Phone Sex | Jack Hughes

5

I'M WORRIED.

I'm worried because it's a Saturday night and Jack hasn't texted me back since 8pm when his Uber dropped him and his friends in the city. After he showed up at my place of work, he promised that we'd meet up and finally get to hang out, but it never happened.

I didn't push on it, however, because I knew he was a busy guy with a full on life and college girls didn't really fall into his lifestyle very well. Still, it didn't feel great to know what I wasn't much but a way for him to get off.

Still, I gave in, letting him call me at midnight and talk dirty to me through the phone, letting him tell me all he wanted to do to me, and all the things he wanted me to do to him. I sucked it up because I started this, and now I had to sleep in the bed that I made.

We'd had conversations that weren't entirely sexual, in fact, he'd told me some of his closest kept secrets, but I nailed that down to him knowing we'd never really be more than what we were now.

I glance at my phone for the millionth time. It's 2am, and I'm still lying awake, still waiting for him to text me back.

I fall asleep some time around four, his call never coming. I know it immediately, but I don't want to believe it's happened. Jack took a girl home. A real girl, not a girl who he kept exclusively over the phone. A girl he was able to touch, kiss, fuck, not just a girl he was leading on purple because she let him.

I wake the next day pissed the fuck off, skipping breakfast all together as I indulge in some much needed self care. It's around midday that I decide that Jack isn't worth my time anymore, that I wouldn't respond to him even if he did decide to text me back now.

I spend the rest of the day lazing around, procrastinating, periodically checking my phone, but not to see if Jack had responded, or anything.

It's not until 7pm when he finally does send me a text, and I'm beyond annoyed when I glance at my phone to see that it's just a simple:

Rowdy:
Hi

I feel myself physically go from a frown to a scowl, my fingers swiping to unlock my phone. I read the word about a hundred times, thinking of all the things I could send back to make him angry, but I eventually settle on just not responding at all.

An hour later, he sends me a question mark, like how dare I ignore him. I busy myself with studying, turning my phone face down as I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I was worth more than just phone sex.

At nine, he texts me again, but this time, I'm getting into bed, and he knows it.

Rowdy:
Are you pissed at me?
Is it because I didn't talk to you last night?
I didn't mean to baby
I was just stupid drunk

I decide that the best way to get back at him right now was to pretend like nothing bothered be, that of course I'm not pissed off, why would I be? It's not like you mean anything to me?

Lyla:
I'm not pissed
Just going to bed
Night

Now he knows that I'm definitely not happy, because I never left him to sleep at 9pm.

I get an incoming call almost immediately, and fucking it's stupid, but I answer it.

"Hey," I tell him plainly, rolling on to my side and curling up under the covers.

He sighs, and I already know he's got his eyes closed. "Sorry I didn't talk to you today, Lyla. I've been asleep and training, then I had dinner with my parents."

"All good," I tell him, but I don't go on.

He sighs again. "You're mad, I can tell."

"I'm not mad, Jack," I argue, my voice taking on a defensive tone, because I most certainly am mad. "I'm just tired, didn't sleep until four last night."

"W-why?" He stammers, frowning. "Did you go out?"

"No," I say, rolling my eyes. He catches on, realising that he was the reason I didn't sleep.

"You could have told me you couldn't sleep," he tells me gently, like his words will make it better. They don't.

"Why?" I scoff. "So you could ignore me again?"

"I knew you were mad."

"I'm not mad."

Then he's FaceTiming me, and I don't answer, because I know if I see his face I'm going to cave. "If you're not mad, Lyla, then answer the FaceTime."

"No," I snap, sass coating my tone.

"See, mad."

"I'm not—"

"Then answer the FaceTime, Lyla," he groans, growing frustrated. "I just want to see your face"

That one gets me, and I give in, answering his stupid FaceTime call so he could see my stupid face. I refuse to look at him, and instead keep my cheek turned away from the camera.

"Lyla," he taunts, smiling. "Come on, baby."

I will not give in.

"Look at me, princess," he coos, and I'm so close to caving I have to close my eyes, take a deep breath. "Show me your eyes, beautiful girl."

Okay, that one sort of gets me, and I crack a tiny smile.

"Oh? Was that a grin?" Jack teases. "Is my girl smiling for me?"

And then I'm biting back a full on smile, trying not to look at him but failing, and instead turning to face him fully, a pout on my lips as he smirks at me through the call, knowing he's won. But then my eyes fall to his neck, and my smile drops.

Jack notices within an instant, but I'm quick to recover, plastering a smile on my lips as I try not to think about how bruised it was, and how they definitely looked like hickeys.

Jack clears his throat, adjusting himself and the camera so that his neck is sort of hidden, but it's too late, and he knows it.

I'm smiling at him when I say: "You had sex with someone, didn't you?"

He falters, chewing on his bottom lip harshly, then he whispers: "Yes."

I suck in a breath, mostly because I'm unprepared for just how much his confession would hurt. This wasn't meant to happen, there wasn't meant to be any feelings involved. I mean, of course there wasn't, we would never in a million years be a good fit for each other.

"Lyla, I—"

"It's okay," I whisper, blinking rapidly as I try to hold back tears. Jack can tell, and his heart cracks at the sight. "Like I've said before, we're not . . . We're nothing. I'm just a silly little girl who's in way over her head and you're—well, you're you!"

He frowns. "What does that mean?"

And I laugh, bitter and short. "You're Jack Hughes, NHL player, heart throb, of course you're out sleeping with whoever you want, I mean, why wouldn't you?"

"Lyla—"

"I'm just a stupid girl who thought she could keep up with you, or—" I bite back tears. "I don't know. It doesn't matter. I'm gonna go, Jack."

"Lyla, baby—"

"It's okay," I whisper shakily, glancing right at him. He sort of looks distraught, shaken up almost, like I'm genuinely hurting him. "I'm not mad, okay?"

"Prin—"

I hang up abruptly, not wanting to look at him for another second, or the harsh bruises on his neck.

And then, I cry.