Page 21 of No, You Hang Up

“Oh. Look, it’s really not anything suspicious. A friend here keeps track of the phone number napkins anyone gets from gross customers. I grabbed them and wrote them down.” I can’t help blinking in surprise at the idea of Huxley being on the list of gross men.

He’d seemed charming…for a psycho. For a really fucked up, unwell psycho.

But he hadn’t killed me.

That thought never stops going through my head, no matter how many times I try to shove it back into a box where it belongs. I tap my fingers on the counter, leaning against it as I stare up at the ceiling. “All of them?” I ask mildly and offhandedly. I mean, I suppose the answer to that is going to be yes.

“Except that last one,” Mads admits, still sounding distracted. “I found out that one was from her other pile. Supposedly, she actually wanted to call him. But hey, we helped her dodge a bullet, you know? He was a real creep.”

That’s a bit more reasonable. He seems like someone who could charm a bartender with minimal effort if he can keep the crazy under wraps for a few minutes. “Right,” I murmur, tilting my head from one side to the other. It’s definitely a pretty boring, plain answer. But I don’t know what I was expecting. Mads isn’t a special government agent. She’s not evil, not really, and there’s no way she could’ve known what Huxley is.

“Anyway, I was just stupidly curious.” I snort. “You have a long shift tonight?” Absently, I head to the fridge and pull out a few random ingredients to make a pretty boring sandwich, all things considered. But after my leftover nachos earlier today, I figure a simple meal might make my stomach feel less rebellious.

“Yeah, unfortunately.”Mads groans. “Mom asked if I could work some overtime since Lexie quit.”I can hear her sigh and frustration at working another long shift at the bar. I know she enjoys her job most of the time. But I also know how little tolerance she has for men who talk stupid and act worse.

It shouldn’t surprise me that the list was of men she and the other bartenders wanted to get back at or make miserable, even if only a little bit.

We chat for a few minutes while she puts up glasses and I make a chicken sandwich with veggie bacon, white cheddar, and sliced pickles. It’s not my best work, especially since I’m not sure how this veggie bacon will taste on the sandwich since it’s a little too crispy for my taste. But I slather a layer of mayo onto the rye bread and squash it on top of the pickles just as Mads wraps up a story about something her mother told her before she started her shift.

It used to make me jealous; I remind myself, just to show how far I’ve come. I used to be so envious of her having a caring parent who’s always there to dig Mads out of trouble or keep her afloat. The bartending job is a part of that, though neither of them will admit how nervous her mom is for her post-college.

“Have a good shift,” I tell her when she’s winding down. “Call me after if you want? I might see if Em wants to stream a movie with me.” I enjoy having co-movie nights from two different places, especially when I don’t feel like putting on real clothes or even brushing my hair.

She ends the call after that, and I drop the phone on my coffee table before sinking down onto the sofa with a bottle of Kool-Aid flavored water in one hand and my sandwich in the other. Plus a small bag of cheddar sour cream chips I swiped from the cabinet while Mads was relaying one last anecdote about the bar that I’ve absolutely already forgotten.

Having no idea what to watch or what I’m in the mood for means that I end up withGrey’s Anatomyon my television, though it’s a random season and episode. I’m barely paying attention anyway, since I’m gnawing on my sandwich and my head is trying to decide if it’s going to hurt or not.

With lack of quality sleep comes lack of feeling great, I’ve realized. And if I don’t sleep well, I’m much more likely to end up with a nasty ass headache the next day.

Finishing my food, I set my plate down on the table and sink into my oversized plush couch. There’s a well-used pillow on one end that I drag up under me to bury my face in, and let out a soft sigh into the smooth fabric under my nose.

Maybe I’ll just go to bed early to fight off the impending doom of a headache. Like,reallyearly, while the sun is still up, instead of getting anything of value done. I’m off for another day anyway before I have to go back to work. Not that I have to go far, since my place of employment is quite literally down the hallway into my office.

I may not make a ton of money, but the joy of working from home and not having to deal with people more than makes up for it most days. Except when I look out the window to see Patrice’s unsmiling face, at least.

My phone rings, and I sigh at the idea of talking to Mads. She’s the only one who calls instead of texting, and normally she only does so when something dramatic has happened at the bar. Reluctantly, I drag my phone out from under me, and I lift my head enough to peek at the screen, expecting to read her name as my thumb hovers over the accept button.

But the letters HUXLEY followed by a little heart emoji glow up at me. I blink once, then again, suddenly unsure of what to do. I hadn’t gone through my contacts to see if he put himself in there. After all…I hadn’t expected him to.

The ringing stops with me still staring at my phone, but seconds later, a text comes through instead.

Pick up the damn phone, Kai.

The words make me snort, make my eyes narrow in frustration at his easy attitude, like we’re somehow friends instead of…

Well, I have no idea what we are.

My phone ringing again, however, pushes all thoughts of what we are or aren’t out of my head, and this time I tap the green button before bringing the phone to my ear. “What do you want?” I ask, pressing my cheek to the pillow as I flip onto my side so I’m facing the TV.

“That’s so rude. I went through so much trouble making sure you’d wake up in a good way, and this is what I get?”His tone is mocking, and I take a moment to process his words.

“I woke up covered in—Fuck, Huxley, you left a sticky note on my face!” I snap, unable to hold back my disbelief and frustration.

“Would you have preferred to not wake up at all?” The question is low and dangerous, and his voice is husky even over the phone.

For a moment, I can’t say a word. My mouth opens, then closes, as nothing comes to my lips.

But then Huxley cackles, and the fear in me thaws as my shoulders relax. “I’m fucking with you. God, you got so quiet. Are you over there shaking right now?”

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