CARTER
I’m glaring at my phone on the island top like it’s going to magically make the person I’m calling answer faster. Newsflash; it doesn’t. I reach voicemail. A-f*****g-gain. I’ve heard this fucker’s greeting so much in the past twenty-four hours that I’ve already memorized it--not voluntarily--and it’s beginning to grate on my f*****g nerves.
The voicemail greeting isn’t even finished yet before I’m slamming my thumb down on the screen, ringing him again. I’m beginning to worry--even though I know I probably shouldn’t be because he’s a grown ass man and more than capable of taking care of himself--and it’s pissing me the f**k off. What responsible adult doesn’t answer their f*****g phone a whole day?
As if he hears my question, the call connects and the asshole’s voice fills the
