Lucy glares at me and I involuntarily take a step back.
"That is none of your business!" She sneers.
I'll take that as a yes.
"Come on, Kay," Ronald says. "We should go."
He starts to walk to the door without glancing back to see if I'm following. I rush after him—a feat considering one of his strides is four of mine—and place my hand in his. He grasps it tightly and slows down just the tiniest bit, so I'm jogging by his side instead of running.
At the parking lot, once we're safely in his car, I whisper, "I'm sorry."
He laughs bitterly. "It's not your fault, you're just a spectator. I just wish she didn't get under my skin so much. It's been six months of us ignoring each other and that was completely okay! But she had to go and pull this!" He slams his hands against the steering wheel.
I feel immediately guilty for thinking that he was trying to flirt with me, when all this time, there was someone else on his mind. I remain quiet and fiddle with my bag. I'm not sure I'm one to give relationship advice.
"It'll get better," he mumbles.
With that, he keys the car and drives us out of the Rutherford Suites.
The ride is silent and uncomfortable and my butt is glued to my seat because I have no idea how to act. Ronald drops me off at my building and says he wants to do some grocery shopping while he's in town. I wave him goodbye and take the stairs two at a time.
Once I'm in my apartment, I pack up what was left and arrange for a moving service to pick up my things tomorrow.
I decide on instant noodles for lunch since they require little effort and aren't messy.
Frank still hasn't called me and I'll be damned if I'm the one to make the first move after he used sex to bring me back into his clutches.
I hear a ping from my phone and feel immediately disappointed that it's just a phone notification. I roll my eyes. Why should I feel disappointed just because he didn't text me back? He's just a—
My train of thought is interrupted by another ping. Nothing else seems to matter after I realize that this text is from Indrek.
3:42 pm: Thank you, years of practice.
I chuckle slightly and type out a reply.
3:43 pm: You've practiced throwing shade on me?
I realize that I should feel embarrassed at texting back so fast, but I see him typing back and swallow my shame.
3:44 pm: Every day for three years.
I feel immediately guilty, but also a flush of pleasure in the fact that thought of me everyday for three years.
3:45 pm: Stop, you're making me blush.
I'm waiting to see the three dots that show he is typing when I get a call and I'm instantly annoyed. That is until I see the name Henry Rockstar on my screen.
I almost drop my phone in shock and the green button is suddenly very hard to swipe at, though I would blame that on my suddenly sweaty hands.
"Hello?" I squeak then clear my throat. "Hello?" I say, my voice clearer.
"Are you still blushing?" He asks, his deep voice making me shiver.
I take a deep breath to steady my nerves.
"Are you a stranger to sarcasm?" I ask, strangely confident. My toes are curling in anticipation of his response.
"Only in a text. I want to hear your sarcasm now," he says.
My mouth is suddenly dry.
"Is that an order?" I ask stubbornly.
"Yes," he says flatly.
I blink repeatedly. I am suddenly aware of the different shades of pink on my blanket. One of my toes is longer than the one preceding it. I try to slow my breathing to a normal pace but I have forgotten what normal is.
"Cat got your tongue?" He asks.
I blink again. Say something, stupid!
"Of course not!" I say defensively. I realize I don't remember what we were talking about.
"Show me sarcasm, then," he says calmly.
Why is my heart beating so fast? Why isn't his beating as fast? Am I having a heart attack?
"I can't be sarcastic on cue. It just happens," I say defensively.
"Oh. It just happens. I've heard that before," he says.
I blink, recognizing his tone.
"Oh, you're good," I say. "So what now?" I ask.
"What do you mean?" He asks.
"This is the longest phone call I've had with a stranger. I'm going to run out of things to say." I inform him.
"A stranger? Oh, how you wound me, Kayla," he responds.
I roll my eyes.
"I'm serious!" I laugh. "If this conversation turns awkward you're going to think I'm weird and you won't want to talk to me again."
"So you want me to want to talk to you?" He asks. "Just curious,"
"I feel like I've walked into a trap," I respond, falling back on my bed.
"Too bad. Answer the question," he says.
"Let me think," I say before a brief pause. "Maybe,"
"Maybe what?" He asks.
"Maybe I want that," I say.
"What is that?" He asks.
I groan.
"You are going to make me work for this, aren't you?" I ask, even though I know the answer.
"Yes, I am," he answers smugly. I can just picture him smiling.
I sigh. Heavily. "Fine. Maybe I want you to want to talk to me,"
He hums on his end. "I need more certainty than that," he finally says.
"Certainty?" I ask.
"Yes. You should be begging me to talk to you every day," he says.
