Page 41 of Waiting for You

"Andrew," I started. "This is Sloane Ty. My father is apparently operating under the delusion that handing his daughter's home address to strangers is standard social protocol."

He let out a booming laugh, a great one. "He warned me you might not be thrilled with the logistics. Apologized in advance on your behalf."

"I'm choosing to blame him for all of this."

"That seems fair." He let it sit. "My own father's pulled similar stunts. Different corporate circumstances, same aggressively helpful energy."

The tension in my shoulders eased a fraction.

"I was thinking we'd meet at a café," I suggested. "Somewhere public, during daylight, nowhere near my building."

"A more sensible plan," he agreed. "Send me the location."

I rattled off a trendy spot downtown. He said he could be there in fifteen minutes. I shut that down. I needed a full hour to prep and change. He agreed to an hour, and we hung up.

I was applying my last layer of makeup when my phone went off against the counter. An unknown number lit the screen.

The text was from Xavier.

I caught the edge of the counter. Two seconds later the same number rang, and my thumb swiped accept before my brain could stop it.

"Hello."

Through the speaker, his voice sounded richer, deeper than Andrew's.

"Yeah, hello," I answered, fighting to sound bored.

"It's Xavier."

"Yeah, I deciphered the text." I picked up my mascara wand. "How'd you hijack my new number?"

"Violet gave it to me."

"And why are you calling me?"

"I was curious about something," he said, his voice easy. "Wanted a direct answer."

"What's got you curious?"

"I wanted to know if you're really going to meet this guy. I think you should take your time. You shouldn't rush into a rebound just to… prove you're moving on from me."

I let out a sharp laugh. "Isn't that a little egotistical?"

"What do you mean?"

"Assuming my whole existence revolves around you," I fired back. "Assuming every decision I make is some reaction to you."

"I'm not claiming that. I'm just curious about the timing."

"I'm going out to meet someone," I confirmed, the words clipped. "And my decision has nothing to do with you."

The line went quiet and heavy.

"How do you feel," he asked, his voice dropping an octave, "about me having a serious girlfriend?"

I caught my reflection in the vanity mirror.

My throat was dry, my eyes burned, and the image of her in his doorway hadn't loosened its grip on me.