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“My plans changed.” His voice got quiet, like he was talking to someone else. “Sorry, beautiful, I have to go. I’ll see you in an hour.”
He ended the call and I set my phone on the couch. So much for pajamas and tea. But it would be worth it to get dressed up for a date with Preston, even if he hadn’t given me much notice. Maybe he was just so anxious to see me, he couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
I could imagine him calling restaurants from the cabin of the helicopter, trying to find one that would take a last-minute reservation. Setting things up so everything would be just right when he arrived.
And I couldn’t deny how nice it felt to be wanted.
So I nudged aside the ping of disappointment at losing my relaxing night in, and gathered some excitement for dressing up.
I went to my room and took my hair down, fluffing it in the hope I wouldn’t have to start over. It still had some curl; I could work with it.
My phone buzzed with a text, but the number wasn’t in my contacts. That was odd.
Hey, it’s Zachary. Full disclosure, I tortured Annika into giving me your number.
I wanted to be annoyed. And I was.
But I also wasn’t.
Zachary Haven was so confusing. He always had been.
Me: Why do you need my number?
Zachary: So I can talk to you
Me: What makes you think I want to talk to you?
Zachary: You answered
I groaned in frustration. I had answered. Immediately. I should have ignored his text for two days first. But I’d never been good at those kinds of games.
Zachary: Can I just call you? I hate texting.
I hesitated. I needed to get ready. Even if I’d wanted to talk to Zachary, I didn’t have time. And I didn’t want to. Not at all. I could just toss my phone on the bed and go do my makeup. That would be the smart thing to do.
My phone buzzed, this time with a call. Zachary. I pressed my lips together and squeezed the phone, wracked with indecision.
You shouldn’t answer. Don’t answer. This is a bad idea.
I answered. “Hello?”
“Hey,” Zachary said with his typical casual confidence. “How was your day?”
“It was fine.”
“Glad to hear it. What are you up to?”
I went to my closet, pulled out the red dress, and scrutinized it. “I’m getting ready for a date, actually.”
“Are we going out tonight? You should give a guy more notice. What should I wear?”
Pressing my lips together, I tried not to laugh. I decided against the red dress and put it back.
“This is so much pressure,” he said.
“My date isn’t with you.”
“It should be.”
