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“Um, hello Luna. Could I please speak to Dash?”
The other end of the line is silent for a moment, and I pull my phone away from my ear to check if she’s hung up on me.
She hasn’t.
“He’s busy.”
“He’s busy?”
“That’s right. He’s in the shower.”
“In the shower?” Oh no. I’ve started parroting the girl.
“Yep. He’s in the shower. I’m in his bed. And Cole has made himself scarce to give us some privacy. Anything else you need to know, Piper?”
My mouth opens, ready to run through her words just so I have them right.
But then the meaning of them hits me, and I choke.
“I’m in his bed.”
I still don’t know who this Luna girl is, but I suddenly have a very clear picture of her in my mind. She’s small, petit some might say, with long dark hair, probably slightly damp from having just stepped out of the shower. A shower that Dash joined her in. And now she’s sprawled out across his clean sheets that smell like him. She’s not naked though. No. She’s wrapped in a green cotton robe.
“It’s Paige,” is all I’m able to mutter through my frozen lips after a full minute of silent suffering.
“Sure it is. Well, Dash’ll probably be busy for the rest of the night. Try back some other time. Or don’t.”
I’m not sure if she hangs up, or if I do. But at some point, my phone’s screen goes black as I sit on the edge of the mattress, staring down at the offensive device.
Slowly, I lie back on the bed, then roll over until my face is fully pressed into the cushy comforter.
If I stay like this all night, would I suffocate?
My stomach growls, wanting more than half a bag of over-priced peanuts to fill the grief hole left in my abdomen. For some reason, this gaping chasm feels bigger than the one left by my fiancé.
How could a man I’ve known for three months dig deeper into my soul than one who I’d been with for eight years?
Am I just getting more gullible with age?
With a reluctant push, I heave myself up and open a maps app on my phone, searching for the closest fried chicken joint.
.1 mile away. Gotta love NYC.
My jacket is halfway on when the reality of the situation hits me.
I’m in a loop. A rut. If I leave my room now to binge eat my pain away, I’ll probably end up running back to Mommy and Daddy the minute I wake up from my food coma.
The realization brings on a wave of anger that burns away some of my hurt. My head clears enough for me to toss aside my coat and sit down in front of my laptop.
When the browser opens, I navigate to a real estate website.
No more excuses. Time to get my shit together.
Maybe Dash helped me learn how to stand firm, but my ability to function in the world is not solely dependent on him, or any man for that matter. I’m my own woman, and I can figure this out by myself.
I’ve saved the information for five different homes when my stomach lets out another growl. Maybe I’ve pushed my hurt to the side temporarily, but no amount of will power can tamp down my hunger.
Barely taking my eyes off the next listing, I dial Charlie’s number.
