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“Mm.” His arms drift around my waist. When looks down at me, passion and desire spark in his eyes. “You’re killing me, woman.”
With a sigh, I let go of him so he can finish packing. “Fine. I’ll just go call the girls.”
He swats my ass when I walk away. “I’ll be down in a second, gorgeous.”
Since the day the pregnancy story leaked, I have left my phone in the kitchen. The news is bile at best and flaming dog poop at worst, so why bother reading it? It certainly isn’t what I want to wake up to, and there really isn’t anyone who needs to speak to me through the night except my friends and Beck.
Monroe answers on the first ring. “Yo, Slo.”
“Hiya. Question: whatcha doing this weekend?”
“I don’t have plans. Why? You coming out of hiding?”
“Well, no. I was thinking of asking you and Cassie into hiding with me.” I explain the situation—Beck out of town, stalker on the loose, paparazzi at the front gate.
“Sounds like fun. You want me to give the photographers something to photograph or should I keep it incognito?”
I shudder, remembering the time a few years ago she mooned a passing cop car and almost got us all thrown in jail for the night. “Low-key is just peachy.”
“Lame, but fine. I’ll pick up Cassie and some burgers and fries and then we’ll be on our way.”
“Perfect. See you soon.”
Beck hangs around as long as he can, waiting for the girls so he can make sure I’m not alone before I finally drag him to the door to boot him out. “They’re going to be here in a few minutes.”
“Then I should stick around and wait. I don’t want you here by yourself.”
“You’re going to miss the plane and have to fly commercial, and the last thing I want is to hear you bitching about getting served stale peanuts and seltzer water.” I push him out to the garage. “Go. They stopped for burgers and then they’ll be here. Go, Beck. Begone with ye.”
He shakes his head and runs his hand over the back of his neck, then sighs. “Alright—but if they don’t show up, you call me, got it?”
I nod and smile. He’s never going to leave if I don’t act like I’m not worried. And the truth is, I’m not worried.
I’m still not worried an hour later when they aren’t here and I can’t get a hold of either of them. I dial Cassie’s number for the tenth time, but just like all the other attempts, it goes straight to the robot-narrated voicemail. Then Monroe’s.
“Hey, you called me, so you know who I am, so I’m not saying. Leave me a message, and if I like you, I’ll call you back. If not, oh well. Better luck next time.”
I chew the inside of my cheek. “Hey, Roe. It’s me. Call me when you get this. I’m getting worried.”
I’m trying not to let my imagination wander into dangerous waters. Instead, I work on getting angry to paper over my fear. “I don’t know why they bother to have fucking phones. Not likethey answer them anyway. For fuck’s sake. I could be in labor and neither of these two is ever going to know it.”
I know damn well I’m being silly. I’m overreacting because of the recent turmoil in my life. Monroe probably found someone at the burger place to flirt with, that’s all.
When my cell rings in my hand, I look down at the screen. It’s a blocked number.
“Hello?” There’s no sound on the other end. Every hair on my arms stands at attention. “Hello?”
Then—breathing. Either a man’s or a grizzly bear’s. Heavy. Latently violent.
I listen for a moment to the heavy breathing, heart thudding in my chest, and then call out, “Hang on, Beck. I’ll be right there.” Whoever it is, I don’t want them to know I’m alone. “Hello?”
More breathing. Faster. Like he or it is running toward me.
I don’t wait another second: I mash the end button and drop the phone on the counter.
It rings again immediately.
Blocked number.
