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Hello, minibar.
Hell, I’m not paying for it.
I crack open a tiny bottle of wine and cheers myself in the mirror before downing it in a few swallows.
Classy. The next one I open lasts longer as I sip the dry red, but the beverage still disappears rather quickly. As I open a ten-dollar bag of peanuts, I enjoy the warm alcohol fog my brain begins to drift through.
And in that fog, I make a decision that seems completely reasonable.
If I call Dash, he can always decide not to pick up. But maybe hewillpick up, because he’s been waiting formeto call.
The opportunity needs to be presented.
My normal distaste of conversing on the phone barely registers. When it comes to Dash, I’ll settle for any type of communication.
My thumb slides across the glass screen of my phone, and when I find the right number I press send and hold the device to my ear.
He doesn’t pick up on the first ring. My heart thuds heavily in my chest.
He doesn’t pick up on the second. Sweat gathers on my lower back.
He doesn’t pick up on the third.
Because someone else picks up on the third.
“Dash’s shitty ass phone. Who’s this?”
Peanuts bounce around on the floor, the bag having slipped from my slack grasp. The surprise at hearing a woman’s voice steals the strength from my muscles.
“Hellooooo?”
“Who’s this?” I don’t recognize the raspy voice that comes out of my throat.
“Not how this works. You called me. You tell me who you are.”
“I didn’t call you. I called Dash.”
“Who called Dash?”
“Me.”
“And who is ‘me’?” The woman on the other end of the line sounds like she’s having a fun time jerking me around.
“’Me’ is Paige. I’m Paige.”
“Paige.” Whatever amusement existed in her voice a moment ago is gone now, leaving behind a cold so strong, I shiver.
“Yes. And you are?”
“Luna.”
Luna. I try to remember the name of the girl we met briefly in the bar, but I come up blank. For a second, I convince myself she’s just a friend, but then I recall my first encounter with Cole.
If a girl is in their house, it’s because she’s fucking Dash.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought.
Maybe she’s fucking Cole?
