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Understatement of the year. Uncertainty spirals through me, along with Andrew’s words from earlier. Be sure. I’m not fucking sure. I’ve never been less sure. I’d rather get roaring drunk and not think about Callie anymore.
“Enough about me. Miles, tell me what’s going on with Lane and the house,” I say.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’s too damn noble.” He looks pained. “She claims I’m always sacrificing for everyone, and she doesn’t want to take the house away from me. I want her to have the house. In case I’m not there one day.”
“You’re so whipped.”
“Shit, I guess so. This is ridiculous.” He sounds so irritated that I have to laugh.
I’m happy for him, but do I want the same thing?
* * *
Two hours later, I’m holed up in my office. Miles tried to convince me to go home, but the term sheet for a meeting on Monday needs my review. And I didn’t want to go home to my empty house, anyway.
My eyes flick to my phone, like they have every few minutes since I got upstairs. I could text her. The whiskey is making me bold and careless. Be sure. I’m not sure, but I need her. I can be sure next week. I’ve known her for a fucking month. Why do I need to decide if I want to spend my life with her? My friends are idiots. I shake my head. Fuck it. I’m not even sure what I’m going to do when she gets here. I just want to be near her.
The decision sends anticipation fizzing through my blood. I pick up my phone and tap out a message. One simple sentence that should have her running, but not for the reasons she thinks.
Jonah
I need you at the office.
40
Callie
Jonah’s message has me scrambling for my jacket.
Jonah
I need you at the office.
What game is he playing? Does he need me to do work? Ten p.m. on a Sunday doesn’t seem unusual for him. Am I still at his beck and call? If I’m not, does that mean this is becoming something else?
I shout a goodbye to my dad, who I’ve mostly been avoiding since our fight, and run down the steps of our apartment.
Callie
I’m on my way. But I have to take the subway, so it’ll take a bit.
The trains on the weekends are notoriously slow, even though it should be a straight shot and a brief walk to the office.
He sends back a message not a moment later.
Jonah
In the future, Lou will pick you up.
He sends Lou’s number to me.
High-handed, imperious, demanding. I fucking love it. His clipped tone would have annoyed me a month ago, but now it sends warmth tingling through me, curling up through my chest. Jonah has lodged himself firmly behind my ribs. His protectiveness and his sharp humor are a warm ache. I text back when I’m on the train.
Callie
Bossy.
Jonah
