A Betting Man

Chapter Twenty-Five

Justin's Point of View

"Hey, you've reached Addie..."

Fuck.

I end the call and slam my phone down on the coffee table, wondering what the fuck I'm doing. I've already left her two messages. How many until it's desperate? Do I want to seem desperate? Is being desperate a good thing in this type of situation?

I don't expect her to answer her phone, but that doesn't stop me from trying. I just want her to hear me out for five minutes, even if I don't deserve it. Because I'm a selfish fuck that way.

I call her again.

Please pick up. Please pick up...

"Hey, you've reached Addie..."

"Fuck." I say the word aloud this time and helplessly listen to the rest of her message. Then I begin my desperate plea for redemption, though I know it's probably useless.

"Addie, I know you're pissed. And I don't blame you. But please hear me out for five minutes. If you still hate me after that, I'll leave you alone. I promise. This is all just so fucked up and... God, Addie. I really do care about you. And I'm not saying that because of the bet. I never meant to care for you, but I do. And I know that sounds fucked up, too, but God...I just want to make things right."

I pause and sigh heavily, trying to gather my next thoughts. Then her voicemail cuts me off; I curse again and toss the phone aside, scrubbing my face with my hands. But the tension lingers there, taunting and persistent.

True to his word, Cayden didn't offer any advice on the ride home. I guess that was to be expected, considering I basically shunned all of his previous advice. And we still weren't on great speaking terms.

The silence was broken only briefly, and by one simple statement from me.

"I told her I'd take her to her friend's wedding tomorrow."

Cayden snorted obnoxiously from the driver's seat. "Somehow, I think leaving you chained to the headboard kind of made that promise null and void."

He was right, of course. I'm not even sure why I said it out loud. She obviously isn't going to want to get cozy with me at her friend's wedding tomorrow. Not now.

I thought of throwing the headboard away, but Dwayne insisted it was salvageable. "The wood is splintered a bit here, but you can easily drill a little higher when you put the bolts back in and it'll be good as new," he explained.

The headboard is currently propped against the wall of the house outside. My mattress and box spring remained propped against the wall upstairs. And my body is propped against the back of the couch, defeated and unwilling to move. I couldn't care less if the headboard is ever repaired. I honestly don't think I'll ever look at one the same way again.

I tap my fingers on the armrest, considering calling Addie again, but I eventually decide against it. It's late; Addie is either asleep or ignoring me.

I want to go to her apartment – to pound on her door and refuse to leave until she listens – but I don't think it's the best course of action. Not to mention it would probably land me a set of real handcuffs before the night's end.

Eventually, I climb into my car and begin to cruise. I have no destination in mind, but the thought of sitting on my couch and doing nothing is torturous. It's late, but I can't sleep. And I need to move before I go crazy. I need to keep my mind occupied, even if it's on something as mundane as driving.

I drive for nearly two hours, passing Addie's apartment twice. Is this stalking? I think it probably is, but at least I'm not watching her through her window with a pair of binoculars or something really creepy. Each time I pass her place I try to convince myself it's accidental - just a coincidence - but I know it's not the truth. I know I'm really that pathetic.