Read His Wicked Games: A Billionaire Romance (The Cunningham Family #1) Page 34
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It's 11 PM when my phone goes off. I've been in bed for an hour, but as usual I'm having trouble falling asleep. When I hear the text message tone, I roll over and grab my cell off the nightstand.
The message is from Calder.
I almost delete it without reading it. Texting him this afternoon was a mistake. There's no reason to torture myself by trying to analyze his response. It won't change anything between us; it will only prolong this pathetic state I'm in.
But I cave to the temptation, of course. I open the text.
Are you okay?
I stare at it for a long time, trying to decide how I should respond—or even if I should respond at all—but my text tone goes off again before I've made my decision.
I've been worried about you.
I’m not sure if he’s being genuine, or just polite, but I respond anyway.
I’m fine now, I text.
His reply comes quickly.
What happened? Do I need to come over there?
My heart stutters at the offer. I want to say yes. I want him to come over and make me feel safe again. I want to look him in the eyes and apologize for my insensitivity. I want to share the Center’s success with him, and I want him to share his pain with me. And then I want him to take me in his arms and make me forget about everything else for a little while.
But I know it’s a bad idea.
I’m okay, I text.
His response is immediate: Are you sure?
Yes. I reply, and leave it at that. It’s better this way.
He doesn’t answer, and I sigh and put the phone back on my nightstand. I’m just drifting off to sleep again when his next message comes through.
Come out to the estate tomorrow.
What?
I sit up in bed and flip on the light. I read the text three more times before I accept the fact that yes, that is what he’s asking. He wants me to come back to his house, back to the scene of the weekend I've been trying my damnedest to forget.
How do I reply to his offer?
I set my phone down on the nightstand and lie back on my pillow. I want to see him. But I also know, deep down, that I'm only dragging out the heartbreak. How, at the end of the day, do I really expect this to end?
I flip off my light without responding. Let him sweat for a while. Maybe in the morning I'll see things a little more clearly.
In the end, though, this new development only makes it harder to fall asleep. And when I do eventually drift off, I find that I dream only of him.