Page 30 of Empty Net

“Who is it?” Auden asks as I switch her off speakerphone and bring the phone to my ear.

“I don’t know. But if you hear me scream, call 911 and tell them I give incredible blow jobs.”

“What do your fellatio skills have to do with anything?”

Whoever it is knocks lightly again as I finally get to my feet. They’re patient; I’ll give them that. I just wish they would go away because I amnotbuying what they’re selling.

Still, I’m curious.

“They’ll get here faster because of the promise of great head.”

Auden laughs as I inch closer to the door, the room spinning with each step. I push up on the balls of my feet when I get close enough to see through the peephole. It’s not someone trying to sell something, nor is it a lost delivery person.

No. It’s the very last person I expected to see again today.

“Fox.”

“What about him?”

“It’s Fox,” I hiss. “He’s at my door.”

Auden gasps. “Shut up.”

“I’m so serious.”

“What is he doing there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Answer the door! Maybe he’s there to help you with your dry spell. Maybe he’s?—”

“Oh my god, I hate you. Call you later. Love you. Bye.”

I don’t wait for her to say anything else before hanging up. Mostly because I absolutelyneedto knowwhyFox is standing at my front door. With a steadying breath, I pull it open. And, in typical Fox fashion, he’s smiling.Smiling!Like he’s not hungover and doesn’t feel like he’s been run over with a tractor-trailer, then left for dead on the side of the road.

I groan. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” His grin stretches wider.

“Stop smiling at me like that.”

“Like what?”

I roll my eyes, then push away from the door, leaving it open behind me. Fox takes that as his cue and steps into my apartment, following behind me as I slowly make my way to the coffeepot for my third cup this morning. I grab the mug I used for the other two, refill it from the dwindling supply in the carafe, and grab my favorite creamer from the fridge. I pour in a healthy amount before taking a sip.

I instantly gag, spitting it right back into the mug.

“What the hell was that?”

Fox laughs. “Orange juice.”

“What?” I look at the counter and, yep, sitting right there is a jug of orange juice instead of my beloved butter pecan creamer. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I don’t know your coffee order and just figured…”

He trails off, rounding the kitchen island to me. He takes the mug from my hands, steers me to a stool, and gently pushes me down.

“Stay,” he instructs.

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