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“I’m hungry,” he prompts with a devious smile gracing his lips. “And you have something I want to eat …”
* * *
In the middle of the night, my eyes spring open. The room is dark, with only the city lights illuminating the space. Even the moon is obscured behind the clouds, giving us privacy during our endless fucking. Sometime after the third round, I fell asleep.
My eyes are open, but I’m unable to move my limbs. The tips of my fingers reach to the nightstand to grab my phone and check the time—it’s just after midnight.
Several texts from Cruz are on my screen, accompanied by five missed calls.
Cruz:Addy, where are you?
Cruz:Jesus woman, pick up your phone.
Cruz:I’m about to call your dad, like seriously.
I sit up in a panic to check the time of the text. It was sent ten minutes ago. Quickly, I type back.
Me:Sorry, out with some friends and the bar is loud. Didn’t hear my phone. I’ll be home soon.
The bubble appears, and I wait for a response when Masen stirs beside me.
Cruz:THANK FUCK. I was worried something had happened to you. Okay, see you soon.
Without realizing it, I release a sigh, placing my phone down. I should probably call an Uber to take me home, knowing the streets aren’t safe at night.
“What’s wrong?” Masen asks, half-asleep beside me.
“Nothing, Cruz just sent me a text because he was worried I hadn’t picked up my phone.”
Silence falls between us until he shuffles to sit up beside me.
“Does my brother always check in to see where you are?”
I shrug, pulling the sheet to my chest, aware my back is still exposed.
“I guess so. I don’t know. I mean, I’m just used to him always checking in,” I confess, then remain quiet to gather my thoughts. “I should go. I told him I’ll be home soon.”
“It’s late and not safe for you to leave.”
“I’ll call an Uber,” I tell him.
“No, you’re staying here.”
“Masen, I can’t just stay here.”
“Why not? I’m demanding you stay here for your own safety.”
I turn to face him. “And what am I supposed to tell Cruz, huh?”
Masen leans over to grab my phone. He begins typing as my eyes widen in confusion.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He throws the phone in front of me. “Telling your boyfriend you’re staying over at a friend’s house.”
“Cruz is not my boyfriend,” I correct him while grimacing. “He’s just worried about me. That’s all. I can’t believe you sent him a text. You’re so infuriating!”
The phone lights up, and sitting on the screen is a text from Cruz.
