It’s nearingeleven when Bobby emerges from the shadows and tells Pete there’s an issue over on Lot #78 that requires his help. He gives me a kiss goodnight and I head back to the trailer. My mother, interestingly enough, is not at home but she’s left a note telling me not to worry or wait up. And that we’ll talk soon.
Two hours later I’m lying on my bed, staring at the too-close ceiling of the trailer. My mind is a swirl of the altercation with Mason, the hot kisses from Pete, the curiosity of where my mother had gone off to and a million other things.
I reach for my phone.
Hey.
…
Hi.
Are you up?
I’m texting you, right?
I can’t sleep.
You okay? Is this a booty call?
I’m fine. Restless and no it’s not a booty call.
But you do want to come over, don’t you?
Maybe.
And see my booty.
Jesus.
Come on. I’ll turn on the light.
My mom’s car is still here, which means she either got picked up or is hanging with one of the neighbors. The SUV starts with a loud roar, announcing my activities to all the neighbors, I’m sure. I drive slowly, the late-night roads quiet and dark. I park away from the house, not wanting to wake up Richard. I climb the steps to the cottage and I’m not exactly surprised to see Justin eagerly waiting for me at the door.
“You came,” he says.
“Did you think I wasn’t going to?”
“I thought maybe I dreamed those texts. I mean, late-night booty call from a hot out-of-town girl are a townie fantasy.”
“Shut up.” But I can’t help but smile at his adorable fact and welcoming grin. Moths hover around the doorway, attracted to the light from inside. He swats one away as he pulls me into the tiny cottage. I take a moment to absorb Justin’s home. The cottage has a half college boy-half beach house theme going on. The furniture looks new and fairly expensive but contradicts with the surf posters on the wall. I eye a stack of laundry on the kitchen counter. From my spot by the entry, I can see the entire house, other than what’s behind the two doors flanking the back wall.
“Whit’s asleep,” he says quietly, pointing to one of the doors. He runs his hands through his damp hair. He must have just taken a shower. “This is my house.”
“It’s nice,” I tell him. “It’s bigger than the camper.”
“Technically it’s about the same. Kitchen, living room, bathroom. I do have a bedroom of my own, though.”
“And a door.”
“Yep, I have a door. Wait.” He frowns. “You don’t have a door?”
“Nope, just a curtain.”
“Interesting.” He walks over to the couch and sits down, leaving room for me next to him. I sit and he picks up my hand. “So what happened?”
“Why do you think something happened?” Had Pete told him?
Justin raises an eyebrow. “You’re restless and drove all the way over here in the middle of the night. As much as I joke, I don’t think it’s for a booty call.” He touches my cheek. “You look tired.”
