Page 21 of Eye of the Hurricane
I swallow down the feeling and scroll through my phone fishing for someone to share my news with. Luna, done. Mom, no. Dad, absolutely not. Bub, fifty-fifty. Depends entirely on if he’s with our parents, and that’s not a risk I want to take.
Ares, he is a good hype man. I think that falls under boyfriend responsibilities… Which he happily agreed to take on. So, I dial his number.
“Are you busy?” I ask before he gets the chance to speak.
“No, just looking at a blank canvas waiting for it to start painting itself. What’s up?”
“I had a really exciting day and I wanted to call my mom about it, but I know she won’t be happy for me. I already called Luna but I feel like I have more excitement to get out. Can I tell you about my day?” I anxiously wait for his answer.
“Kat, you don’t have to ask me if you can tell me about your day. You can tell me about anything you’d like.”
So I do. I tell him every little detail and he asks me questions. He lets me tell him about the plan I made for the marketing team. He tells me how happy he is for me.
“I’m so proud of you!” he exclaims. The simple words crack me open. I feel like an exposed nerve. For once, it’s in a good light.
“I can’t remember the last time someone told me that,” I say, the cheek-splitting smile on my face evident in my tone.
“That’s a shame. I’ll just have to tell you more often.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him.
“I know.”
There’s a silence hanging on the line for a few seconds. Seemingly, no one knows what to say after that. The silence goes on long enough that I consider hanging up the phone and pretending the call dropped.
“I want to take you on another practice date,” he blurts out.
“When? Where?” I ask.
“Surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“No, you like control, don’t you Kat?” Suddenly, it feels like he sees right through me. Right through the plan and my cold outer shell. In one phrase, he’s cut past my trauma andinto my ooey-gooey center. The soft middle that is nothing more than a girl trying desperately to deal with the world around her.
“Everyone likes to be in control of their life.”
“Is that all it is?”
I consider indulging him. Telling him I’m not sure, that I didn’t have control of much growing up and the older I get, the more I need it.
“Yep.” I pop the ‘P’ hoping he’ll get the memo to drop it. He does.
“Saturday, two in the afternoon. Can I take you out?” he asks. The speed at which my mind jumps to say yes feels dangerous. It feels like fake dating Ares Dawkins is a horrible idea.
“Yes.”
“Do you have a bedtime on Saturdays?”
I don’t know whether to be offended that he calls it a bedtime like I’m five, or flattered that he cares about my strict schedule.
“No, I’m a free woman on the weekends.”
“Don’t make plans for Saturday, you’re mine all day.”
“I’m yours all day,” I parrot. I like the sound of that. I hate that I like the sound of that.
Chapter 7
