And I certainly wouldn't be discussing this with my therapist because I already knew fucking with Tristan wasn't exactly what she'd intended when she'd talked about me confronting my past.
"That's very sensible," Ethan said.
Sensible. Yes. Sensible and kind and sweet and nice. Always. But perhaps it was time for a change. And perhaps I'd take my sister's advice and get a little revenge on this asshole.
Revenge. I really, really liked the way that sounded.
Nine
Astrid
One day later, I had this magical phone in my hands. Ethan had assured me it was completely safe, Aria elbowing him when he'd started to go into specifics aboutlayered encryption, proxy nodes, and quantum something.
Apparently, Tristan had called Ethan a total of seven times—seventimes—in an attempt to get my information, and Ethan had taken full advantage of the opportunity to mess with him, stringing him along before finally handing over a phone number.
But not without conditions. Ethan had made it very clear that I wished to remain anonymous, and if Tristan made any additional attempts to track me down beyond the number he'd been given, Ethan would be forced to resort to other methods.
I had no idea what those other methods might be, but gosh, I loved the feeling of someone having my back like that.
One minute after Ethan texted me that he'd given Tristan the number, my burner phone rang.
Oh, crap. That was fast.
Adrenaline rushing through my body, I picked up. I'd been through this scenario a thousand times in my head, talked it over with my sisters—who were still planning a girls' night with me—and even dreamed about it.
But nothing could have prepared me for the reality of hearing his voice on the other end of the line. In the time since our big hook-up, I'd run his voice through my head, trying to reconcile the deep rumbles with the cocky teenager I'd once known.
Between that and his face and body, he'd changed an incredible amount, to the point where he was pretty much unrecognizable to me.
"Hello?" he asked for the second time. "Is this...?"
The awkward pause made me smile. He had no idea what to call me, and for some reason, I found that amusing. Not making any effort to help him, I was just going to sit back and let him struggle. Phase one of fucking up his life.
"Is this my snow queen?" he eventually said.
Snow queen? Was he serious with the nickname? And why the hell did I kind of like it? The reference to our night together, the fact that he remembered the exact book, well...
I shook my head. It didn't matter. So what? I remembered the book too, and it didn't mean a damn thing.
"I'm notyouranything," I responded tartly.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Wait," he said. "I'm not sure I have the right number. There's no way this can be the same woman that so completely rocked my world last weekend."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. The woman I met was incredibly sweet and kind and you're, well, you're different. How do I even know this is the right woman? This could all be a scam. You could be after my money, my—"
Without thinking, I hung up on him. He had the nerve to be suspicious ofme? Never in my life had I hung up on anyone. But wow, it felt good to do that.
He called me back immediately.
Propping my feet up on the coffee table and settling back deeper into my couch, I let it ring. And ring. And ring. Then I picked up. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry, I just want to be sure you're the same person. Can you blame me?"
Rolling my eyes, I had to admit to myself, not to him, never to him, that I understood. Of all the conversational paths I'd gone down in my head, I just hadn't imagined starting off like this.
