Three days. Nearly 72 hours since I left Yosh at Arcadia. Three days of doing nothing but obsessively checking my phone. From bed to couch to sun lounger. Sometimes the pool, always with my phone within reach. Nothing else feels worth the effort.
I’ve got no desire to make music, no interest in hitting the beach with Joan.
It’s safe to say I miss him.
I miss his smile, his relentless optimism, which should be illegal before breakfast. I miss the jasmine scent I breathe in whenever I bury my face in his neck. And God, I even miss the way he calls me McKenna whenever I’m being a little shit, which is often.
I sigh as something warm and heavy curls in my chest.
I think I’m in love with Yoshiro Aoki.
Telling him is the only thing that matters now. But first, I have to find him.
“Still nothing?” Joan’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She climbs out of the pool and plops down beside me, splashing water across my chest.
“Mm, Lovely. I feel like a rotisserie chicken.”
“Get in the pool, you idiot.” she nods at my phone. “I’ll guard that thing with my life. It’s wild what you’ve been through.”
I’d told Joan everything. The drugs. The crash. The raid at Arcadia. How I baited security to make the swap happen. Not to forget that crazy police interrogation.
Another chapter in the rock-and-roll saga of Tom McKenna.
Calvin strolls into the lounge area; he’s clearly just fallen out of bed. Bella and Gordo trail behind, collapsing into the shade beside his chair.
He open a beer and pushes a lime wedge into the bottle.
“Hey,” I say, turning to him. “You still have Tiffy’s number?”
He shrugs. “Dunno. Check my phone.” He tosses it over.
I scroll straight to the T’s—right above my own name.
Tiffany Sanchez.
I hit call.
“Fucking wanker! Don’t ring her from my phone!”
I dodge Calvin and circle the pool while he comes after me for his phone, the dogs going feral and joining the chase.
Tiffy picks up.
“Calvin, unless you’re calling to apologize for sucking that girl’s toe in Aruba, I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
Joan snorts water out of her nose.
“Uh—sorry, Tiffy. It’s Tom. Tom McKenna,” I say quickly. I don’t want her to hang up.
“Tooom! Oh my god, this is so embarrassing. How are you?”
“I’m… fine. Sort of. Listen, I’m actually calling to ask if you’ve heard from Yosh.”
There’s a pause.
“Not since SeaBreeze on Sunday. Why?”
I take a breath and tell her everything that’s happened since then. She stays quiet until I’m done.
