Page 30 of Callan

Beverly.

Wow.

Knock me over with a feather.

Who knew the man would have a special phone for his ladies?

It’s not like I can’t see why someone like him would have more than one woman interested in him.

I roll my eyes in disappointment.

Other than that, this is an interesting development, so I tap the screen and call that woman. Beverly.

The line rings a few times before a hesitant voice echoes in my living room.

She’s on speaker.

“Um… Yeah?” she says as if knowing something’s off.

“Beverly?” I ask.

“Who is this?”

Suspicion tinges her voice.

“I found this phone…” I say evenly. “My name is Mackenzie. “I thought I’d give someone a call––”

“Yeah, yeah. Here––” she cuts me off.

Steps shuffle in the background before a masculine voice takes over.

“Babydoll?”

Why would he call methatin the presence of that woman?

He’s just set to annoy me.

“It’s me, Mackenzie,” I say as if I haven’t heard him. “You dropped your phone at my place, and I was about to toss it out before I thought you might need it. It’s not your real phone, I suspect.”

My words are met with silence, which I can’t read.

There is something about this man.

Every time I deal with him, angst and anger tighten in my throat.

Why do I care that he has fucked my neighbor and then gone straight to another woman?

Why am I bothered by his lies and thuggish ways?

He clearly uses a phone to mislead these women and hide his sneaky ways.

And how can he get away with it?

“Do you need it?” I sort of snap when his silence prolongs, becoming a nuisance.

“Yeah…” he says dryly like he has something to hide––no surprise there––and doesn’t want to give himself away.

“Well, you know where to find it,” I say, ready to end our call.

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