Page 21 of Trashy Affair Duet

7. Baby, Come Home

Jules

“Hi there, gorgeous. Sleep well?”

His voice registers before the naked, wet chest does. The one I just ran smack into. I rub at the sandpaper in my eyes, and that’s when I find Garen’s mouth tilted up in a sexy grin as water drips from his dark hair. I focus my attention on his face to keep from following the direction of those drops of water cascading downward. The guy’s got some impressive muscles, not to mention ink, and I’m not impervious. But I am afraid if I lower my gaze, I’ll discover he’s buck naked.

I stumble into retreat-mode, and my spine hits the door behind me, still open from barging in without knocking. “I’m so sorry.”

“No worries,” he says, moving past me with a wink. “It’s all yours.”

I spy a towel wrapped around his waist as he shuts the door behind him, and I let out a breath of relief. A minute sooner, and I would have walked in on him in a state of total undress. As I take care of business, I mull over the fact that I’m sharing a house with a bunch of guys. A house with a single bathroom. This could get tricky, if not downright embarrassing.

Wide awake now, I go back into Lesley’s bedroom and find she’s already left for the day. Her bed is made, and a note sits on top of her black comforter. A glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand sends my heart into a tailspin. It’s past ten already.

I’ve lost the whole morning, and I still need to scour the Internet for job listings. Not to mention figure out how public transportation works here in Seattle. A couple of long strides brings me to her bed, and I grasp the piece of paper she left for me.

Didn’t want to wake you. Grabbed a ride with Zan, so the Bug is all yours today.

Xoxo, Les

A buzzing sound goes off near the clock, and that’s when I spot her car keys next to my vibrating phone. I let out a weary sigh. I’ll have to face the music sooner or later, so I might as well get this over with. Besides, I don’t want to freak out my parents any more than my abrupt disappearance yesterday undoubtedly did.

I grab my cell, but it’s not a photo of my mom or dad or even Brit flashing on the screen. It’s Chris. I stare at the image of his face for a few seconds before finding the courage to swipe my thumb to the right.

“Hi,” I say, nervousness winding around my throat.

He doesn’t answer right away, and I can’t help but wonder if he butt-dialed me. Or maybe he thought he was calling someone else.

“Hey, babe.”

Nope, he meant to call me. But what’s even more shocking is his tone. It’s nonchalant, as if our relationship didn’t just turn to dust yesterday.

“What do you want?” I ask, running through several possible scenarios. He wants to yell at me some more, or maybe he’s got a secret toothbrush hiding somewhere that he wants back. Or maybe—

“I thought we should talk,” he interrupts my mental tirade. “I’ve calmed down a lot since yesterday.”

Is he fucking serious? He made it clear he wasn’t coming back. I would have put money on him never wanting to speak to me again after the things he said. I deserved his anger, but his callous words hurt like hell.

And I can’t do this anymore. The realization knocks me sideways, and I crumple to my makeshift bed, sitting cross-legged on the air mattress. Yesterday morning, I felt as if my life were over. But now…

Now, I have some clarity. A promise of a fresh start, no matter how scared I might be to venture down that uncertain, exciting path.

“Jules?”

“So talk,” I say.

“Look, can we not do this over the phone? Where are you, anyway? I heard you quit your job.”

I bite back a scoff. More like forced into resignation, but whatever. People will spin it however they want, and that only reminds me of my reasons for leaving. “I’m not there,” I say.

“Well, no shit, Jules. I’ve been here waiting for over an hour, and you weren’t answering my calls, so I was about to go looking for you. Can you just come home so we can deal with this shit?”

I count to five, willing my voice to remain calm and collected because his attitude is digging under my skin. “I mean, I’m not in Oklahoma.”

The silence on his end is deafening, but I hold off prodding him for a response. Part of me expects the eruption. Prepares for it, even.

“What the hell?” he shouts. “What do you mean, you’re not in Oklahoma? Where the fuck are you then?”

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