Incendiary

19. Late night subway rides with you

I contemplate on letting it ring out, but I also know that I'll get nowhere like this. This is my chance of moving things forward. So I pick up the phone.

"Hey," I say. I'm surprised I didn't fucking stutter. I'm a fucking loser. "It's Nova." I physically cringe at myself. Why am I introducing myself?

"I know," says the deep voice on the other end. I forgot how he sounded. "Contact names are a thing." He sounds so nice.

My heart is still racing. "Oh. Right." Idiot.

I can hear him sigh, "Is there a reason you called?" See, I do annoy him. I shouldn't have called at all.

My whole brain fumbles. I feel stripped bare of any grasp I had on myself. "I called on accident."

He hums. His voice sounds raspy like he was asleep. Of course, I'd call him while he was sleeping. "Who did you mean to call?"

"A friend," I lie. "Were you sleeping?" Hang up already, you dumb bitch.

"No," he answers.

"You sounded like you were asleep," I say, willing myself to shut the fuck up. Why am I still talking about him being asleep?

"Did you call to interrogate me?" he asks.

"I'm not interrogating you," I say. I probably am, though.

"Doesn't seem like it," he says, humor lacing his voice. "Are you sleeping?"

I look at the clock. It is pretty late. "No. I'm not sleepy, and I'm bored." I can't decide if I should be happy the conversation is still going, or be upset at myself for oversharing.

"So I'm your entertainment?" he asks. His tone gives nothing away and I hate it. I always need to see people to actually understand how they're feeling.

"No," I say quickly. Unless you want to be.

"Shame," he murmurs. "I'm actually in need of entertainment myself."

I lose my words again. He always just casually says something that makes my whole body react.  "Um. What are you doing right now?" Please, Nova. Please shut the fuck up.

I start flipping through movies, not being able to focus on anything but the conversation. Just listening to him makes my whole body buzz. Only an idiot would think that.

"Talking to you," he answers.

"You're annoying," I say, holding back my smile.

"You are one to talk," he retorts, earning a scoff from me. 

"Rude," I mutter.

"I'm reading, Scott," he answers my earlier question. "Some people do that."

"I read!" I retort. "Just not as much as I want to."

"How come," he asks, voice still raspy.

 "I never have time, energy, or motivation," I answer. "Plus, there's always something more important to do."

"What are you reading right now?" he asks.

"Looking for Alaska," I say. "It's my second time starting it. I couldn't get past the beginning the first time." Why do I keep saying more than I need to?

"Never read it," he says.

How does he just remember? "Do you remember everything right off the top of your head?" I ask, unable to help from saying it.