Knight (Unfinished Hero #1)(13)

In my hand wrapped up shiny and new, nestled in protective foam packaging was a cell phone the likes I’d never seen. Glossy black on its curved shield-shaped outside, the entire front was a screen. I looked at the box and saw the brand. I’d never heard of it. I looked back at the phone and its accoutrement. Then I realized my heart was beating and doing it hard.

I put the box and phone down and tagged the card. It had fallen face down on the counter so I flipped it and stared at the black slashes that formed words.

Anya,

No woman should be without a functioning cell.

K

The tingle came back and it didn’t start at my spine. It just straight out covered my entire body.

I knew no “K’s”. No friend. Definitely no family. No workmates. No one.

Except Knight Whoever.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my home phone rang and I jumped.

Then I dropped the card and dashed to the one in the kitchen.

“Hello,” I greeted when I put it to my ear.

“Get this, day four almost done, no… f*cking… call.”

Sandrine.

I pulled in a breath, tried to shake off what was happening all around me, who I figured was responsible for it and what that might mean and started, “Honey –”

“I helped him clean up for… like, three hours, in, like, the wee morning hours,” she reminded me of something she’d already shared several times. Then told me something that made my breath catch. Something she hadn’t yet shared in her two days of bitching about Nick Sebring. “His brother came back, was a total, freaking ass**le to both of us, and I took that, I cleaned and after that I gave him all my good moves which means he got off twice plus twice more on Sunday. He promised he’d call and he hasn’t. Player zone I get, it could take two days. Even three. But four?”

I powered through the knowledge that Knight was Nick’s brother and reminded her, “Sandrine, this guy has jerk written all over him.”

“I gave him my best moves and four orgasms!” she shouted and I winced.

Then I settled in and I did it silently. She had to work this out and I had to let her even though I didn’t have time. I had groceries to put away. I had a freak out about the possibility that Knight had roughed up my landlord and sent me an extortionately expensive cell phone to recommence and figure out my next move. I had to make a sandwich and get on the road so I didn’t miss class. I had things to do.

“Now, I know, I know, no one gave him that,” Sandrine informed me. “No way. And no way he was faking it. I know that too.”

Men, for obvious reasons, couldn’t fake it so I didn’t know why she felt the need to point this out and I didn’t ask. I kept silent.

Sandrine didn’t.

“And he doesn’t come back for seconds? He doesn’t ask me out? He doesn’t do anything?” she asked and kept ranting. “I’ve called him four times and, as you know, this breaks my golden rule of one call only. Four times! Four voicemails! And, I will add, two texts. And nothing.”

She shut up. I gave her a beat.

Then I told her, “Honey, I’m sorry. He’s a jerk. They’re all jerks. And we’ll gab about this but you know I have to get to class.”

“Anya, this guy is The One,” she told me.

“No, Sandrine, he’s an ass**le and I’ll point out one of his obvious ass**le traits and that was he suggested a three-way with you and your best friend.”

“Guys are into that shit,” she dismissed.

“Yeah, definitely, but guys who could be The One most certainly aren’t.”

She had no reply and never did when I was right.

So I said yet again, “I have to get to class.”

“Fuck me,” she muttered and I recognized she was sliding into self-absorbed, poor me zone. I had to take evasive maneuvers and fast or I’d miss class or be seriously late.

“Sandrine, this weekend, your appointment, we’ll talk,” I promised.

“Right, and maybe we should hit it Saturday night, see if he’s out.”

God, seriously?

“We’ll talk about it while I do your nails on Saturday. Now I gotta go.”

“Four days, Anya,” she whispered, sliding straight into the zone and holding on tight to take me with her.

I pulled in a steadying breath.

Then I said firmly, “Saturday, Sandrine.”

Pause then, “Right, I’ll call Viv. Laters.”

Then she was gone.

God, Sandrine.

As I beeped off my phone, I reminded myself that there were things to love about her.

For instance, when Viv had that bad breakup that she didn’t want to talk about, I was too busy with class and work to give her my attention like I'd want to. But Sandrine called her every day and went over to her house nearly every night to check in, keep her company and she didn’t pry. And when I sprained my ankle badly, it was Sandrine who dropped everything and came to get me at the doctor then made everything easy for me to negotiate at my apartment. And Sandrine not only was a client of mine, she also talked me up to all her friends and co-workers in an attempt to help me build my clientele. And when Viv’s Mom got that terrible, weird pneumonia that didn’t seem to want to let her go, both Sandrine and I were at Viv’s side when it looked like it was going to go south. And we both celebrated with her when it didn’t.