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I chuckle. I am terrible at adjusting to jet lag. I’ve been here a week and my body clock is still a bit wonky.
Letting her know she didn’t wake me up wouldn’t hurt anyone. I wouldn’t want her to feel bad. Listen to me justifying simply sending her a text…it’s not like I’m inviting her over.
No worries, can’t sleep anyway. Good to hear from you :)
Sending a smiley face feels like age regression. Emoticons feel more suited to a younger generation. However, every now and then, it feels correct.
And I would like Harley to know that hearing from her put a smile on my face.
However, she doesn’t reply. Her three dots appear on the screen and then nothing. I guess my text was a little final feeling. Good to hear from you, now fuck off.
That’s not what I meant. Not at all. In fact, it’s a very pleasant surprise.
I decide to follow up my text with a fairly innocuous question.
How are things back in the States?
The three dots immediately return; my heart thumps as I wait…and wait…and wait.
God, is she typing a novel?
Busy. Got a good interview coming out tomorrow. Hope you can tune in :)
Not the wink. What the hell am I supposed to do with a wink when it makes my cock jump just thinking about her sultry little smile?
I drop the phone on my chest and look up at the ceiling of my hotel room. In the silence, I calculate the time difference. Her show is on at two pm Pacific time and in the UK it’s Greenwich Mean Time. Except since it’s summer, I think it’s British Summer Time. That sounds fake. Whatever. I’m eight hours ahead.
So, it’ll be around nine when her show airs.
Harley follows up with another text.
No pressure, I know you’re busy.
If I can get Resa to move some things around, I should be free at nine.
Scratch that. Iwillbe free at nine.
* * *
“Hurry, hurry, hurry!”I say, scrambling through the restaurant, dodging patrons and servers. “Pardon me, excuse me!”
“Grant, slow down! You don’t have to do this inheels!”
I glance back at Resa. She is lagging behind. But we’re closing in on nine o’clock. I can’t be late. Not even by a second.
Once I get outside, I immediately spot the car, paying no mind to the paparazzi who are waiting outside the restaurant. I feel the heat of a few camera flashes before ducking into the black car. “Have you got it tuned, Arthur?”
“By the skin of my teeth,” my driver, Arthur, responds in his cockney accent.
The satellite radio is tuned to WQXR and I can already hear the crunchy guitar of theSomeone’s Gotta Do Itopening theme song. Skin of my teeth is right.
The door flies open and Resa throws herself inside. “Remind me never to be chased by a pack of wolves with you,” she grumbles.
“I’m sorry, this was…important.”
“A little radio show is so important to you, huh?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.
I swallow. “I’m a fan, what can I say?”
