Like a teenager with my first crush, I scan the chat once more. Pretty pathetic behavior for a twenty-eight-year-old man, but do I care? Nope.
I take a chance and call her.
“Hello?”
“You can’t dangle a tater joke and not follow through,” I scold, as soon as she picks up. My grin widens at her husky laugh. Fuck, I should’ve video-called her. “Why would you tease me like this, Tots?”
“Are you so easy to rile up? Should I tease you again?”
I chuckle, sitting on the bar stool so I can speak with her comfortably. Her playfulness is more attractive than Cheyenne’s offer to suck my dick. While that thought should’ve been alarming, I shove the nagging voice in my head away in favor of paying attention to the voice on the other end of the line.
“I can put up with a bit of teasing as long as you promise to make it good,” I banter. “Don’t leave me hanging like the night we met.”
She goes quiet momentarily, mumbling her answer. “You were busy.”
“Busy?”
“With the blonde? You were at the bar with her.”
My beer tastes sweet when I realize who Alia is referring to—and what it means.
“Tots,” I drawl, reining in the urge to cackle. “Don’t tell me you were jealous.” This might just be harmless flirting, but she didn’t like seeing me with someone else and that has me feeling smug as fuck.
“Don’t be silly, of course not! It was an observation. I saw you when I was leaving, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Her irritated and perfectly practical reply does nothing to wipe the stupid-ass grin off my face. “Her name is Chloe.”
“Information I’m not sure what to do with.”
“She’s my friend. I was introducing her to another friend.” Her thinking I’m the kind of man who’d leave her waiting to go flirt with someone else rubs me the wrong way. I may not commit to a relationship but I’m not an asshole—my behavior with Cheyenne notwithstanding.
A soft exhale is her only response. I find myself wishing yet again we were on video. Without that, all I have are sounds I must interpret. A breath here, a whisper there, a lilt in her tone which makes me think she’s biting down on her lip as she speaks.
I hum, letting the cold brew slide down my throat. Beer foam sticks to the side of the glass, slipping gradually to the bottom as the music around me swells.
“What’re you doing?” she asks. “Sounds busy, wherever you are.”
“Hanging out post-game with some of the guys at a club.”
“Oh, enjoy yourself. I didn’t mean to take up your time. Sorry I bothered you.” Her words come out in an embarrassed rush and I interrupt her before she cuts the call.
“Tots, you aren’t bothering me. Did you forget I called you, not the other way around?”
“I—oh, right. You did.”
“Whatchu up to?” I question, hoping she doesn’t fall silent.
“Do you want to be chatting with me right now? I’m certain there are more fun things to do at a club. Isn’t there a woman waiting to dance with you?” She lets out a sheepish sort of sound which makes me want to double down and take that uncertainty away. Because, if I had to choose between talking to her or someone else. . . Well, I just crossed that bridge, didn’t I?
“Never been a good dancer, Tots. Unless this is your way of saying I’m boring you?”
“Not at all!”
“In that case, tell me what you’re up to.”
“Watching TV,” she says. I can hear her rustling around and I have the urge to know what she looks like at home, settled into a couch in her pajamas, at ease with her surroundings. I bet she looks adorable.
“Did you catch the game tonight?” I ask, picturing the types of pajamas she’d wear, flipping through every possibility like a Victoria’s Secret catalogue.