Chapter 5 - Did You Call Me?

Annie

Eventually, I pick the phone back up.

Me: Well.

Carson: Well?

Me: I feel considerably better.

Carson: Happy to be of service, beautiful.

Me: Five stars. Would recommend.

Carson: Only five? I was aiming for six.

I burst out laughing, pulling the comforter over my face.

God, I love this man.

My phone vibrates again.

Carson: Can I ask you something?

Me: Depends. Are you about to ruin your perfect rating?

Carson: When are you going to let me hear you?

I freeze.

Me: Hear me what?

Carson: You know what I mean.

Oh, I absolutely do.

My face heats so quickly that I’m grateful he can’t see me.

Me: Carson!

Carson: What?

Me: That’s embarrassing.

Carson: Why?

I stare at the screen, trying to figure out how to explain something that feels perfectly obvious.

Me: Because it just is!

Carson: Rox, I’m not going to make fun of you.

Me: I know. It’s just different when you can actually hear me.

Carson: I know, sweetheart. And I want to share that with you someday, but only if you want to.

I roll onto my side, hugging a pillow against my chest.

The thing is, I do want to.

I’ve wondered what it would be like to hear Carson’s voice during moments like this, instead of reading his words on a screen. I’ve imagined the way he’d say my name and whether he’d sound as confident as he does when we’re gaming. After what we just did, the idea feels less impossible and more like something I’m almost brave enough to try.

But imagining something and actually doing it are still two very different things.

Me: I don’t know. I’ll think about it.

Carson: That’s all I’m asking. No pressure.

Me: Promise you won’t laugh if I get nervous?

Carson: I promise. And if you change your mind halfway through, we stop. No questions asked.

My chest tightens.

It’s such a simple thing, knowing I can say no without disappointing him. With my mother, every decision seems to come with an argument, a lecture, or some reminder that I’m not living up to her expectations.

Carson never makes me feel that way.

Me: You’re really sweet, you know that?

Carson: Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.

Me: As what? An arrogant gaming nerd?

Carson: A devastatingly handsome, incredibly talented gaming nerd.

Me: Allegedly handsome. Still waiting on photographic evidence.

Carson: Says the woman who’s been avoiding pictures for six months.

I wince, but there’s no accusation in his message.

Me: Fair point.

Carson: We’ll get there when we’re ready.

I smile, letting myself imagine that first meeting again. Except now, instead of a vague someday, it might actually happen within the next few weeks. And after tonight, the thought of being physically close to him doesn’t feel quite so terrifying.

Me: I really wish you were here.

Carson: Me too, baby.

Me: I think I’d be a lot braver in person.

Carson: Really?

Me: Probably. Maybe. Okay, there’s a decent chance I’d hide behind a pillow.

Carson: Then I’ll kiss you through the pillow.

I laugh.

Me: That’s ridiculous.

Carson: I’m a resourceful man.

We exchange a few more messages before he reminds me that I need sleep. Apparently, he’s decided that being my boyfriend includes making sure I don’t stay awake until three in the morning complaining about fictional monsters.

I tell him he’s bossy.

He tells me I love it.

Unfortunately, he’s right.

Carson: Goodnight, beautiful. I love you.

Me: I love you too. Thank you for making tonight better.

Carson: Anytime, sweetheart.

I set my phone on the nightstand and settle beneath the covers, feeling lighter than I have all evening.

Maybe Wes Hargrove thinks I’m some spoiled little gold digger. Maybe my mother will spend the rest of her life wishing I looked different. I can’t control what either of them thinks, and frankly, I’m exhausted from trying.

But Carson loves me exactly as I am. And soon, I’m finally going to meet him.

I roll onto my side, smiling into my pillow. I just hope I don’t chicken out when he finally tries to kiss me.

My stomach growls.

Loudly.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

I glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s almost eleven, which means dinner was hours ago. Considering I spent most of that meal defending myself against accusations of being a gold digger, I didn’t exactly get much eating done.

I lie there for another minute, debating whether I’m hungry enough to venture downstairs.

The answer comes in the form of another embarrassingly loud growl.

“Fine. You win.”

I climb out of bed and pull on leggings and oversized AC/DC shirt. My sneakers are somewhere near the foot of the bed, but I decide socks are perfectly acceptable for a midnight expedition through a mansion. It’s not as though I’m expecting to encounter anyone important.

Although, knowing my luck, Wes will materialize out of thin air and accuse me of stealing the family silver.

I grab my phone, slip it into my pocket, and head for the door.

The hallway is quiet, illuminated by soft lights along the walls. I still can’t get over how enormous this house is. I’m fairly certain the upstairs alone is bigger than our entire place back in New Mexico.

My mother would probably tell me I shouldn’t be eating this late. She’d remind me that I already had dinner, conveniently overlooking the fact that I barely touched it. Then she’d launch into another lecture about portion control and how nobody wants a woman who can’t control her appetite.

I stop walking.

For a moment, I actually consider going back to bed.

Then I get annoyed with myself.

I’m a grown woman. If I want a freaking snack, I’m getting a freaking snack. I refuse to let my mother’s voice dictate whether I’m allowed to eat a handful of crackers.

Decision made, I continue down the hallway.

I’m passing a partially open bedroom door when a low sound catches my attention.

I slow.

Was that someone talking?

The door is open only a few inches, and the room beyond is mostly dark. I can see the faint glow of a computer monitor through the gap.

Then I hear it again.

“Rox…”

I stop dead.

Wait. What?

I turn toward the door, staring at it.

Nobody here calls me Rox. My mother has called me Annie since I was little, and Douglas has only ever used that name. Wes barely speaks to me unless he’s insulting me, so I certainly haven’t given him permission to use anything else.

Maybe I misheard.

“Come…”

My eyebrows draw together.

Okay, that definitely sounded like someone asking me to come in.

“Hello?” I call softly.

There’s no response.

I wait another moment, feeling increasingly ridiculous. For all I know, someone is talking on the phone, and I’m about to embarrass myself by interrupting a private conversation.

Except the voice sounds strained, and the last thing I want is to ignore someone who might need help.

I knock lightly against the doorframe.

“Hello? Did somebody call me?”

Still nothing.

Oh, for crying out loud.

I push the door open and take a cautious step inside.

The room is enormous, with dark furniture, a large bed, and a desk positioned near the windows. A computer monitor casts a bluish glow across the floor.

Someone is sitting in the desk chair.

A very familiar someone.

Of course.

Because apparently, the universe has decided I haven’t suffered enough tonight.

“Wes?”

He doesn’t answer.

His head is tipped back against the chair, his eyes closed. He shifts slightly, apparently unaware that I’m standing in his doorway.

“Wes, did you call me?”

He makes a startled movement, and the chair turns just enough for me to realize I’ve interrupted something intensely private.

My brain takes approximately half a second to catch up.

Then it does.

“OH MY GOD!”

Wes jerks upright, his eyes flying open.

For one spectacularly horrible second, we stare at each other.

His expression changes from confusion to absolute horror.

“What the FUCK are you doing in my room?”