Page 73 of Awaiting the Storm
I slip upstairs and into my room, kicking the door shut with my heel.
The first thing I do is grab Caison’s flannel from where it’s slung over the foot of my bed. It still smells like him, though the scent is starting to fade a bit. I shrug out of my jeans and sweatshirt and tug it on, the fabric soft and warm against my skin.
I grab my phone from the floor, now at seventy-two percent, and thumb through the missed texts and notifications. There aren’t many—a few missed calls from Harleigh, a couple of unopened text messages from Charli and Shelby. One voicemail from Carl, which I ignore and delete without listening to it.
Reaching over for the file folder that Caison gave me last week, I pullout his business card and load his number into my Contacts. Then I open a new message and scroll to his name.
Me: Hey. Are you still in Jackson?
A few seconds pass. Then the dots pop up.
Case: Who is this?
I smile as I type.
Me: Guess.
Case: Can I get a hint?
I hit the camera icon and snap a picture of my bare leg with the hem of his flannel brushing the top of my thigh.
My finger lingers over the arrow for a moment before I press it and squeeze my eyes shut.
I can’t believe I sent that.
A beat.
Case: Matty?!?!
I lean back against my pillows, grinning as I imagine his surprise.
Me: Yes. I finally dug my phone out of hibernation.
Case: Good. I like being able to access my girl without having to go through her sister.
Me: Your girl?
Case: Working on it.
Those three little words send a thrill up my spine.
Me: So, what are you wearing?
Case: Nothing.
Heat blooms across my cheeks and down my neck.
Me: What?
Case: I’m in bed.
Me: You don’t wear pajamas? A T-shirt?
Case: Nope.
Imagining a naked Caison Galloway has my body tingling.
Case: Is my flannel all you’re wearing?
