God, Matt... I can feel it, how wet I am.
Compared to the eyes I remembered from Hannah's photo, the eyes in my sketch were lifeless. I could meet her. I could meet those dark, mischievous eyes.
I glanced at a framed photo on the wall—Bethany's face and mine squished side by side, both of us smiling broadly against a backdrop of Miami Beach.
Bethany. My girlfriend.
"You want to meet me," I repeated, testing the incredible weight of the words.
I had never felt such longing in my life. My whole body responded to the idea of Hannah near me. My shower fantasy flickered through my mind.
"Yes," Hannah said, "I want to meet you. The thought makes me nervous as hell, but I want to meet you."
"But not tonight."
"Um, unfortunately no. Not unless you want to meet my friend from high school."
"A guy friend?"
"Yes, Matt. A guy friend. A friend who is a guy. Don't get any ideas."
"I don't have any ideas," I muttered, "but he might. Where is he taking you?"
"I don't know. Some bar. I'm dirt poor so he's buying."
"Great." My mood was souring fast. Hannah was going to a bar with some skeezy old high school friend. Given what she'd told me about her adolescence, I knew her high school pals weren't exactly young scholars. Mostly gamers and dropouts.
"Try to sound a little happier for me."
I made some kind of noise. Hannah giggled. Fuck, that sound. Why did she have to be going out with some dickbag tonight? Why couldn't she pant and moan on the phone with me until I came? I needed to come—with her. God, I needed it.
"You're cute, you know," she said.
"I prefer handsome. And yes, I know."
"Ha! Such a snob, too."
Someone in the background was repeatedly calling Hannah's name.
"I also know that. You're being summoned."
"Ugh, I know. Apparently the way to solicit attention in this house is to go full five-year-old. Anyway. Um." Hannah moved away from the background noise and lowered her voice. "I'll... I'll text you when I get home, okay? We can chat if you're still up."
"Mm."
"And I'm... wearing a baby blue satin thong," she whispered.
I exhaled and closed my eyes. My world slowed.
"Good," I said, and I hung up.
CHAPTER 6
Hannah
_____
AFTER MY BRIEF conversation with Matt, the last place I wanted to be was at Lot 49 with Evan Rexer.
Don't get me wrong, the Lot was a hip little bar and I loved the Pynchon reference, but after Evan got one beer in him it became apparent that Matt had been right—Evan had ideas.
He kept draping his freckled arm around my shoulders, squeezing my side, and "inadvertently" brushing against my breasts. Gross. I wouldn't have enjoyed it even if Evan were good looking, which he wasn't. He was overweight and had a scruffy beard that reminded me all too much of Mick's body hair.
I shot Matt a text.
I begrudgingly admit defeat... this time. Idiot friend is creeping on me.
Matt replied within seconds.
Are you alright?
Fine, just annoyed. This outing can't end soon enough. I didn't mean to worry you.
Matt's reply came a few minutes later. Reading it, I could practically hear his sarcastic voice, laced with that strange mixture of anger and amusement.
Well you did worry me. You'll have to make it up to me. Text me if you need a ride, though I make no promises to get you home.
I shivered and slipped my phone back into my purse. Powerful knowledge, that I could call my sexy stranger and he'd whisk me away from this crowded bar and pimply horn dog.
Evan pinched my side.
I twisted away.
"That kind of hurts," I grumbled. I doubt he heard me over the loud, distorted music coming from the band.
I sighed and sipped on my Long Island. The drink was hitting me hard, probably because I needed dinner. When Chrissy and I got home, after hugging my parents and brother and dog, I shuffled around the house feeling depressed.