Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
It was stupid of me to respond, and the minute I pressed send, I forgot about it, and then I handed her my fucking phone. I don’t have time to do anything when my phone rings again in my hand, and it’s Jeff.
“Sorry, my phone died,” he says. “Don’t make plans tomorrow night. We have dinner with Ryan,” he tells me, and I sit on the couch. “Hello, are you there?”
“Yeah,” I say, wondering if I should tell him or not. “Sorry, just thinking.”
“Okay, listen, I have to go, but I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven. The dinner’s at eight,” he tells me and then disconnects. I send him a text.
Me: Do you have Erin’s number?
He answers back right away.
Jeff: I don’t, but I can ask Ryan.
I pick up the phone to call Ryan myself, and he answers on the second ring. His voice sounds angry, and I wonder if Erin told him anything.
“What can I do for you?” he says, and I hear people in the background.
“Hey, it’s Carter. I was wondering if you had Erin’s number. She was over here today, and we were going over a couple of things, and I wanted to get her take on a couple of pictures that I took.”
“So today went okay, then?” he asks me.
“Yeah, we went over a couple of things,” I say to him. “I don’t want to keep you. We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I’ll send over her number,” he says. “Stay out of trouble.” He disconnects, and then my phone pings with Erin’s number.
I send her a text right away.
Me: Hey, it’s Carter. I was thinking of posting this on my Instagram. What do you think?
I attach the picture that she took of me. I look down and see it’s been delivered. I get up and walk upstairs to take a shower. When I get out of the shower, I look at my phone and see that she hasn’t answered me. I put on some sweatpants and head downstairs to look in the fridge. When nothing catches my eye, I order Chinese food and then look back at my phone again. She still hasn’t answered.
Me: Should I post it or not?
I open my phone and go to Instagram. Searching for her name, I see that her account is private. My Chinese gets here and still no answer, so I head to the couch and turn on the television. When my phone pings, I lean over to get it with a smile on my face because I think it’s her but it’s not. Instead, it’s the chick from this afternoon, and this time, she sends me a picture of her full frontal.
Unknown: Waiting for your call, and really ready for whatever you have in mind.
My finger hovers over the keyboard, itching to reply, but if I really think about it, I don’t have the faintest interest in going out. I throw the phone to the side and flip through the channels. The whole time, I’m thinking about Erin. She probably isn’t getting back to me because she’s with her boyfriend or her fiancé. Well, not fiancé because she isn’t wearing a ring, and if she were mine, and I was getting married to her, she would be walking around with a ring so big her hand would be dragging on the ground. Holy shit, I sit up in shock. Did I just picture myself married? I must be coming down with something. I get up, turn everything off, and walk up the stairs, thinking about the last time I actually slept in my bed. Or when was the last time I actually stayed in and went to bed at eleven on a Friday.
I take my pants off and slip into bed naked, and the minute I do, I remember how fucking comfortable my bed really is. It takes me maybe a minute to finally fall asleep, and by the time I turn over and open my eyes, I’m shocked to see that it’s almost ten a.m. I grab my phone and see that she hasn’t answered yet, so I just call her.
She answers after five rings. Five. Who waits to answer after five rings? “Hello,” she says, and she sounds out of breath. Shit, maybe she’s having sex. Should I hang up? What if she has Caller ID? Fuck, why is she answering her phone while having sex? Who does that? “Carter?”
Shit. “Um, hey,” I say, trying to sound cool. “What’s up?”
“I’m on the treadmill,” she says. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I tell her, then turn to look out the window. I curl up to press a button, and the shades open and then the window, and I see it’s a sunny day again. “I sent you a couple of messages yesterday.”
“Yeah, I got them last night,” she says, and that’s it. Nothing else.