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“It wouldn’t matter,” I tell her. “That’s how much I hate this guy.”
“If you say so …” She does not sound convinced.
I’m suddenly tired of talking about the whole thing. “I’ve got to go,” I tell her.
“But I have a thousand more questions for you.”
“I’m exhausted, and I have school in the morning. I’ll try to call on Saturday.”
“Paige, are you annoyed with me about something?” she asks, sounding confused.
Yes.How dare she suggest that I could fall for Chip Baker? But I don’t ask her that. Instead, I simply say, “I’m just tired. Talk to you later …” Click.
Then on impulse, I call Tim.
“Hey, you,” he answers. “Did you get home okay, or did you decide to sign up for the witness relocation program?”
“I definitely would have done that had I witnessed a crime.” Note to self: Call the FBI and see if they take volunteers.
“So, you’re home,” he rightly assumes. “What can I do for you?”
I stumble slightly before answering, “You never told me what you thought about my dress.”
“Oh, but I did. I told you that it would get you a lot of attention.”
Turning off my bedroom lamp, I say, “I’d get a lot of attention if I wore my flannel pajamas, too.”
“Are you fishing for a compliment?”
“Not at all. I’m just trying to decide what kind of reaction I’d get if I show up in strapless black leather tomorrow night.”
His voice sounds gravelly as he responds, “The men will feel like they just won the lottery if you talk to them.”
Chills erupt all over my skin, and before I can help myself, I ask, “Is that how you felt?” Yes, I’m flirting, but I’m curious what his response will be.
After a long pause, he answers, “I felt protective and sure that if you wear that dress, I’m going to have to spend the night guarding my friend’s honor.”
His friend?Crap. “Well, then, as I want you to focus on your own love life, I won’t wear it.”
“Good.” He sounds relieved, which is not at all flattering.
“I’d better go,” I tell him. “I’ve got an early morning, and then we have the mixer.”
“Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
I hated that saying when I was a kid. It made me think that once I fell asleep, my bed would start crawling with bugs. So, I retaliate. “Make sure there aren’t any monsters under your bed.”
“What?!” He sounds panicky. Monsters under the bed must have been his Achilles heel.
“Are you afraid of monsters?” I ask.
“Absolutely. Tell me you aren’t.”
“I’m more afraid of bed bugs.”
He chuckles. “Okay. How about, sweet dreams?”
“Much better.” Before he can hang up, I add, “Thanks for tonight. I had fun.”
