Page 55 of Callow
“They’re better when they’re fresh,” she insisted, a dog with a bone about the issue.
I didn’t know why I was feeling so hesitant.
No, that was a lie.
It was because I hadn’t heard from him.
True, the phone rang both ways, but I couldn’t seem to make myself reach out first. Not even to thank him again for being there for me.
And the longer the silence went on, the more I was convinced that he’d had time to sit with everything and decided he didn’t want to pursue things further with me.
That insecurity had been unexpectedly debilitating.
“I guess,” I agreed, reaching to open the drawer to pull out the aluminum foil to wrap up the top of the plate of cookies.
“Right now?” Daphne asked.
“Yes, now,” I said, trying not to sound as reluctant as I felt as I slid into my shoes.
I didn’t even let myself go into the bathroom to pull my hair out of its ponytail or slather on a little lipstick or mascara.
“You’re going like that?” Daphne asked, gaze moving over me, clearly finding my look lacking.
It was my usual skinny jeans and a band tee but with a zip-up hoodie over it.
“Yeah. What’s wrong with it?” I asked.
To that, I got an eye roll. “Nothing, I guess,” she said in the most passive-aggressive way possible.
But I wasn’t going to get changed for a man who hadn’t reached out to me in a week. I wasn’t that desperate for attention, damnit.
“Why are you bringing that?” I asked when she snatched a book off of the coffee table on her way to the door.
“In case you and Callow want to, you know, talk or something,” she said, quickly turning off the door alarm then rushing out into the hall before I could question her any further.
I wasn’t going to sneak away and talk to Callow. Hell, I was hoping he wasn’t even in and we could just leave the cookies for him.
Fine, only a very small part of me wanted him to be out. It was the same part that was resisting the urge the whole ride to pull my hair down, fluff it up, and swipe on some lipstick. It was the insecure part of me. And I wasn’t going to feed into it.
Even on a Thursday night, there were several cars in the lot along with the usual bikes. And even before we climbed out ofthe car, I could hear the thump of music inside. Along with the high pitch trill of feminine laughter.
“Mom, come on,” Daphne said, stopping several feet ahead of me, her book tucked under her bad arm and the cookies in her good hand.
“Coming,” I said. With each step, my stomach tensed and twisted around on itself at the idea of walking in there to possibly see Callow flirting—or worse—with another woman.
But whatever it was, it was.
So I stiffened my spine, lifted my chin, and followed my daughter… who just threw open the damn door.
“You can’t just walk right into a—“ I started to scold her as I followed behind, stopping short as we walked into the common room to find a bunch of the bikers and women sitting around a poker table.
One woman was in the process of pulling off her shirt.
Until the man next to her spotted Daphne and reached over to pull it back down.
“Looks like we are going to forego the whole stripping part for the time being,” he said, grinning at us as he sat there in his absurd bright orange Hawaiian shirt with iguanas all over it. “Hey girls. Looking for Callow?” he asked as, with an almost pathetic amount of relief, I realized he wasn’t seated at the strip poker table with all of the pretty women. “Callow!” he yelled. Then, “Company!”
A moment later, a door in the hallway slammed. I swear my heart thumped in time with his footsteps until he was in the doorway, looking bed-sexy in a pair of low-slung black sweatpants.