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He walked me to the door of my apartment.
“I’ll call you,” he murmured in my ear. “Either way, I’ll call you and let you know.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Are you going to be okay?” He brushed his hand over my hair. “If that piece of shit bothers you again, tell me. I won’t let him hurt you, Christina.”
What the hell could I say? Dexter seemed so far away right now. Patrick in front of me, just out of my reach, was the real source of pain.
I stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him.
Jesus. This kiss. Warmth spiraled through me, wrapping around my shoulders and thighs. I arched against him and deepened the kiss, wanting more and more and more. I wanted my face to stay in his hands forever, my arms wrapped around his neck.
He pulled back. I leaned forward. Just like our first kiss.
“I’ll call you,” he whispered.
Then he was gone.
23
Call My Name
Christina
I came to hate my phone — a live presence with a beating heart, pulsing in my purse. I powered it off. I turned it on. I killed the volume, set it to vibrate, dialed it up to the max. I buried it under my pillow when I went to class and stuck it in the medicine chest when I tried to sleep.
It didn’t matter. There was no word from Patrick.
Monday night in Student Senate, I couldn’t stand the wait any longer. While Khalil and one of the senators presented potential T-shirt designs, I pulled out my phone and texted.
Are we on for tonight?
The response took a few minutes to show up.
Not tonight.
I need more time.
Thanks for your patience.
Thanks for my patience? I gripped my phone until my hand ached.
Across the room, Dexter’s gaze met mine. He sat utterly still, his dark eyes half-closed, but his lips curved in a humorless smile. As far as I knew, he hadn’t told anyone…yet. It didn’t make me breathe easier.
“Christina?” Allison glanced at my death grip on my phone. Trying to smile, I shook out my hand and went back to typing minutes.
I can be patient,I texted when there was a lull in the meeting.
Good girl.
A tiny flame warmed me from the inside. I fanned it with every hope I had. I tried to let it be enough for now.
*****
Three days later, I trudged up the concrete steps to the second-floor B-School lounge. The spring afternoon was sticky, humid, and unseasonably hot. Even with the AC blowing, my crop top and shredded jeans clung to my skin.
My study group was waiting for me. Finals started today, Thursday. All my business classes ended in projects. The one paper I had, for Victorian Lit, was due next Wednesday — the last day of the semester. My class grade depended on that paper; so did my future at college.
