Kara sat up, her hair sticking to her face, her shoulders shaking with laughter.
I laughed harder.
* * *
Caleb
“You look like shit.”
“I feel like shit,” Cameron replied, collapsing on the couch.
He looked gaunt, like he hadn’t eaten in a week. His clothes were rumpled, his hair a mess, his eyes red. Cameron had phoned me half an hour ago, sounding panicked—and in pain. At first I thought someone had died because he kept saying, “She’s gone. Fucking gone.”
It took me a minute to realize he was talking about Kara. He ended the conversation with “I’m coming over. I need to get the hell away from this place.”
So I told Red what was up, and she raced out the door to comfort her BFF. Not that I was jealous. I wasn’t.
Maybe a little.
I just…wanted to spend more time with her. But Cameron needed me, and Kara needed Red. And of course, as always, she had refused my offer to give her a ride.
“She did that to you?” I pointed at my cheek. His was starting to swell.
He cupped his jaw, wincing. “Yeah, damn near fainted.”
I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. I grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and tossed it to him. “She’s got a mean right hook.”
He caught it easily, then lay down on the couch while he placed it on his cheek. “I should know. I taught her how.”
“Sorry, man. Want to talk about it?” I asked as I took a seat across from him.
“No. Just need a place to crash. Everything in my apartment reminds me of her. She’s everywhere.”
Damn tight-lipped son of a gun. He would feel better if he’d just open up. I worried about him. My mother had told me what happened with his family, but Cameron never talked about it. I would probably be hurt if I didn’t know that he never shared anything about himself with anyone. He was a very private person.
“You know I don’t need to tell you that if-you-need-anything-I’m-here crap, right?”
He placed his arm on his forehead, covering his eyes. “Thanks, man.”
If he’d come here to be left alone, he should have gone somewhere else, because I wasn’t going to give up that easily. “Want some beer?”
“Yeah.”
So we drank beer, exchanged insults like we usually did, ate the chicken potpie Red had made for dinner, drank more beer, and finally passed out on the couch. I woke up in the middle of the night searching for my phone. When I finally found it stuffed between the cushions, I grabbed it and pushed the Home button.
Blinded by my phone screen’s harsh light, I groaned. It took a second before I could focus and then—“Dammit!”—it slipped from my hand, fell on my face, and slid to the floor.
Annoyed, I sat up and fished my phone from the floor. I had a lot of messages and missed calls. All from girls that I’d probably dated, but none from the girl I wanted.
Red had a pay-as-you-go phone, and I knew she’d only use it in a life-or-death situation. She was worried about charges so I’d tried to give her my spare phone, but with her muleheaded I-might-be-poor-but-I’m-not-a-gold-digger-so-I’m-just-going-to-despise-everything-you-give-me attitude, she’d thrown it back in my face.
Restless, I went to the kitchen to grab a glass of orange juice, but I remembered Red had been there a couple hours ago. I was getting irritated with myself for constantly thinking about her, and I just wanted to forget her for a minute. I went back to the living room where Cameron was thankfully passed out, sat on the couch, and checked my phone again. Still nothing.
I was obsessed. When was the last time I checked my phone for a call or text from a girl? Ah, yeah, that would be never.
I didn’t know why I bothered comparing my experiences with other girls. So far nothing with Red had been predictable.
I felt like old, forgotten clothing, and all I wanted was to be her favorite shirt again.