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Unknown number: Tink for the win. I’m busy. Answer me. Tonight? Yes? No?
Geez, talk about bossy.
I sigh and flop down onto my bed. This guy is impossible. Before I can come up with a genuine reason why he can’t come over, my phone sounds again with another incoming text message. He can’t be that freaking busy if he’s got all this time to be messaging me.
Unknown Number: BTW I got your car out of lock-up. It should be parked out front by now. The guy said he put the keys in your mailbox. Apartment 1A, correct?
Me: What the eff?
Unknown Number: Don’t hold back, Tink. You can thank me later, maybe by not making up shit about me. Whaddya say? Just a thought?
I hurry down the hallway with my robe flapping around my knees. I toss back the blinds at the front window and, yep… what do you know. There’s my shitty little car parked right out on the street, just like he said it would be.
I can’t believe he did that.Why did he do that?
Taking a small step backward, my foot touches something buttery soft. I look down and notice Reed’s black leather wallet lying right there on the floor between the couch and the window.
Awesome.
I pick it up and toss it onto the coffee table.
Me: How did you know where my car was?
Unknown Number: You left the card on the countertop. Yes, I took it. And before you go getting your panties into a twist, I don’t expect you to pay me back.
Me: Why would you do that?
There’s no reply for a good ten minutes, and I wonder what he’s doing right now. Is he with his band? Is he at rehearsals? Is he getting drunk at some bar? Is he preoccupied with some big-breasted blonde woman bouncing around on the end of his dick?
Oh god!Why did I just think that?
Stop it. Brinley. You can’t be thinking things like that, especially not where Reed Devlin is concerned. That’s highly inappropriate. And besides, what do I care who’s bouncing around on his dick. I don’t care. In fact, that’s the last thing I care about.
Phew, glad we got that sorted out because I was starting to doubt myself there for a second.
Me: You shouldn’t have done that.
He doesn’t text me back. There are no little dots dancing across the screen, and I’m really starting to kick myself for getting into his car with him this morning. I shouldn’t have engaged with him in the first place, because now I’m the one who wants answers from him and he’s obviously decided to be less than forthcoming with his replies. I don’t need him doing me any favors, and I most definitely don’t need to owe him anything right now.
Me: And I will pay you back. I’m not a charity case.
I stare at the screen again for the longest time, but still no reply comes. Eventually, I toss my phone onto the coffee table beside his wallet and head back to my bedroom to finish getting dressed.
I don’t know when he’s coming over, or how long it will be before he gets here. But now I’m going to have to put on clothes. Most inconvenient.
Ten minutes later, once I’m dressed in skinny black jeans, a black tank top, and a long, gray cardigan that wraps all the way around me, my phone pings again, and I have to admit I’m not entirely proud of the fact that, yes, I may have saved Reed’s contact details in my phone at some point since he last messaged me.
Reed: Shit, sorry. We’re in the middle of rehearsals and we had some sound issues. I can’t leave right now. I’m going to be here for at least another hour. And I just realized I shouldn’t be driving without my driver’s license.
Me: Why don’t you have your driver’s license?
Reed: It’s in my wallet.
Me: Oh, yeah.
Reed: Any chance you could drop it over to my place?
Me: Seriously?
