Page 64 of A World Without You
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THE PHONE RINGS FOURtimes before I hear Bennett’s muffled hello.
“Bennett, it’s Olivia.”
“I saw that. Why are you calling me at 4:30 in the morning?” His gravelly voice sends warm, fuzzy feelings to my heart, and I smile even though I feel guilty for disrupting his sleep.
“Because I need to talk to you. I have this idea—”
“Jesus, Olivia, it’s late—”
“Or...it’s really early. That’s the beauty of four a.m.: perspective!” I say, my voice extra chipper.
“The only way to look at four a.m. and whether or not you should call me is to absolutely not do it.”
I laugh. “Hey, I thought we were friends. I thought you said anytime I need you ...”
“Olivia...” he groans unamused.
“Remember when you said I should try to get Colin back?”
“No,” he deadpans.
“You’re lying.”
“No, just suffering from sleep amnesia since you’re calling me at four a.m.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“I’m sure it is.” There’s a muffling of sheets and I’m guessing Bennett is attempting to sit up in bed or turn over and ignore my presence. “Or it will be.”
“Anyway, when we went out last week you said I should win Colin back,” I say.
“I also said it would be a Christmas miracle,” he mumbles.
“No, I said that.”
“God, Olivia, how do you remember such details?” His voice is etched with delicious irritation.
“Because the details just happened five days ago. But...” I contemplate my next words, fully aware I will seem crazy if I tell him the truth, but I want to anyway. “How about I bring you coffee, and I’ll tell you everything in person?”
He grunts and pauses as he contemplates. “Large Americano with room, no cream. Text me when you get here, I don’t want you to wake up Josie with the doorbell.”
“Of course, I won’t ring your doorbell. I’m not a monster.”I’m a millennial.
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THIRTY MINUTES LATER, I’m texting Bennett,I’m here.
When he opens the door, his hair is still disheveled, and he’s shirtless and sculpted, wearing black and red flannel pajama pants.
“Put some clothes on, weirdo,” I say, holding out his coffee as my eyes travel over the ridges of his abdomen.
My teasing does not amuse him as he snatches the coffee from my hand. “You mean good morning,” he says, closing the door behind me after I pass through. “Or should I say,earlymorning?”
I laugh.
“No,crack-of-dawnmorning,” he mutters.