I scoff. "Well, aren't you obnoxious?"
"My mother certainly seems to think so. You two should form a club," he says.
"Ah yes. The 'Henry is obnoxious' club. I can certainly see the therapeutic appeal of complaining about you with your mother," I respond.
He laughs. It is a beautiful sound to listen to. I feel like I might drown in it and find bliss.
"How is your life? Did you graduate?" He asks.
"I did, last December," I answer, smiling.
"I'm sure you will be the hottest teacher at your school," he says. "Remember to stock up on glasses and pencil skirts."
I laugh. "Are you into role playing or something?" I ask.
"Now that you mention it, I might be," he says.
I shake my head with a smile. "You're bonkers,"
"Be sure to mention that to my mother when you meet," he says.
I get up so I'm leaning on one if my elbows. "Even the role playing thing?" I ask.
"Maybe not the role playing part," he says.
"But I have so many questions now!" I complain.
"Like what?" He asks wearily. It makes me grin.
I launch into my barrage of questions. "Did you have a hot tutor growing up? Hot teacher? Did you have fantasies about the hot librarian?"
"I did not need a tutor," he says. "Our school librarian was at least eighty years old, so that's a negative on the fantasies. Yes, I did have a hot math teacher, but I could not find the right words when I tried to talk to her,"
"Aww, you love sick puppy," I coo.
"That is a tad dramatic, don't you think?" He asks.
"Of course not. It is just the right amount," I say.
"What about you? Any hot teachers?" He asks.
"I am embarrassed, but yes. I used to think he was the hottest guy on earth. And he was so tall. I failed math so hard that year," I say.
A whiff of something odd reaches my nose.
"I am familiar with the experience," he says.
The odd smell reaches my nose again. It smells like something burning.
I swing my legs over the bed and sniff. It smells like it's coming from my kitchen.
"My noodles!" I exclaim.
"Pardon me?" Indrek asks.
"I need to go!" I yell and hang up. I abandon my phone and run to the kitchen.
I turn off the stove and warily take the lid off the pot.
My noodles have turned black and the pot is charred. There goes lunch, I suppose.
************
It took a whole hour to scrub my pot clean leaving me hungry and grumpy. Not a good combination, honestly.
I decide to eat out since I lack the energy to actually cook. Bonus; I can't smell burnt noodles if I'm not at home.
I decide to eat at a restaurant that opened a few weeks ago and I'm browsing the menu when Frank walks into the restaurant.
I immediately use the menu to hide my face, not wanting him to spot me. I can't believe he's in town and couldn't bother to inform me.
I'm still playing spy when a beautiful woman, taller than me, walks in behind him and puts her arm around him. He doesn't pull away. In fact, he wraps his arm around her shoulders.
My brain short-circuits.
Who is this bitch?
I raise the menu higher when Frank turns my way.
I pray they haven't seen me yet.
I risk a peek and see that they've picked a table.
Frank and the mystery woman have found a booth close to the door and are holding hands while he checks his phone. The woman is browsing the menu perfectly content with holding my boyfriend's hand as if everything is normal.
I can't leave now. I want to know what the hell is going on.
A waiter delivers two plates of pasta to their table and my stomach growls in protest.
I order a salad.
Watching them feels like an invasion of privacy, but I convince myself that it's not because I was here first.
I get a ping from my phone. It's a text from Indrek.
7:23 pm: What happened to your noodles?
I smile and type a hasty reply.
7:24 pm: They burned. Ttyl, I'm out spying.
Frank and the mystery woman are laughing at something he just said.
I get another ping.
7:25 pm: Who are we spying on?
I roll my eyes and type out a reply.
7:25 pm: You're interfering with my mission.
He is typing. I wait until his message appears on my screen.
7:26 pm: I will ruin it if you don't tell me who we are spying on.
I hesitate. I don't know why I don't want him to know about Frank. And yet.
7:27 pm: My boyfriend just walked into the restaurant with another woman.
His reply is faster than the last.
7:27 pm: Are we jumping to conclusions?
I reply.
7:28 pm: No. That is why we're spying.
I mean me. I'm spying. Alone.
I risk another glance at the table. Frank is full on grinning at the woman and actively participating in the conversation.
A body snatcher has taken up residence in his body. That is the only logical answer I can think of. The other totally illogical answers border on him cheating or being out with a close relative. Either way, he is showing her a side he hasn't shown me in months. A happy side.
I get another ping and glance down at my phone.
7:30 pm: How do we know she's not his sister?
I place the menu right under my eyes as I attempt to type and accidentally see something that breaks my heart.
7:31 pm: Because he just kissed her.