Blackthorn

by J.T. Geissinger

“Hello?” “It’s Ronan. Don’t hang up.” Hearing his voice makes my pulse jump. “How did you get this number?” “You were at my house.” “So?” “I have software on my computer that locates and identifies nearby devices.” I’m too stunned to be angry. “Is that legal?” “Of course.” “Don’t say that like you’re above breaking the law to get what you want.” “I’m not, but in this case, I didn’t have to. Technology is amazing. I’m calling to find out how you’re feeling about that kiss.” His voice drops. “Because I’m dying to do it again. Right fucking now. Come back.” “No.” “Fine, I’ll come to you. Where are you?” I cover my eyes with my hand and hunch over the desk, overwhelmed by everything. “You’re not saying anything. You still there?” “I’m still here. Don’t ask me why. And don’t make some smart remark, either.” “Okay.” He pauses. “So we’ll just breathe at each other for a while. I can do that.” “Baloney. You can’t shut up for more than ten seconds at a time.” “Only with you. With everybody else, I’m the silent and mysterious type.” “Please. You forget I knew you when you were a teenager and the most outgoing guy in any room. You’re an extrovert on steroids.” He’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is gruff. “People can change.” “No, they can’t. They just get better at pretending. And stop trying to soften me up. I don’t trust you one bit, and I never will.” “When did you become such a cynic?” “Gosh, let’s see. Maybe it was the same week my mother died, I found out ...