Page 32 of Hot Damn
Ijolt awake when the phone in my hand rings. Sitting up I hit accept before the noise wakes the girl sleeping upstairs.
“Hello?” My voice is croaky, raspy from sleep.
“Cami?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat as quietly as I can.
“What happened? Where’s Whit?”
“She’s asleep.” My gaze flashes to the stairs. “She’s fine, like I said in my message.”
“Then why are you at my house and why isn’t she staying with Mrs. Gerber?”
“Hang on. Let me go into the garage.”
“Why are you going into the garage?”
“So you don’t wake Whitney up with your yelling,” I snap. The man’s voice can be heard without me holding the phone to my ear.
“Oh, sorry. I’m worried.”
“I understand that. But I promise you, there’s no need for immediate concern.”
“That sounds like I should be concerned though.”
“I think so. Maybe. I’m not sure. It’s why I want to talk to you about it. Explain why I’m sleeping on the couch in your house.”
“Why are you sleeping on the couch? There’s a perfectly good bed upstairs.”
“The only bed beside Whitney’s is yours and I wasn’t about to impose by sleeping there.”
“Well, you should. I don’t want you uncomfortable while you watch over Whit. I give you permission to sleep in my bed.Afteryou tell me what the fuck is going on.”
I can’t blame him for yelling. And I need to tell him what happened to relieve his mind as quickly as I can. Pulling open the door into the garage, I step through and close it quietly behind me. “Okay, I’m in the garage, we shouldn’t wake Whitney up now.”
“You said she’s okay?”
“She is. More than okay. But then she doesn’t know everything, and I haven’t told her because I wanted to speak to you first.”
“Jesus, get on with it, you’re not building confidence with this roundabout way of telling me what happened.”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m half asleep. Okay, I’ll start at the beginning—try not to interrupt until I’m done.”
“Go.”
I don’t point out his directive is an interruption. “This afternoon I got a call from the principal of Whitney’s school, I can’t remember his name?—”
“Dalton. It’s William Dalton.”
I frown at his lack of silence but choose to keep going. “Anyway, he was calling on behalf of Whitney because her phone was dead and she needed someone to come get her becau?—”
“What’s wrong with her car?”
A grumble of disapproval rattles in my throat. “I’m getting to that,” I say tersely.
“Sorry. Go on.”
“She has two flat tires?—”
