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Chapter Seventeen
Ivy
“What do you think?” Adira asks as he adjusts our favorite photo on the wall once more.
“It’s still crooked.” I eyeball the framed image as I pick my phone up to check for any new messages.
Still nothing.
This never happens. I always have messages. From Nicole or Alec. Definitely from Rogue. Sometimes Ben. I tap my thumb against the icon that shows me my service provider is working just fine. The icon doesn’t change at least. Weird. “Is your phone working properly?”
“Hmm.” Adira pulls his out of the pocket on the butt of his denim shorts before putting it back. “Yes. Why?”
“I have no messages. It’s weird.”
“Weird. Or just not what you want?”
My pulse does heighten at the idea there might be a reason why Rogue hasn’t contacted me for hours. More than one. All the scenarios run through my head. Everything from a car accident to a run in with Alec to just working out that I’m not who he thinks I am. I hover my thumb over the message box.
The worst scenario is that the chaste kiss to the cheek Rogue left me with this morning is him pulling away.
“Just text him.” Adira shakes his head.
I suck the corner of my lip while I tap at my screen. What if he’s done with me? Angry at me? Over me?
“Ivy,” Adira demands my focus.
“Uh-huh?”
“Text him,” he insists. “No games. Ask what you need to.”
Me: Everything okay?
Putting my phone down, I lift another tray of costume jewelry onto the glass topped cabinet in the middle of the room. There are sixteen wooden drawers devoted to our accessories, each with its own niche in the cabinet. This one contains a variety of rings, including the one I wore to the bridal expo. I start sorting through it, the whole time just waiting for my phone to beep.
When it finally does, I practically come out of my skin in my haste to check it.
“What’s it say?” Adira asks.
I squint at the message that is two words… not even two complete words. “Ye bi.”
“Huh?” Adira glances at me over his shoulder.
“I think it’s supposed to say yes, baby. It looks like yeah, boi.” I tip my head to the side and try to decipher any other meaning. Either that or his phone is broken. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Adira shrugs. “Call him then.”
“I guess.” I pull up his contact and hit the call icon. It rings and then disconnects.
I feel queasy as I repeat the call. Please pick up.
“Ivy Love,” a familiar guttural voice says.
“Rebel?”
“He’s drunk,” he says by way of explanation. “And busy.”
“Doing what?”
