Page 42 of Not Safe For Work

Gavin Scott:

Can’t. Rugby

I wait again, assuming more is coming. His other texts always feel so warm and friendly. But I get nothing.

He’s busy, I tell myself, and also,notmy boyfriend. Sure, we had fun last night, but that doesn’t make this relationship suddenly real.

I check the weather app to find it’s the perfect day for a sundress in Sonoma. I grab one from my closet that my mother hates. It’s bright yellow and the entire hem is lined in frothy pink bows. I add a denim jacket on top that’s studded with pearls and tiny crystals, mimicking a clear night sky, and some simple white sneakers because my feet are still throbbing from last night.

I have five minutes before Lucy’s group arrives, based on her last text, so I do a quick once-over in the big mirror to make sure I look okay.

I love this outfit. My hair is still wet from the shower but I leave it down to dry in natural curls, even if it’ll be a little wild. The jacket sparkles every time I turn, and another crystal catches the light.

Feeling the best I have in a long time, I take a quick video to send Gavin, popping my shoulder back and forth to show off how it glimmers.

Me:

Sparkly enough for ya?

Excitement rolls through me as I see a limo pull up outside my window. I toss my phone in the crossbody bag I’m wearing, and I head out the door.

Exhaustion hitsme hard when I get home and flop down on my bed. But I have zero regrets. Running around Sonoma with Lucy was almost as fun as last night. At one point, after she was pretty sloshed, she opened up to me about her ex, and how she fell in love with Henry. Her story was so hopeful it made me believe in real life fairy tales.

Then she went on and on about the way Gavin looked at me last night. She said that if she had to describe it in a book, she would write that his eyes were full of more pine than a Christmas tree farm.

I did my best to pretend like her words didn’t matter, but I spent the whole ride home forcing myself not to check my phone and see if he’d responded. Graham and Jayce were also great distractions. They went crazy for the archery practice field on our property. They loved it so much we never actually made it to another winery. We only left to have a picnic in Sonoma Square.

Now that I’m alone and free to process my emotions without any judgment, I open up my messaging app with the same fervor of opening a birthday present.

Nothing. Well, nothing from Gavin.

I do have a couple messages from an unknown number though.

(473) 860-5515:

I have thought of nothing all day but you in that black dress

Put me out of my misery and call me back?

I check my call log and see two missed calls from the same number. One is from last night around ten-thirty, right before my phone died, and another from this afternoon.

It must be a wrong number, except the comment about the black dress has me curious. I’m sure lots of women wore a black dress this weekend. It just seems a little too convenient. I think, deep down, I know it’s Tristan. But I find myself searching for any other scenario that doesn’t further complicate this entire situation.

Maybe I should just delete the messages. Or maybe I should get it over with.

Me:

Who is this?

My phone starts ringing a few seconds later, making me jump off the bed. It’s the same number as the texts.

“Hello?”

“Olivia,” Tristan says, stretching my name into something overtly sensual. “She lives.”

I want to ask how he got my number, but I’m also still worried about coming off rude. Mitch might think I pissed him off with the initial rejection, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Now I’m just trying to salvage whatever weird working relationship we still have.

“I was worried about you,” he continues. “When you ran off last night, I asked the group at your table if anyone had your number.”

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