“Something did come up,” he says. “But everything’s okay now.”
“I don’t know.” I exhale. I could tell him I made other plans and it wouldn’t be lying … I made plans to do laundry. But I’ve never been one to play games.
“Ah. All right. I see.” Isaiah exhales into the receiver. He doesn’t hide his displeasure.
For a minute, we both linger on the phone, neither one of us speaking, neither one of us saying goodbye.
“If you didn’t want to hang out before, all you had to do was say something.” I’m pacing my room now. If this were the nineties, I’d have a phone cord wrapped around my finger and the receiver in my other hand. “I was looking forward to seeing you today. I had this whole, big day planned for us, reservations and everything. And you just texted me this morning with the most generic excuse and now that you’ve changed your mind, you expect me to drop everything again and act like it didn’t bother me?”
He’s quiet.
Which is good.
I hope he’s letting this sink in.
“You don’t get to treat people like this. You don’t get to treat them like a toy and put them back on a shelf the second you decide you’re done playing,” I lecture him, still making my way around my room. Stopping by the window, I peer outside where Melrose is still soaking up the sun.
That’s what I should be doing right now, catching some rays, listening to some trashy pop music, and reading the latest issue of Us Weekly without a single care in the world.
No, actually, what I should be doing is working.
I took today off to spend it with him. I forfeited a day of earnings so he wouldn’t have to be alone on his last day in LA. I’ve sacrificed hundreds if not thousands of dollars in tips this week and for what?
But it probably doesn’t matter to him. He probably assumes that since I’m the granddaughter of Gloria Claiborne, everything I could ever want is just gifted to me without a second thought. If he would’ve actually taken the time to get to know me this past week, he’d have realized it couldn’t be further from the truth.
My grandmother has always been tight with her pocketbook, but only because her intentions are good. She saw far too many of her rich and famous friends give birth to beautiful babies who grew up not knowing how to function in the real world because they’d never had to get real jobs or manage money or do anything for themselves.
Money ruins people, she always said. And she spoke from experience. Money almost ruined her marriage to my grandfather back in the sixties when they were some “it” power couple in Hollywood.
But I digress. To this day, the fact that her two sons are successful professionals is her greatest accomplishment. It means more to her than any Oscar or Academy Award she’s ever received.
Anyway, I threw away hundreds of dollars, like a damn idiot, just to spend a week with a handsome stranger with warm eyes and a dimpled smile that made my stomach hit the floor.
“My mom wasn’t feeling well,” he says. “She … has some medical issues. When I left your place last night, I had some missed calls from my sister. She’d gone to check on Mom while I was with you and when she arrived, I guess Mom was barely responsive. She had a fever of one hundred and five. Anyway, Calista took her to the ER and I spent the night at the hospital with them.”
My heart burrows deep in my chest. I’m at a loss for words, the air sucked from my lungs.
All I did was think about myself this morning, assuming the worst and letting my bruised ego assure me that Isaiah was just like the rest of them.
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry,” I manage to say a moment later. Sinking into my bed, I draw my knees against my chest. I catch my reflection in the mirror, only this time I look like a girl who’s just eaten a heaping serving of crow. “I … I just assumed you didn’t want to hang out and you were just giving me some generic excuse because that’s what guys do when they get bored. I … I thought you were bored with me. Isaiah … I’m sorry.”
I could apologize a hundred times and it’d still barely put a dent in just how remorseful I am in this moment
Exhaling, I admit, “I spent all morning writing you off.”
“I didn’t mean to be so vague,” he says. “It’s just, we hadn’t talked about my mom and I didn’t know what was going on. Also, I hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I just wanted to go home and get some sleep. The last thing I want is for you to assume I was blowing you off. I’m not that callous. And I didn’t get bored with you.”
Maybe a part of me wanted to believe he was some jerk—if only because it’d make saying goodbye and letting him go and knowing that I’m never going to see him again … that much easier.
Fuck.
I bury my head in my hands when I realize the worst part about this entire situation.
I’m falling for him.
And I know this because I wouldn’t have gotten so worked up today if I wasn’t.
“You still want to hang out?” he asks. His words blanket my hard feelings.
I can’t say no.
So I don’t.
Twelve
Isaiah
* * *
Saturday #7
* * *
I’m so tired I can hardly function, but I didn’t want to miss our last Saturday together. I’m nothing if not a man of my word, a man who respects obligations.
“Hey.” She answers her door in sweats and a cut-off t-shirt, her dark hair piled on top of her head and her full lips glistening with a fresh coat of chapstick.
On the phone earlier, I told her I needed to go back to sleep for a few hours, and that I’d be fine with staying in tonight. With her. She volunteered her place and I promised I’d be there no later than seven.
“I’m so sorry about earlier,” she says, apologizing yet again.
“I told you it’s fine.” I close her door behind me, glancing at the TV screen in her living room, which is paused on the opening credits of Stranger Things.
I want to kiss her. I want to press her against the wall, peel her clothes off of that taut body, and devour every inch of her.
“Melrose is gone tonight,” she says, biting back a smile that can only mean one thing.
“And your point?” I tease, feigning ignorance. I can beat around the bush with the best of them.
She shrugs. “I’m not trying to make a point, Corporal. Just stating a fact.”
“If you want me, just say so.” My cock strains in my jeans. I wasn’t expecting to walk into this straightaway tonight. I thought maybe it’d take a little flirting, a little liquid courage.
“All I want is to have a little fun.” She winks before slipping her hand into mine and leads me to the sofa, pulling me down beside her. A second later, she’s reaching for a bottle of red wine and two stemless wine glasses.
“I don’t know if you drink wine,” she says. “But you’re drinking it tonight.”
She hands me a glass before clinking hers against mine and taking a sip.
Twenty-four hours from now, I’m going to be halfway across the world. Forty-eight hours from now I’ll be a world away from this … from her. But I try not to think about those things. Nothing good can come on fixating on shit you can’t control, and I’m actually looking forward to getting out of the States for a while.