Page 11 of Worship

What in the hell have I gotten myself into?

I spend the morning unpacking my house and watching reality television. Mostly just watching television. I stand for a moment, looking around me wondering if I’m ever going to lady up and just fucking unpack.I can’t keep living in denial.

The reality is that the thought of discovering tiny little emotional bombs is too much. I roll my shoulders and shake out my arms to rid myself of the emotion, the panic.

I’m not sure I’ll ever get to a place where I’m ready to dig through these boxes. There are too many reminders from when Dad was alive. From when he was here to help me through a shit situation. From when his hugs seemed to fix all.

I could really use his hugs right about now.Fuck this.I walk to the box that my purse is perched and grab it, then throw on my flip-flops and head out of the door. I’m not emotionally ready. One day I will be.

But until then, I will spend the ridiculously large paycheck I make on a new outfit for tonight instead of searching those fucking boxes.

I live in a cute trendy little area not far from a row of shops that will have something perfect for tonight. I meander my way toward the clothing stores, looking inside windows and loving the warmth of the day. I spy a shop that has some really cute vintage stuff and take the plunge, opening the door to enter, my presence announced by the ding of a bell.

“Hi.” The salesgirl is super friendly, and I smile back, then direct my attention almost instantly to a dress hanging in the back.

I make a beeline for the slinky deep blue number with Sally Sales on my heels.

“Can I try this one, please?” I ask.

“You’re going to look amazing—he won’t know what hit him.”

I always think it’s weird when people say things like that. I always want to correct them and say it’s for me, never him. But instead, I smile and move on to some rock tees. I’m elbow-deep in my perusal when my phone vibrates in my back pocket.

“Hello,” I answer without looking, squeezing the phone between my ear and shoulder.

“You sound different than I thought you would…”

Holy shit.I pull the phone away from my ear and look at the number.It’s unknown. I stand there silent, not knowing what to say. My eyes are bugging out of my head. This can’t actually be Luca. Why would he be calling me?

His deep voice fills my ear, “This is when you say something about me sounding exactly the same and then call me the wrong name.”

I smile and stifle a giggle at his joke.

“That’s hilarious. Does Drew know you’re this funny, Dom?”

I hear his throaty laugh, and the smile tugs at my lips again.

“Sorry, I was surprised. It’s not every day that I get a call from someone I’ve never given my number to.” I tease still a bit shell shocked.

“It’s hard for me to believe men don’t try and track you down.”

“I typically try to establish better boundaries. It’s a rare occasion I speak to a man the next day. No need.” I joke but he doesn’t answer right away, and I begin to fidget.

“Ah, the ways of a playa.” I can hear his smile.

“Just hate the game.”

“You’re funny.” His statement is said almost as if he isn’t even speaking to me, but I answer him anyway.

“I feel like everyone knows this. Did you call to feed my ego?” Silence stretches between us. I was joking, but the realness behind the question lingers, making me push for an answer. “Luca? Why are you calling me?”

“I’m still deciding.”

“You do that a lot.” My exact thought spills from my mouth.

“What?” He questions.

“Brood,” I answer.