I just wish I could’ve had her for more than seven hours.

Jordan

I press the stones onto the step with my pick and grab the glue, squeezing it into the crevice to fasten the pieces to the model. I feel an urge to glance at the clock on the microwave again, but I refrain, knowing it hasn’t been more than two minutes since the last time I checked.

It’s after six, and Pike is late. He’s hardly ever late.

As the minutes go by, though, I feel my temper rise, because he hasn’t called, either, and he specifically asked me to be home. This isn’t like him, but it’s damn-well like every other guy I’ve known. I’m that girl they can treat like garbage and make wait, because I take it.

For a while, anyway.

The pizza I ordered, half pepperoni and half taco, was delivered an hour ago and is keeping warm in the oven, while my salad is in the fridge, staying chilled. The Lost Boys, continuing our 80’s horror movie marathon, is on the TV, ready to play, and I’m alone.

Again.

Okay. He could be in the middle of something, still at work. Understandable, and I’m an adult. I don’t need my hand held. He could’ve also been in an accident, but that’s extreme, and I don’t want to be that girl who calls, either. He’ll think I’m…getting attached or something.

I glue the glass balls onto the bed of what will soon be the stream, letting the minutes tick away his chances as I sit there, wait, and get angrier.

The day has been so great. I woke up sore but hardly even noticing, because the memories of last night had me blushing constantly. He was not out of practice at all, and I couldn’t stop smiling as I cleaned up the broken lamp and fixed the nightstand again.

And cleaned the remnants of the A&W cup out of the washing machine from when I dumped the ice cream float in it last night. Thank God he didn’t find out about that or he’d change his opinion on whether or not I’m an adult.

After tidying up the house, I really didn’t want to wash off his smell, but I desperately needed a shower. I cleaned myself up, and then I called Cam and borrowed her car to go get my paycheck at Grounders and run a few errands. I got sideways looks from my sister and Shel, both probably wondering why I’m practically fucking skipping around everywhere, but I didn’t care.

Because in a few hours, his eyes were going to be on me again, and I really love when his eyes are on me. Maybe we’d go swimming tonight or throw some pillows and blankets into the back of the truck to go make-out somewhere. Or maybe I’d pick a fight, so he’d bend me over the kitchen table for another spanking.

Stupid. Fantasies and expectations that never measure up in reality. I should know better. Here I am, sitting here waiting for whenever he happens to show up, ready to be at his beck and call.

After a while, I pick up my phone again, checking to see if I have any messages.

Still nothing.

I look at the time, and it’s nearly seven now. Two hours late.

He’d know I was expecting him. If he didn’t call, then maybe something did happen.

I dial him, about to feel either really pathetic if he’s not sitting in the ER right now or really bad about all my doubts if he is.

The call goes to voicemail, though, and I hang up, hesitating only a moment before I get up and walk to the refrigerator, drawing my finger down Pike’s list of contacts. I see Dutch’s number and dial it, thinking of something to say that won’t make me seem desperate.

The line rings three times before he answers.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dutch,” I say quickly, adding some pep to my voice. “It’s Jordan. Sorry to bother you. I know Pike doesn’t always keep his phone on him and thought you would. I’m about to leave for work, and I lost my key to the house.” I lick my dry lips, my heart hammering. “Are you all about done at the site? I didn’t know when Pike would be home and didn’t want to just leave the door unlocked.”

“Oh, we closed up shop two hours ago, honey,” he tells me. “I’m home already, and he went with the guys for a beer at Poor Red’s. I’m sure if you call him he’ll run home and lock up.”

My throat constricts and tears burn.

He went out.

I force a tight smile, hoping it disguises the anger inside “Yeah. Will do. Thank you.”

I hang up and close my eyes, forcing myself to calm down. He went out. Without even letting me know. He just left me sitting here.

I blink away the burn, refusing to be hurt. I cared about him, and I fucked him. But I don’t love him, and he clearly doesn’t give a shit. He got what he wanted.

All that possessiveness and a need to watch over me and protect me. It was just to keep me here, so he could get in my pants. He resisted me, because he felt bad, but he was simply biding time to talk himself into it. Taking me to bed was always the plan. Now that he’s had his piece of ass, the monkey is off his back, and hey, maybe April is at Red’s tonight, too, and they can pick up where they left off.

