“That is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while. I guess it’s nice that he doesn’t want to give up on you, though. Who knows? Maybe he’s the one...” she says quietly as she contemplates the idea.
I laugh at that. “He’s too nice for me. He’s such a great guy, though. It wasn’t fair for me to use him like that to begin with.”
“Well, you didn’t need him anymore anyway. You already knew that his stepfather wouldn’t be able to help you crack your attorney,” she replies.
I groan. “Becky! I didn’t stay with him because of his stepfather. I really do like him!”
“Sure, Blakey. Keep telling yourself that. You like him so much that you broke up with him. Was the idea that he might actually help you forget a certain someone scaring you?” she presses.
I frown. I’d never considered that. “No...I never felt anything like that for Russell, but I did like him.”
“I know, babe. You liked him, but he wasn’t Cole.”
“Becky,” I groan. “It has nothing to do with Cole.”
“Of course not,” she replies sweetly. “So when are you moving over here?”
I smile at the change in topic and tell her how jealous Aubry is of her job location.
“I told him I could get him a job here, but he refuses to leave you behind,” she says.
Her idea sounds fabulous, but she knows I wouldn’t do it. Until I uncover the truths in my life full of lies, I’m stuck in Chicago.
“Why don’t you meet us in New York this weekend?” she asks.
“What are you going there for?”
“Greg has a scrimmage game against the Giants,” she says, yawning.
Greg is a running back for the San Diego Chargers. I usually see them when he comes to the East Coast for games, so I know she’s already expecting me to agree.
“Sure, I’ll meet you there then,” I reply with a smile.
“Awesome! I’m so excited now,” she squeals. “I can’t wait to tell Greg that his cowboy will be meeting us there. Tell Aubry!”
“Obviously,” I laugh. “You think he’s going to let me rub it in his face that I saw you and went to a game without him?”
After Becky and I hang up, I scroll through my phone. I don’t want to call Cole yet. Maybe I’ll call him next week when I’m back in business. I doubt he’ll let me get away with that. Knowing him, he’ll show up here and demand to know why I haven’t called. What’s worse is that Greg will probably tell him that I’m going to New York.
We’ve gone long periods of time without speaking. While we were both working on our undergrad, we barely said a word to each other. We kept in touch through our friends and saw each other on holidays but didn’t directly communicate with each other.
As I try to shake away thoughts of him with other girls, I pour myself some Lucky Charms and milk in a plastic cup. I switch on the TV and watch a rerun of Saved By the Bell: The College Years. I hate those episodes, but it’s better than the alternative shows that are on. Thoughts of Cole and Erin seep back into my memory. Her angry voice after he answered the phone during sex repeats itself in my head. I let out a breath and feel my stomach churn. When I look back down at my now soggy Lucky Charms, I’m no longer hungry.
I try to sleep but give up after an hour of relentless turning. Maybe counting sheep only works at night. My cell phone rings a couple of times, but I don’t bother to get up and look at it. When the house phone rings, I sit up in bed. I look over at the cordless phone next to my bed and see Cole’s name light up on the caller ID. I groan and sink back in bed.
I hate the fact that we even have a house phone. We rarely use it anyway, and it’s just another way for people to have more places to contact us. When we installed our alarm system, we were told we needed one. The alarm system was my idea. Everybody thought it was dumb since we live in a condominium—an expensive one with a door man—but I need to feel safe. When someone opens the front door or balcony doors, the little chime beeps. It annoys me sometimes, but it’s worth it.
I hear Cole’s deep velvety voice fill the emptiness in my room, and the butterflies in my stomach awaken. “Blake, Aubry told me you were home. Pick up the phone please. We need to talk. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you called yesterday. I…” he pauses and I hear rustling. “I’m sorry. I know you heard, and I’m sorry. Please talk to me. It kills me when you shut me out. Call me—” The machine cut him off. Good.