47
Emma
Marcus doesn’t contact me for the rest of Sunday, but I don’t worry about it much. After all, he’s probably busy with his emergency. By Monday afternoon, however, I’m checking my phone every five minutes, afraid I somehow missed a call or a text.
There’s nothing, though.
Not even a quick “hey.”
At dinnertime, my phone finally rings. I grab it eagerly, my pulse jumping in excitement, but it’s only Kendall—undoubtedly calling to get all the juicy details about my hookup. Swallowing my disappointment, I start to accept the call, but at the last second, I send it to voicemail instead.
I don’t want to discuss Marcus with her—not until I know what’s going on between us.
Assuming anything is still going on, that is.
I debate reaching out to him myself, sending a quick text to see
