Page 6 of Lucky 14

I stare at the flaking paint on the door as the phone rings and rings. Then, it goes to voicemail.

No.

I dial my girl again. I’ll prove how much I want her. She deserves a man who will fight for her.

Again, voicemail.

I call a few more times, my body beginning to hum. No. Absolutely not. It’s ringing, which means she hasn’t blocked me. She still wants me.

Finally, when her voicemail kicks on, I stay. As soon as the tone goes off, I’m talking. I tell Poppy that I’m not ready to be done. Tell her how much I love her. How perfect she’s been, even in the few months I’ve known her. How I want to walk with her through this. How she shouldn’t be alone. I talk long enough that the mailbox cuts me off.

Enraged, I call again, waiting the agonizing seconds till the voicemail comes back.

“Poppy, please.” I try to keep my tone pleading. If I show her how mad I am, she’ll use it as an excuse. Say I’m not good for her when I am. “I’m at the club. You know, our place. I’m waiting for you, baby.”

There’s a sound in the stall next to me as the door closes. Then, I hear the stream of piss.

I wince. “I love you. You can’t leave this. This is us. This is love, and I won’t give up on that. I refuse.”

The stream gets louder, and I pull the phone away. Can this fucker read the room? I hang up so Poppy doesn’t have to hear it and wait for him to finish. It takes forever, and there’s a deep relieved groan before the door finally squeaks open. The sink rushes, then nothing.

I wait until I’m sure the asshole has walked out of the bathroom and try dialing Poppy again. Only this time, it says the number I’ve dialed cannot be reached at this time.

What the fuck?

I try again.

Same thing.

Did this bitch… Did she block me?

I’m washed in a wave of heat, and suddenly, the stall feels too small. Like the walls are closing in.

She couldn’t have blocked me. We’re meant to be.

Bursting out of the stall, I storm into the rest of the bathroom, only to see someone is still in here. It’s a tall man in his early thirties, with dark, messy hair and a short beard. He’s handsome in a roguish way. Exactly the kind of man Poppy would love.

The man looks me up and down and then smirks at me. “Trouble in paradise?”

He looks like he’d never have trouble in paradise. He’s so hot, all he’d have to do is flash that face at his girl, and she’d bend over backwards for him.

I sneer at the asshole, pushing past him and out into the main room. As soon as I leave his presence, I feel an odd pull to go back. To smack that smirk off his pretty face.

But I don’t. Instead, I get another drink. Stalking up to the bar, I wave at the bartender. You bring your own alcohol here, but the bartender still has to serve you. It’s stupid.

The bartender finishes with the woman next to me, then gets my order. I can’t wait for the burn of the liquor down my throat. Anything to quell the boiling anger that demands I destroy something.

I feel someone’s gaze on the side of my face. I ignore it, thinking about the man in the bathroom. He was totally eavesdropping on my conversation and stayed to confront me about it.

The gaze is still on me, and I feel it making the side of my face tingle. I snap my head over. There’s a woman sitting a few seats away, watching me. She’s around my age with cropped blonde hair and a bunch of tattoos. She’s sitting with her legs spread, and her stare is unsettling. It’s intense, but also reflects boredom at the same time, looking like she’s reading me without even saying a word.

I huff, staring back at the bartender as she pours my glass. When she hands it over, I still feel the woman looking.

“What do you want?” I snap, turning the full weight of my glare on her.

The woman cocks her head just slightly enough that I wonder if I actually saw it. “You have piano fingers.”

For a second, I’m so thrown off by the statement that I just stare at her.