Page 11 of Open for Negotiation
I watch the floating bubbles appear and disappear a few times before she responds.
Scarlett: Oh, sorry, I was looking for someone else. You see, there’s this guy, he’s older, not very attractive, and he asked me to dinner, but I decided to find someone different. I was texting that guy. Don’t mind me.
I laugh out loud and type out a response.
Me: Not that attractive, huh? He’s probably incredibly unintelligent too. Probably even shitty in the sack. You’re dodging a bullet, honestly.
Scarlett: LOL! Whew. I’m relieved.
I don’t even get to reply before she sends another message.
Scarlett: But seriously, I’d love to go to dinner with you, Max.
Me: I’m very happy to hear that. This weekend?
Scarlett: Yes, please.
Me: I’ll make plans then.
I wait a beat, wondering if I should just leave the conversation at that, but if I’m honest, I want to talk to her some more.
Me: Have you had a good evening?
Scarlett: Actually, I have. I’m having “Zoom Dinner” with my best friend back home.
Me: Then I won’t keep you. I’m glad you decided to accept my offer of dinner.
Scarlet: I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about it.
Me: It’s going to be all right. I promise you that. Have a nice time with your friend.
Scarlett: Enjoy your evening, sir.
Me: I will now, have no doubt.
I can feel the goofy-ass smile on my face when I toss my phone to the couch cushion next to me. I’m nearing forty years old. I figured my window for feeling like this closed and sealed itself shut a long time ago. Hell, I thought Miranda took that key and swallowed it, stealing every chance I had at feeling interested in a woman again.
But then came Scarlett.
***
Hours later, I've just started to drift into a deep, easy sleep for the first time in months when my phone dings again with a notification, but it quickly bleeds into a steady ring.
Generally, I allow texts that come this late to remain unread until the morning. I like to think I'm trying to keep my workaholic ways in check, but because this is a phone call, it obviously means it’s important.
I roll to my side, snatching my cell from the nightstand, squinting through half-closed eyes when the bright light illuminates my face. It takes a minute to process what I'm seeing as my brain transitions from the REM cycle to absolute annoyance.
Miranda’s name flashes across the screen. Fucking hell.
I hold the phone in my hand until it goes black, but before I can even put it back on the nightstand, it begins ringing again.
“Shit,” I groan under my breath then push to sit all the way up.
She’ll keep calling over and over until I answer. She’s relentless. Against my better judgment, I slide my thumb over the screen and answer.
“It’s late, Miranda. What’s so important?”
“Maxie, there you are. I’ve been trying to call you,” she says loudly, over the noise of whatever is happening around her.
