Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2) (29 page)

Wiska

“You’re looking much better,” Lionel said as we sat on the park bench. I guess, to be fair, I was feeling much better. I could almost breathe through my nose now. I still felt lethargic, which probably had more to do with being sick than my aching heart. For the past few days, I had overthought the situation with Bradley to the point where I didn’t want to think about it ever again. It was making my headache a million times worse than it should be. I was confused as hell. If Bradley hadn’t been in the wrong, if I had misheard him or had been mistaken, why hadn’t he tried to get in touch with me yet? I’d sent Andi a text message and asked her to pass my new number on to Bradley with a message that I wanted to talk. In return, I’d heard nothing . . . zilch . . . zippo . . . nada. I’d been so sick I wondered if I hallucinated the entire UK experience.

“How are your parents?”

Lionel’s arm was stretched behind me, and I rested my head into the crook of his neck. I missed having contact with people. I was a social person; I had many friends, and I was close to my parents, but the last few weeks I’d hidden myself away in my apartment in an effort to drown myself in misery, alone. Now that I was outside, the sun on my face helped make me feel a little better than I had in weeks. I could now admit I missed being around people. I especially missed physical contact. I missed hugs . . . I missed Bradley. I sighed, a long, drawn out, pitiful sound.

“Is my company so terrible?” Lionel asked with faux hurt in his voice.

“I’m a mess,” I admitted.

“You are, but we all need to make a mess every now and again. We can’t always be neat and tidy.”

“Have you heard from Bradley?” I finally asked, not daring to look at Lionel for fear I’d see his pity.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” he said without hesitation.

I sat bolt upright, which had the world around me spin violently.

“Whoa,” I murmured as I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Are you going to puke? There’s a bin I think we can reach in time,” Lionel said, only slightly freaked.

He’d seen me puke enough to last a lifetime. I’m pretty sure the threat of more had him crapping his tighty whities.

“No, just a little dizzy. When did you hear from him?” I opened my eyes, happy to see the merry-go-round had finally stopped.

“A few days ago.” He didn’t look at me while he spoke, which was my first clue that something was up.

“Really? What did he have to say?”

“He used the word ‘lads’,” Lionel said, shaking his head with a smile.

“And?” I ground out, my voice still voice.

“You’ll see,” was all Lionel replied with. Oh, and he added a small, patronizing pat to the top of my head like I was his pet pooch or something.

“It’s Casey’s birthday next month. I need something spectacular to surprise him with, any ideas?”

His abrupt subject change was frustrating. How was I supposed to think about birthday gifts when I had the mysterious ‘you’ll see’ looming over my head?

“What do you think about male genital piercings?”

And just like that, all thoughts of Lionel’s cryptic words were gone.

*

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you up?”

Lionel’s concern was sweet, but I was really feeling much better. I hadn’t been dizzy for over fifteen minutes now. Furthermore, my apartment was on the second floor. How much damage could I do between here and there?

“I’m fine. Stop being an old woman and go home to Casey. You have ball bling to talk about.”

Lionel didn’t drive away from the curb until I was safely inside the building. I leaned heavily against the wall as I waited for the elevator, the small excursion having zapped all my energy like a greedy, soul sucking bitch.

I once again leaned heavily as I rode the short ride to the second floor, then with a heavy sigh, I walked down the short corridor to my apartment door. When something caught my attention from the corner of my eye, I stopped, my head slowly turning to one side, then I gasped. There was a sticky note stuck to the hallway wall. Turning towards it, I took a step closer and read.

My heart leapt into action, and with a slow, shaky hand, I pulled the sticky note off the wall. When I turned and took another step, my heart and head dueling for rights to control my body, I noticed another note stuck to the wall.

Like the emotional, miserable wretch I had become lately, a tear slipped down my cheek as I pulled down the note. Then I noticed another, and another. The final note was tacked to my front door.

My hand shook uncontrollably as I unlocked my door and stepped into my home. There, I froze. My head was spinning again, and I had to hold the kitchen counter to keep my legs upright. The walls of the entire living area were covered in sticky notes. On wobbly legs, I stepped toward the closest wall.

More tears fell as I moved around the room, reading the little innocent notes that he had poured his heart into. After a short while, my eyes settled on a small, brown box perched on the loveseat. On the box sat a picture of us before our paint date, a selfie I had demanded we take before our first official date. I sat down and placed the box in my lap, pulling a sticky note off the top.