The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(27)

I take a few steps, then something halts me. I don’t know why suddenly the empty room to the right catches my attention, especially since I’ve walked by it at least forty times since Leah woke me up before the sun was up, and another twenty since Paige called hours ago, but it hits me now.

“Shit!” I grit through my teeth, rushing down the stairs to the charging station next to our refrigerator. My phone isn’t even on. It was so dead when I got off the phone with her the first time, I plugged it in and turned it off, thinking I’d give it a good charge and call her back when Leah was napping. Only Leah never napped, and I never called. “Goddamn it!”

It takes my phone way too long to power up, but it finally does. I sort through my missed calls and text messages. Nothing from Paige, just an update from my mom that she’s only putting in a half-day at her job at the church and will be home to take over Leah in an hour.

I move to the call log and redial Paige, something I promised to do…shit!...five hours ago now! The phone rings twice before going right to voicemail. I hang up and dial again, only to get the same result.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” I groan, tossing the phone into the middle of the counter. I flip open the lid on the plastic container and pull out a cookie. When Casey’s eyebrows light up, I hand him one too.

With his mouth full, and sugar coating his lips, he finally talks. “Gonna fill me in on that little dramatic display right there?” he asks, taking another bite and leaning into the table.

“I was supposed to call someone back about renting out the room, but I forgot. Kinda got into the whole vomit-bucket routine and lost track of time,” I say, leaning my head back against one of the cabinets and shutting my eyes. When I open them, Casey’s reaching back into the cookie tub. He arches a brow and shrugs when I catch him, then closes the lid and takes another bite, getting comfortable on one of our kitchen stools.

Casey’s staring at me while he chews, his mouth doing that annoying thing he’s always done where he waits on the verge of laughter. He used to look at me like that across the room in grade school until I finally broke out into laughter. I’d always get in trouble, and that f*ck nut would turn around and pretend he was doing homework. I reach across the counter and put my palm on his forehead, pushing him off balance from the stool.

“Quit looking at me like that. It’s annoying,” I say.

“Like what?” he says, still almost laughing.

“Like…like a creepy *,” I say.

“This is about that girl you want to move in, huh?” he says, finally letting one chuckle out—one big, loud, punctuated chuckle.

I take the rest of his cookie from his hand. “It’s about me blowing an easy three hundred a month we really could use right now. That’s what this is about,” I say, throwing the rest of his cookie away. I know it’s a waste, but dickhead doesn’t deserve one of Mom’s cookies right now.

“First off, dude? What the f*ck?” he says, actually pulling the cookie out of the trash and inspecting it before deciding it’s still good and eating the rest whole. “And second, you could rent that room in a day if you put a listing up—so don’t give me that shit.”

I look at him, processing what he said. I don’t respond, because he might be a little bit right, and that only pisses me off more. I run my hand over my chin and look to my phone, pulling it back in my hand and scrolling to Paige’s number.

“You’re right,” he’s already grinning. “But it’s not about the girl. It’s about the fact that I don’t like being an *. I made an offer to her, and then kind of blew her off. I just don’t want her to think I’m a dick. That’s all.”

I dial her number, ignoring the penetrating stare of my friend. I don’t care what he thinks, and I don’t care if he’s a little bit right. Even though, yeah…there’s a part of me that sort of likes the idea of Paige living here, because she’s a hot girl who I find interesting—but mostly I like the idea of a friendly, non-threatening girl who I don’t mind being near Leah or alone with my mom. The fact that she needs a place to go—badly from what I could tell—is also sort of important.

Her phone goes to voicemail again quickly. I turn away from Casey so I can concentrate. “Hey, Paige…” I pause. Shit, I don’t really know what to say next. And Casey is listening. And now I’ve left about five seconds of silence on the phone. “Sorry, I…got distracted with something. Not earlier, I mean right now, when I just stopped talking. Well, now and earlier. That’s why I didn’t call back. Leah’s sick. That’s what I meant. Anyhow, I’m sorry I had to hang up so fast. Did you want to talk about the room? It’s still yours…if you want it. Just let me know. So…yeah. Call me. Oh, this is Houston.”

Fucking weak. My cheeks hurt from a fifth-grade brand of embarrassment, and it only gets worse when I turn around and Casey has his thumb and pinky finger stretched out like a phone. “So, like, totally call me, okay?” he says, mocking me.

“Shut up and eat another cookie,” I say. He wastes no time, pulling out one more and biting nearly half away. I hear Leah clapping upstairs, and I know that means she’s feeling better. It’s only been about ten minutes, but I guess throwing up a cookie is a lot more fun than throwing up Saltines and Sprite. I pull a cookie out for her, putting it on a plate, then pour a small glass of soda, and start to walk back up the stairs.