Page 13 of Ring Me

She laughed, her ankle-length magenta skirt swishing as she left my office, shutting the door behind her. I thought about closing the shades on my glass walls that let me see the main room of my marketing company, then decided not to. It wasn't like my mom was going to make me cry—I hoped.

Deep breath, I reminded myself. My phone's screen—a photo of my goldfish that I always found calming—stared at me. I swiped, planning to message my mother. Before I did, I noticed a little red dot next to the RingMe app. A message? My heart poked my ribs. Is it from Conner?

He hadn't reached out to me since our tryst in the hotel. I didn't know if he was respecting my wishes to wait for my decision to stay or go, or if he'd been less interested in seeing me again than I'd thought.

Biting the edge of my lip, I hovered my thumb over the text bubble with my mother's contact info. Again, my heart thrummed. Dammit. My thumb swerved; I opened RingMe.

Hunching over my phone, I stared at my inbox. The small, circular photo of Conner's blue, haunting eyes and half-smile sent my stomach into a nose dive. He had messaged me! The red dot swelled and shrank on repeat. It was like a living, breathing thing that cried out for my attention.

I'd gone this far, how could I resist?

Conner: You there?

Conner: You forgot something at the hotel.

Conner: Don't know if you want it back.

My eyebrows furrowed tight. I'd forgotten something? I started to type a response.

Me: What did I

I stopped myself. There was only one thing he could be talking about—I burned crimson as I remembered leaving my panties on the rug, calling them a lost cause. Clearing my throat, I deleted my message and re-typed.

Me: Keep my panties as a souvenir.

I hesitated before hitting the send button. My heart floated into my throat. I was burning up, sweltering in spite of the central air in my office. Did I dare flirt with him again after telling myself it was time to end things?

Someone knocked on my door. I jumped so high in my chair that my butt lifted off the padding. Fumbling for my phone, I failed to catch it, and grimaced as it hit the floor and skid a few feet, stopping near my door. I looked up as it opened, and a face I didn't expect to see—never wanted to see—smiled at me. “Maya?”

“Ben?” I asked, hoping, like a child, that he wasn't real. Maybe I was imagining my awful ex-boyfriend standing in front of me, in my office, dressed in a pair of black slacks and a yellow button-down that showed off how fit he still was. Maybe fitter. How infuriating.

“Same ol' me,” he chuckled. “Can I come in?” He didn't wait for my answer, he entered and shut the door behind him. “You look good.”

I rose to my feet, smoothing my ash-gray pants, trying to make myself look taller than I was. Ben had always made me feel minuscule. And not in the good, protective way, like Conner had. “Why the hell are you here?”

His angled eyebrows rose up to his hairline. “I thought you'd be happier.”

“I don't use the word happy when I think about you, Ben.”

“My mistake,” he said, his voice cold. “I came by to do you a favor.” Reaching into his back pocket, he slid out something rectangular and stiff. “I think this belongs to you.”

“My driver's license!” I took a step forward, my shoe kicking something hard, sending it bouncing closer to Ben. Both of us looked down at my phone's glowing screen. He crouched low, picking it up before I could grab it myself.

“Huh,” he mused, holding it up, squinting. My body turned to ice as he spent far too long examining it. Then, with a sharp smirk, he held it and the ID out to me so I could take them. “You're not the type to lose things. Be more careful, Maya.”

“Yeah. I will.” Clutching the items close, I considered Ben warily. “Thanks for returning my ID. Where did you find it?”

“Downtown. I was surprised when I picked it up. I've never known you to spend any time in that area of the city.”

“You don't know me the way you think you do.”

His smile was sickening. “Clearly. That's why we split.” He glanced around my office, brushing his fingers over his smooth jaw. He'd probably shaved right before coming here. He always had to be so damn perfect. “I don't like this tension between us. Want to get a bite and chat? Say, dinner, or lunch, if you're free right now?”

“No,” I snapped. “I appreciate you returning my ID, but we're not buddies. You should leave.”

The way he curled his hands at his sides made me panic. The last time I'd witnessed his anger, it had been directed at me. He'd scolded me, screamed at me, made sure everyone in his apartment heard what the argument was about.

Disgusting degenerate.

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