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“It’s going straight to voicemail,” Selene says. “Should I leave a message?”
“No,” I say. “Not yet. Maybe her phone is dead. She always forgets to plug it in.”
Selene puts her phone down on the counter. So far, our thirty minutes of planning over Scotch has gotten us as far as Selene calling Kylie, since we both know she won’t pick up for me.
After that? I have no fucking clue.
“Should we go over to her apartment?” Selene asks.
I’m buzzing too hard to get behind the wheel. “Can you drive?”
“Good point,” she says. She moves the Scotch out of reach. “We could Uber, but we need to sober up anyway.” She pours us a couple glasses of ice water. “I can text her, and when she charges her phone, she’ll answer. At least then we’ll know we can call.”
“Okay,” I say. “That’s a start.”
She types out a text. “There. Now I guess we wait?”
I blow out a breath. This sucks. I’m so amped, I can barely stand still. I walk from the kitchen to the living room so I can pace. “I hate waiting.”
“You have to figure out what you’re going to say to her.”
I pause and glance over my shoulder. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m serious,” Selene says.
“I’ll figure it out when I see her,” I say.
“Tell you what,” Selene says. “Stay here tonight. Who knows when she’ll answer. As soon as she does, we’ll … do whatever it is we’re going to do. But in the meantime, let’s watch a movie or something so you don’t wear a hole in my new rug.”
I take a deep breath and rub my hands over my face again. I don’t think I’ll be able to relax until I see Kylie, but there’s not much I can do about it right now.
***
I roll over and almost fall off the couch. Fuck, I fell asleep out here. I should have gone to bed, but I didn’t think I was ever going to drift off.
I get up and run a hand through my hair. I don’t see any sign of Selene, but her phone is on the coffee table. Her message notification blinks. I swipe my thumb across the screen, but she has a fucking passcode. Damn it.
I haul ass up the stairs and knock on her door. “Selene. What’s the passcode on your phone?”
I hear a muffled reply through the door.
“Selene, get up. You have a message.”
She comes to the door, tying a belted robe around her waist. Her hair is a mess, and she rubs her eyes. She grabs the phone and makes a little triangle across the screen with her thumb.
“Is it Kylie?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Selene says. Her brow furrows. “All it says is, ‘Sorry I missed your text. Been busy. Catch up soon.’ But it’s timestamped at 3:27 am. Why was she texting me back at three twenty-seven?”
Busy? At three in the morning? What was she doing?
Fuck, was she with someone?
“Call her,” I say.
“Braxton, it’s six o’clock in the morning. If she was up a few hours ago, she’s probably—”
“Just call.”