I growl, kicking a table chair.

This doesn’t happen to me. Not anymore. It ends now.

I hold up my phone and dial Cam, remembering what tonight is.

“Hey, what’s up?” she answers.

I curl my lips, feeling suddenly bold. “I feel like I want to see my first wet T-shirt contest.”

She gasps and then squeals into the phone. “Yes!”

Pike

I pull into my driveway a little after nine and look up at the house. She won’t be asleep yet, and I’m in no better condition to deal with her than I was four hours ago when work ended. But I can’t put it off anymore. We need to talk.

I see a small light on in the kitchen that I know is probably the one over the stove, but the rest of the house is dark, and part of me hopes she actually is in bed, because I don’t want to do this.

Jumping down out of my truck, I slam the door and walk to the house. Slipping the key into the deadbolt, I twist it and open the door, stepping into the dark living room. There’s no light streaming in from anywhere, and I don’t hear her music playing. I know my standing her up didn’t go by unnoticed. She called a couple hours ago but didn’t leave a message. She’s undoubtedly angry.

I take in a breath and instantly smell warm cheese and spicy meat. Pizza.

Walking into the kitchen, I pull open the oven and find the large box from Joe’s and take it out, setting it on top of the stove.

I flip the lid. Every piece still sits in the box, untouched.

My stomach knots, and I feel like shit. Of course, I knew she would have something for dinner. Heading back into the living room, I pick up the remote and turn on the TV, seeing the dark glass come to life and the cover of The Lost Boys (1987) appear on the Netflix screen. She had everything ready for a night in.

Trailing upstairs, I stop at her bedroom door, not seeing a light from inside streaming underneath.

I knock twice and wait. When there’s no answer, I twist the handle and open the door.

Through the moonlight coming in through her window, I see her bed still made and an empty room.

My pulse quickens. She doesn’t have a working car yet. Where did she go?

Did she have to work, after all? I check my phone again for texts, but I don’t see anything.

Maybe her sister gave her a ride.

But she would’ve told me if she had to work.

Dialing Jordan, I jog down the stairs as the line rings and turn the television off again.

When the line picks up, a blast of music hits my ear and I flinch, pulling it away just a hair.

“Hey,” she says, and I’m surprised she sounds so…calm.

“Where are you?”

“Out,” she replies. “I’ll be home later.”

“Are you working?”

She laughs, and I hear another woman’s voice and a string of chatter in the background. “Uh, no,” she finally answers.

Then I hear a bellow of what sounds like forty men cheering in the background, and I straighten, trying to figure out what the hell’s going on.

“Jordan, I’m sorry I was late,” I tell her.

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry I was late!” I shout into the phone. “Work had to be done, and I had to stay.”

“Then why didn’t you call?” she replies, her voice growing louder. “You weren’t at work. You were at Red’s, and I don’t wait. Not anymore. I’m out with my friends, and I’m having fun. I’ll be home later.”

And then all the music in my ear and the DJ’s voice in the background falls dead and the line cuts off as she hangs up.

Hangs up on me.

I lower my phone and stare at the ended call. Ok, so she’s mad. I think. She didn’t sound mad, though. Or drunk. She just sounded indifferent, and for some reason, that feels worse. I can deal with anger, but not with a girl who sounds like she’s perfectly content with whatever conclusions she’s drawn. Shit.

Then it occurs to me what the DJ in the background was announcing.

Wet T-shirt Night at The Hook.

My eyes widen. She wouldn’t be that stupid, would she?

Goddammit. What the hell am I supposed to do? Is she out having some fun like she said or is she checkmating me? Is she trying to entice me to come and get her by threatening to do something I won’t like, or do I stay right where I am, call her bluff, and see what happens? This is why women and I don’t get along and my relationships don’t last. I don’t have the head for this bullshit.

But the fact that she went out at all is because of me. If I had come home when I told her I would, she’d be curled up next to me on the couch right now, taunting me with her eyes, her hands, her smell, and that sexy-ass way she arches her back when she stretches.

I sigh and shake my head.

I want her so badly.

Sticking the phone in my pocket, I pull out my keys and head for the door. As soon as I open it, though, I see Cole standing there with his hand out like he was just about to open it.

I halt, my eyebrows shooting up.

“Hey,” he says, his voice unusually pleasant.