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Unless she broke up with him.
With that thought, I answered quickly, not allowing it to go to voice mail, and there she was.
“Hey.”
“What's up?” I asked, not knowing what else to say while my frenzied heart wished I could say everything.
“Um, well …” She pulled in a deep, audible breath before exhaling into the phone. “So, Peter and I were out running a couple of errands, and the new song came on the radio …”
My brows pinched together at the mention of her boyfriend and then the mention of the song. With my eyes on the open trunk, I replied, “Yeah, it's been out for a couple of weeks now.”
“Well, I hadn't heard it yet, and, um …”
Our meeting never would have been, had she not been a fan. Perhaps it had been conceited of me, but I had assumed she'd already heard it.
Apparently, I'd assumed wrong.
“Ah,” was all I could say, hanging my head until my chin touched my chest.
“I guess it would be stupid to ask if it was about me.”
Pulling in a breath of clean, refreshing air, I replied, “It would be.”
“Well, is it?”
I smiled at her desire—her need—to hear me say the words, but I wasn't going to satisfy her with a reply. “It wouldn't make a difference if it was,” I stated. “But you already know the answer.”
“Well … it's really good,” she complimented finally, after a few moments filled with silence and dead air. “It actually might be my new favorite.”
I stifled a laugh, thinking the entire album was either going to be the best or worst thing that'd ever happened to her. Even if the rest of the world never knew who it was about, she always would. It might eat away at her, it might keep her up at night, it might bring upset to her relationship, and I wished I could say I felt guilty about that. But I didn't. Not at all.
“I appreciate that,” I said, keeping my tone curt.
Then, she sighed. “God, Dylan … I fucking hate this.”
“Hate what?”
“This! Not being able to see you, not—”
I narrowed my gaze toward nothing in particular as I took in what she’d said.“Not being able to see you …”Was she implying she wasn’tallowedto see me? Was this not by choice?
“Wait, what?”
She hesitated for a moment before saying, “I promised Peter I wouldn’t see you. He said I could talk to you if I wanted, but seeing you was out of the question. He … he doesn’t trust you.”
Or maybe it’s her he doesn’t trust.
Rolling my eyes to the sky, I struggled to keep the anger toward her fucking boyfriend at bay as I replied, “Lennon, it is what it is. You wanted a life that didn't involve me in it, and now, you have it, so—”
“But you were barely in it to begin with! Don’t you realize …” Her words faded to nothing, and then she groaned out of frustration. Desperation.
“Don’t I realize what?” I asked, narrowing my view of the clouds.
“Nothing, Dylan! Nothing. It doesn’t fucking matter,” she replied, voice raised and damn near close to frantic.
Something wasn’t right, and for some reason, her aggravation was aimed at me.
“Why are you yelling at me?”
