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And what if I do and he rejects me?
Then he rejects me. Just like we tell women who want to ask for a raise—if you don’t ask, you don’t get.
This is a little different though.
It’s a lot different.
I bite down on my lip, my fingers toying with the business card.
It’s my indecision that finally pushes me into action. I’m not someone who hesitates. I like having sex with Zach, and God knows I could use the distraction.
A light bulb sparkles above my head.
That’s it!
I just need him to get me through the rest of my time here! Just like that, all the pieces fall into place. I reach for my phone, butterflies I haven’t felt in many years suddenly forming a busy kaleidoscope in my belly. I dial his number and press the green button before I can second-guess myself, putting it on speakerphone out of habit.
I place the phone on the kitchen bench and grab my coffee cup instead. It rings once. Twice. Three times.
It stops ringing. I hear the crinkling of something. A thud. A curse that makes me smile. Then, ‘Papandreo.’
His voice is deep and gruff. And ruffled. As if I’ve disturbed him. My stomach swoops in a way that’s now completely familiar.
I stare at the phone, realising I was foolishly underprepared for this. He doesn’t recognise my number. And why would he?
‘Hey.’
A pause. ‘Jessica?’
Oh, God. My name on his lips is... My insides clench hard. I sip my coffee, striving for any hint of normality.
‘Yeah. Hey.?
??
‘Good morning.’ I hear a smile in his voice and my own lips answer it, twisting upwards in an instinctive response.
‘Are you busy?’
‘Just taking a run.’
I smile at that. Of course he’s a runner. His physique is proof of a dedication to physical activity. I hear beeping noises, as though he’s turning off a treadmill.
‘How are you?’
I nod, sipping my coffee. ‘Yeah, good.’ I clear my throat. Oh, God. I’m ridiculously nervous. What the hell? It’s the fear of rejection, that’s all. I know there’s a risk here, because Zach isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met before.
And if he says ‘no’? Then no big deal. I get on with my life.
Except even as I think that I experience the whoosh of disappointment I’d feel if I never saw him again.
And just like that, I know this isn’t a conversation for the phone. I’m more persuasive in person. I flick a glance at my watch, thinking of the activities I have lined up that morning. I’m due at my parents’ in an hour, and I’ll be there most of the day.
‘Are you free this afternoon?’
The pause is long enough to give me serious concern.
‘I can be.’
