The Mistake

He wears a sheepish look. “Not on purpose. I was calling my dad and pressed the wrong button, and then the phone rang and I was already in there so I took the caller’s info. She’s got an urgent G-spot question for Evelyn, so this should be interesting.”


“Isn’t it always?” I say with a grin.

I take my seat and conduct my pre-show check. The blinking lights on the phone tell me there are more callers waiting to be screened. I chat with the first one, verify his motives, then send him back on hold. I’m about to screen the next one when Pace and Evelyn kick off the show.

“What’s up, broskis!” Pace greets the radio audience. “You’re listening to Whatcha Need with Pace ’N Evelyn.”

Cringing, Evelyn leans into her microphone. “Before we start, I’d like to ask everyone to speak in their indoor voices today, because I am currently sporting a brutal hang-over.” She glares at her co-host. “I’m talking to you, asswipe.”

And so it begins.

“Let’s chat with our first caller,” Pace says cheerfully. “Who we talking to right now?”

Since I’m not eager to listen to Evelyn talk about G-spots, I lean forward to take another call, only to freeze in my chair when a familiar voice wafts out of the speaker over the door.

“Hey, this is Logan.”

My pulse speeds up.

Oh God.

What the hell is he doing?

“Tell us whatcha need, my man.”

My boyfriend audibly clears his throat. “Well, here’s the thing, Pace. And Evelyn—hey, Evelyn, female opinion definitely appreciated. I’m hoping you guys can give me some advice on how to win my girl back.”

Pace chuckles into the mic. “Ooooh boy. Someone found themselves in the dog house?”

“Big-time,” Logan confirms.

“What’d you do to piss off your lady? We need the deets before we dispense the wisdom.”

Every inch of me tenses as I await Logan’s response. God. I can’t believe he’s about to air our dirty laundry on this stupid campus show.

“Long story short? I projected my own fears and insecurities on her, and made some presumptions that I probably shouldn’t—”

“Gonna stop you right there, broski,” Pace says, rubbing his scruffy beard growth in dismay. “You just threw around a lot of big words. How ’bout you dumb it down for us—I mean, for peeps who might not be good with the English language. Shout out to all our ESL listeners out there!”

A laugh rips out of my throat. Oh, Pace. Never change.

Logan sounds like he’s trying not to laugh as he rephrases himself. “Bottom line? I screwed up. I said some stupid shit I didn’t mean, it pissed her off, and she stormed off.”

Pace sighs. “Bitches be cray.”

“Hey, Logan?” Evelyn drawls.

“Yeah?”

“You sound hot. Are you sure you even want this chick? Because I’m free tonight if you’re interested.”

A strangled cough fills the airwaves. “Um. Uh, thanks for the offer. But yeah, I want her.” He pauses. “I’m in love with her.”

My heart soars like a kite in the wind. He’s in love with me?

Then it sinks like a stone. Wait. What if he’s only saying it because I said I loved him?

“I’ve been in love with her for a few months now,” he continues, and his husky confession re-inflates my heart. “I didn’t tell her because I didn’t want to scare her off by saying it too soon.”

“Dude, you should’ve told her.”

I’m startled by Pace’s earnest response. Touched, even. At least until he finishes that sentence.

“If you say it right off the bat, they drop their panties super-fast. Means you don’t have to put as much work into bagging them.”

“Uh-huh,” Logan says as if he’s in agreement, but I’ve known him long enough to be able to pick up on his sarcasm. “Anyway, this girl…she’s the love of my life. She’s smart and funny and unbelievably compassionate. She forgives people even when they don’t deserve it. She—”

“Good lay?” Pace interrupts.

“Oh yeah. The best.”

God, my cheeks are on fire now.

“But the sex is just icing,” Logan says softly. “It’s everything else that matters most.”

A shadow crosses my peripheral vision. I turn my head expecting to see Daisy or Morris on the other side of the glass door.

My breath hitches when my gaze locks with Logan’s. He’s on his cell phone, wearing faded jeans and his hockey jacket, and his blue eyes shine with sincerity.

Our esteemed hosts notice him as well, and a gasp echoes in the air.

“Wait—we’ve been talking to John Logan?” Evelyn shrieks.

“Wait—you’re talking about Gretchen?” Pace exclaims, his gaze darting like a Ping-Pong ball from me to Logan.

“No, I’m talking about Grace,” Logan says, smiling at me through the glass. “Grace Elizabeth Ivers. The woman I love.”

I don’t know whether to stand up on my chair and shout out “I love you too,” or hide under the desk in embarrassment. Big, public displays freak me out. If I owned a cloak of invisibility, I’d wear it every time a birthday or some other major event rolled around, because I hate, hate, hate being the center of attention.