Page 12 of Insatiable Hunger

Nodding, I save his number before thumbing out a response.

Me: Hey! Yeah, I’m still down. I’m free basically whenever this week.

A response comes through almost instantly.

Jay: Dinner tomorrow?

Me: Sounds like a plan.

Don’t Blame Mecomes on and Katie flicks the volume way up as I put my phone away and we both channel our inner Taylor for the next three and a half minutes. We’ve been Swifties since we were little; even went to a concert together back when she was just getting into pop music. To this day, it’s still one of the best shows I’ve been to. That woman, without a doubt, knows how to perform.

My attention snaps to the yard when I see movement. “You’ve got company,” I mutter to Katie, pointing to the sheriff walking through the backyard like he owns the place.

“What the fuck,” she hisses under her breath, raising from the couch. “I’ll be right back.”

With her now outside, talking to him about God knows what, I grab my phone from the table, noticing I have a few new messages. Some from Jay and one from an unknown number.

Jay: Sweet. I can pick you up once I’m off work.

Jay: Unless you wanted to meet there?

Me: You can pick me up. ;)

I open the next message, my brows pulling together in confusion.

Unknown: Where are you?

Me: Who is this?

A text bubble pops up right away, letting me know that whoever it is, is typing back. Peering outside, I’m blessed with what looks like the view of Katie ripping Enzo a new one. I can’t see her face, but her hands are flying up in the air; something she only does when she’s either really excited or really pissed off, and based on the dumbfounded look on his face, I’d guess she isn’t excited.

His hands are gripping the collar of his vest, arms corded with muscle and covered in tattoos. He’s really fucking attractive.

The buzzing of my phone pulls my attention away.

Unknown: Who do you think it is? It’s Zeke.

What the fuck?

Me: Um… how the hell did you get my phone number?

He used to have my number back when I was in college. No fucking clue how, but I changed my number during senior year when my friend and old roommate, Camden, ran into a little stalker situation with someone I knew from yoga.

Unknown: I got it from your mom’s phone. Answer the question, Elias.

Me: 1. None of your business.

Me: And 2. You’re a fucking creep, you know that?

I save his phone number, grabbing my drink and downing most of it while I stare at the text bubble. What is his fucking problem? Last night flies into my mind… the way he cornered me when I got home. How angry he was. How he almost looked… jealous.

My relationship with Zeke since he married my mom has been less than ideal. Actually, it’s pretty nonexistent up until now. I’ll never forget coming home on break to visit my mom and meet her new boyfriend, only to walk into the house and findhimstanding beside her. Even through his iron-clad composure, I could tell in his eyes, he was as shocked to see me as I was him. Yet to this day, we’ve never spoken about it. Never once have we addressed the major fucking elephant in the room.

It’s infuriating that he’s never said anything about it. But it’s also never been that big of a deal because we didn’t see each other much. They’ve been married about two and a half years at this point, and we’ve only been in the same place a handful of times. I’d occasionally come home for birthdays or holidays, but I’d only stay a night or two.

Now, though, it’s unavoidable. We’re under the same roof, forced to see one another on a near day-to-day basis. I had thought maybe the other night in the movie room was us reaching some sort of agreement, a middle ground. Guess not.

Zeke: You got a real problem with your mouth.

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