Phantom.Now.
She knows.
Punctuation at the end of her text. Correct capitalization. No exclamation point. No emojis.
She knows, and I’m in trouble.
I stare at Ophelia’s text. I feel Monique’s eyes on me, even though she’s supposed to be watching the road. We’ve been riding in the same ambulance long enough that Monique has gotten talented at picking up my nonverbal cues.
“Trouble in paradise?” Monique asks.
“Nothing I can’t fix,” I tell her.
I hope to God that’s true.
I ask Ophelia when and where. My phone pings seconds later.
4
Ophelia.Now.
I pick a café near my house for our meeting.
One, because it’s convenient.
Two, because it’s in public, which will make it less tempting to hook my nails into his skin and rip him to pieces.
I get a coffee and a croissant, but I’m buzzing with too much anxious energy to eat, so I end up just shredding the croissant into tiny, flaky strips on my plate while I wait for him.
Finally, the bell over the door rings, and Phantom appears.
My first thought is not:I hate you, please die. My first thought is, unfortunately:fuck, he’s so handsome.
He carries himself with confidence, straight back, head up. Strong muscles in his shoulders and biceps that swell underneath his loose t-shirt. A stern mouth, paired with kind, hazel brown eyes. That’s Phantom. Hard-edged, but sweet on the inside. He’s turning fifty in May, and it shows in the grey in his hair and the snowy stubble along his jaw. His hair is darker than normal, damp because he always showers off at the station after a shift and?—
It’s infuriating that I know every, tiny detail about this man.
The edges of his eyes crinkle when he sees me and, for a second, gives me a rare smile.
A dark duffle bag hangs from his shoulder. He takes the seat across from me, tucking the bag under the table.
“No mancala?” he says. “I must be in trouble.”
I scowl. He kills the laugh track.
He spies my plate of mangled croissant. “Can I get you anything?”
“How about the truth?” Dramatic? Maybe. But I’m not playing games. If he’s going to lie to me, he better do it to my face. “You set up my birthday party,” I continue. It’s not a question. He’s not weaseling his way out of it.
Phantom, to his credit, doesn’t try to deny it. He just looks me in the eyes and says, simply, “Yes.”
“You wanted me to catch Brody cheating.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t good enough for you, Ophelia. You deserved to know that.”
