Page 56 of Unlikely
A soft, lackluster laugh leaves her mouth as she flicks her gaze back up to meet mine.
“I really like your tits.”
This has me laughing but infinitely more confused. “And you’re frowning because you really like them?”
A rattling on one of my nightstands interrupts us, Clementine’s phone vibrating incessantly. Groaning, she turns and reaches for it, barely glancing at who’s calling. She taps the screen and I hear a man’s voice come through the phone.
“Hey, where are you?”
She curls back into her original position of facing me, placing her cell, that has a completely shattered screen, on the mattress between us, her thumb back to flicking my nipple.
“Really?”I mouth, and she blows me a kiss.
“I’m out, why? What’s wrong?”
“We just wanted to know if you would be here for dinner,” he says. “We’re all in and ordering pizza.”
A myriad of emotions I can’t quite catch crosses her face before she answers. “I’m good. I’m not going to be home till tomorrow.”
“Monday,” I whisper.
“Maybe Monday,” she adds.
“Clem.” The man’s voice is full of concern.
“It’s fine, Arlo.”
The silence stretches, a wordless conversation between her and her foster brother that I don’t miss.
“Can you at least pin me your location?”
“I’ll do it as soon as I get off the phone.”
“Okay,” he says, only mildly comforted by her acquiescence. “Love you.”
Clementine’s hand quickly forms into a fist before she releases her thumb, forefinger, and pinky all at the same time, it looks like she’s using sign language as she says the words. “Love you.”
The line goes dead and the call automatically ends. When she makes no move to pick up her cell, I grab it off the bed and hold it between us. “Send him the location.”
She cups my breast. “I’m kind of busy.”
“Clementine,” I say gently. “For whatever reason, he’s worried about you. And I don’t want anybody to be worried when you’re with me.”
Her face softens as she sighs and takes the cell out of my hand. She places it back between us and strategically moves her finger around the screen, avoiding the shattered glass.
“Are you going to get that fixed?” I ask.
“What?” Her phone vibrates against the mattress, and I internally sigh with relief knowing she’s sent him her location. “My screen?”
“Yes. It looks like a death trap.”
“One day.” She puts the cell back on the nightstand before turning back to me.
“What’s he worried about?” I blurt out, cringing at how invasive my question is.
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about depressing stuff.” She doesn’t seem perturbed by my question, instead smiling at me smugly. “Or was that just for you?”
“Okay.” I huff. “You proved your point.”