Crossing Lines

Chapter 3 - Mila

I have the most restless night, my thoughts invaded by reliving the memory of Hayden's lips on mine, his hands on my thigh, his intoxicating scent when he claimed my lips with so much fervor...

Oh my God. Stop, Mila!

After that restless night, I wake up with a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something feels off, like bad things are waiting to happen.

I haven't heard from Hayden, and when I called him—well, me—a second time this morning, the phone went straight to voicemail. Again. Why on earth is he not charging the goddamn phone?

But I decide I can't do much about it. I don't even know the guy's last name, let alone where he lives. So I try to find my sanity in the large pot of coffee on my desk, combined with a new pack of peanut butter cups.

This had better work.

Of course, it doesn't. Of course, I sit there for hours, wrapped in my blanket as I stare at the paper in my typewriter. Two words I have written. Chapter and One.

After the unexpected success of my first novel Heaven and Hell about six months ago, my publisher is now pushing me for the second novel I'm contractually obliged to write. But, now that I have deadlines to meet and editors to talk to, it seems like my inspiration went up in flames, like the rest of my sanity.

Even writing character arcs and outlines doesn't help the massive boulder called pressure that's resting on my chest. Instead, I keep glancing at my phone, keep hoping for him to finally call me.

Until he finally does.

Only, it's not him, it's the name Hank blinking on the screen.

Deciding it might be my best option in finding my phone—after all, I'm just as clueless as last night—I take a deep breath before I pick up the call. "Hello?" My voice is so shaky when I answer, I feel like I'm back in fifth grade.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"I'm, uh... I'm Mila."

"Okay, Mila. And why are you answering my client's phone?" The male voice at the other end of the line sounds arrogant and snarky, which only fuels the growing pit in my stomach as I swallow, gathering all the confidence I have before answering him.

"Because we accidentally swapped phones, and now I can't reach him. Maybe you know of some way to get in contact with—"

"You what?" he interrupts me. "He doesn't have his phone?"

"Obviously not, or do I sound like a man?" I can't help but snap. Yeah, Mila, you show him!

"This is a disaster. I need to talk to John," the stranger rambles now.

"Wait, could you—" But the line has already gone silent, and I release a frustrated scream before I throw another peanut butter cup in my mouth. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" Frustrated, I go through the options again.

Calling my phone? Check. Didn't work.

Finding my phone? Check. Didn't work.

Asking someone he knows? Check. Didn't work.

Jasmine suggested I search through his phone to find out who he is, but I really don't want to do that. Who knows what kind of stuff I could find on there? And honestly, I wouldn't want him going through my phone, either.

So I sigh as I sit there on the floor for what must be hours, patiently waiting for something, anything, to happen.

And then it does.