and colleague at my school—has stood me up, but it will be the last.
I decide not to respond, and a few minutes later, another message sounds.
Debating whether or not to look, curiosity ends up getting the better of me.
Oliver: I swear, Lib. My grandma needed me to fix a leaky tap.
His grandma? Pa-lease. I’m not falling for that.I toss my phone onto the bed and stand up, ready to take a shower and get dressed for my mother’s birthday dinner, when doubt creeps up my spine like a spindly spider and stops me.
What if he’s telling the truth? I mean helping his grandma is quite lovely and chivalrous, and I shouldn’t punish him for being a wonderful grandson, should I?
Biting my lip, I clasp my phone and hover my finger over the Reply button until I eventually press it and type him a response.
Libby: It’s okay. I hope you fixed the leak.
Oliver: I did. Thanks for understanding, sweet cheeks.
Sweet cheeks?Warmth spreads over my body, and I feel a little fuzzy but also a little weird; he’s never called me sweet cheeks before. In fact, he’s never called me anything other than Lib or Ms Hanson.
Oliver: So, raincheck?
Libby: Sure
Oliver: Great! Dinner Wednesday?
I smile; dinner sounds perfect.
Libby: Looking forward to it.
Oliver: See you Monday.
Placing my phone back down, I silently curse myself for being too quick to vilify him. Sure, he’s stood me up a couple of times before, but he’s always apologised and tried to make amends, and remorse has got to count for something.
Sasha barks her impatience and tries to paw my hand, so I clasp her fluffy face and kiss the space between her big brown eyes. “Your mummy is wrong, Sashy. Prince Charming does exist, and he thinks I have sweet cheeks.” I hug her to my chest, and she licks my chin. “I just have to wait for him a little while longer. And shit!” I cringe at my hands. “I need to paint my fingernails.”
