He can’t still care about me after all these years. Perhaps he had, once upon a time, but not anymore. Even if he does, I’m not sure I’ll even let him.
5
ROCCO
Ifinish my day’s work.
I’ve been distracted at every moment, struggling to focus on my art when all I can think about is how Sophia Alexander has walked back into my life. My phone has been taunting me all day, and I’ve had to stop my fingers from creeping across to it and sending her a text message. It feels bizarre, to know someone so completely, and yet for that same person to be a stranger. A part of me just wants for us to fall straight back into how we’d been ten years ago, while the other part knows doing such a thing isn’t that easy. I’d been so angry with her for so long, just skipping out on my life like that when we’d meant the whole world to each other, and it’s an anger I hadn’t thought I’d ever have been able to let go of. But now she’s here, in London, I find somewhere along the line that anger has completely evaporated. All I want is to be back in her company, to laugh with her, to touch her, to kiss her mouth.
But just because I feel that way, doesn’t mean she does, too. I saw the way she hesitated when I asked for us to stay in touch, and I have to keep reminding myself that she’s the one who’d not stayed in touch with me. She could have tracked me down, if she’d wanted to, but she hadn’t.
Is it possible that all those years of growing up together, becoming adults together, and exploring all the intensity of young love simply hadn’t meant as much to her as it had to me?
I pack up for the day, ready to head home. I share a flat with a couple of other guys. Things have been different since Art hooked up with Tess, and now Kane has met Holly. The three of us used to finish work and then kick back with some beers, listening to music, or playing Xbox, just ribbing each other and hanging out. I knew we’d each meet someone eventually—it isn’t as though the single life is still fun when you’re heading into your thirties and forties—but I hadn’t expected for me to be the one on my own. Art had been the biggest player out of all of us, and I’d been amazed when my boss had settled down with Tess. But Tess is cool, and Art seems happy, so there isn’t much I can do about it.
“Hey,” Tess calls over to me when I leave my room. She’s behind the reception desk, filling out some paperwork. “How did you leave things with the redhead? The pair of you looked like you were both seeing ghosts earlier.”
I shrug. “We exchanged numbers, that’s all.”
Her eyebrows lift. “That’s all? The tension between the two of you was insane. I’m surprised the shop didn’t spontaneously combust. You need to call her.”
“We’ll see.”
“No, not ‘we’ll see’. You need to call her.”
“Fucking hell, Tess, what are you, Cupid all of a sudden?”
“I’m happy, and I want to see other people happy. The two of you clearly have history, and if you just let her go, you’ll be kicking yourself.” She points the pen she’s holding at me. “You’ll regretnotdoing something more than you’ll regret doing it.”
I think back to the heartache I’d suffered at seventeen, when Sophia had vanished from my life. It had taken a long time before I’d even looked at girls again.
“I’m not so sure about that.”
But she’s on my mind, consuming my thoughts. Could I really just let her go?
“You’re in tomorrow, aren’t you?” Tess calls to me.
“Yep, bright and early.”
“Make sure you’ve called her by then. I’ll expect a progress report.”
I lift a hand in a wave as I exit the building. Tess can be really pushy at times. She’d done the same thing with Kane and Holly, but then I guess that had worked out for them, even if Kane had ended up having to figure out how to make things work with Holly when she had a six-year-old son on board and a dickhead of an ex-husband. The heart wants what the heart wants, and common sense doesn’t always come into things.
Fuck. When had I become a romantic?
I catch the Tube home and let myself into the flat. The trouble with living with two other guys is that none of us are exactly house-proud.
What would Sophia think if she comes back here and sees all the empty pizza boxes and the rubbish piled high with empty beer cans? I’d be ashamed of the way we live.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why do I care what a woman I haven’t even seen for ten years thinks of me? I shouldn’t, I know that. I’ve never cared what a woman thinks before. Even the ones I dated for a while had simply had to put up with me the way I am, yet now I find myself picking up the pizza boxes and hauling the full black bag out of the bin to put in the communal rubbish downstairs. She’s taken over my mind, and I only spent an hour in her company. I remember how it felt to hold her ankle in my hand, how much I’d wanted to pull her into my arms and hold her tight and tell her how much I’d missed her. I want to know if her hair still smells the same and if she’ll still make that sexy little groaning sound when I go down on her.
I stop what I’m doing and put my face in my hands. Shit. I’m going to have to call her. Tess is right. I’ll regret not doing it more than I’ll ever regret calling her. Perhaps I feel as though she should be the one doing the calling, considering she’d been the one who’d dumped me when we’d been teenagers, but we aren’t teenagers any longer. We’re adults now, and adults don’t hold ten-year-old grudges.
I take my phone out of my pocket, surprised to find nerves skittering in my chest. This is crazy. I don’t get nervous calling women either. Am I worried she won’t answer? Or is it that I know this phone call could be the start of something that will be like an earthquake shattering through my life?
“Come on, Rocco,” I say to myself, “stop being such a pussy.”
I take a breath and scroll down the screen until I reach her name and then hit the green button to dial.
