I pace the well-worn path I’ve made in the carpet, cutting across to the bathroom and then spinning right back to that door.
I can’t sit still. I certainly can’t sleep. All I’ve done for hours is wait to hear even a whisper of noise on Ivan’s side of the door. Anything to let me know he is okay.
I’m considering calling the number Yasha programmed into my phone. Maybe he’ll answer and I can talk to him. But as the thought crosses my mind, I realize that Ivan could have called me at any point in the last couple hours. Or texted. Hell, he could have sent Niles up with a Xanax and a note to let me know everything is fine and that he had a nice time on our “date.”
Because it wasn’t a real date and this isn’t a real relationship.
I’m not his girlfriend and he isn’t anything to me. Why should
