9
Laurelyn Prescott
I wake the next morning to an arm smacking me across my face. Ugh! She’s back again. My vacation from getting smacked around in my sleep is short-lived. I give her a stout shove. “Knock that shit off, Addison.”
She grunts and flops away from me. Good. I’m safest when she’s facing away from me.
I hear a loud knock on my bedroom door and Ben’s irritated voice on the other side. “You have another delivery from him.”
Addison’s eyes pop open. She stretches like a cat and moans like a porn star. “Another delivery? Maybe he sent breakfast again. I’m starving.”
I look at the clock and see that it isn’t quite eight o’clock. It was late when he brought me home last night, so how has he managed to have something delivered to me this early?
I put on my bra because I won’t go free-boobin’ in front of Ben. My robe provides added protection over the pajamas before I investigate what my three-month fling has sent me.
A small brown package is on the table. I use the scissors to cut into it. Inside I find a new iPhone with a personalized card:
I have an emergency at one of the vineyards. I’ll be gone most of the day so I’m forced to cancel our plans for today. This phone is your direct line to me—my number is already programmed in. I’ll call you later when the situation is under control and we’ll make plans for a rain check soon. —Lachlan
I’m surprised by the disappointment I feel. “Lachlan has a problem at work, so it seems I’m free for the day.”
“Great. Zac and Ben are tied up with some kind of project, so I think we should have a girls’ day out and go shopping.”
I don’t have money for shopping, so I guess I’m browsing. “That sounds like a great idea.”
Addison picks up the new iPhone. “Why did he send you another phone? Doesn’t he know you already have one?”
The iPhone isn’t a gift. It’s a booty-call device—his means of communicating with me about hooking up while he holds all the control. This is one way he remains untraceable. He’d never give me his real number, so I predict he has one just like this designated only for my calls. That’s what he means when he says it is my direct line to him.
It’s also a reminder that this relationship isn’t romantic and won’t ever be. It is arranged and temporary. I’d do well to not forget that any time soon.
“My phone’s been acting up since we got here. It won’t hold a charge so I guess he thought I needed a new one.” I lie to my best friend because I can’t bring myself to confess the terms of Lachlan’s arrangement. She’ll think he’s bat-shit crazy. And that I am, too, for agreeing to it.