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My phone rings. “Hello,” I answer.
“Did he call yet?” Chloe asks.
“No.” I sigh.
“Fuck.”
“Do you think I should call him?”
“No.”
“What if he lost my number?”
“Then he’s a dickhead. Anyway, your number will be in his call history. He hasn’t lost your number, Jules.”
My heart sinks. “Something is wrong. I know he’s going to call me.”
“Why, because he said he would? Wouldn’t be the first man to ever lie on a date.”
“Chloe, I’m telling you. We had something; I know he’s going to call me.”
“Okay,” she replies in an unconvinced voice. “The girls and I are going to Club 70, if you want to come.”
“No.” I exhale as I lie down on my back. “I’m going to wait for him.”
“He’s not calling.”
“He is.” I roll my eyes. “He had to work today. Maybe he’s going to just show up here any minute. Goodbye.”
I exhale heavily and look around my spotless apartment. He better fucking call.
8:00 p.m.
Ring, ring . . . ring, ring . . . I screw up my face as I wait for him to pick up.
“You’ve reached Henley James. I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message.”
Shit.
“Hi, Henley, it’s Juliet.” I pause as I try to think of the right thing to say. “I was just . . .” Fuck. “I thought we were catching up tonight?”
Damn it. I sound desperate.
“Just called to see what’s happening. Anyway, bye.”
I put my hands over my eye sockets in disgust. Oh god . . . that sounded so pathetically needy. Why didn’t I just wait for him to call? Now I’ve ruined it.
Ugh . . .
My phone vibrating on the side table wakes me. “It’s too late for your drunken phone calls, Chloe,” I grumble as I answer.
“Guess who just turned up at the club?” she yells through the loud nightclub music.
I rub my eyes to try and focus on her voice. “Who?”
“Henley James.”
“What?” I sit up, suddenly wide awake. “What time is it?” I glance at the clock on my phone: 2:00 a.m. “Who’s he there with?”
