Burn Me Like the Sun

Thanks for tea. Maybe we can go another time? xx

That bloody question mark gave me nightmares.

No, it literally gave me a nightmare. I woke up screaming because a bearded madman dressed in a Chelsea F.C. jersey with a question mark painted on his face was chasing me with a white iPhone and a knife around the Newcastle pitch. The seats were packed above me, and everyone was cheering the question mark on while I tried my hardest to outrun him, dressed head-to-toe in a muddy Newcastle kit.

Okay, so yes, the text that Louis sent me a couple of hours after he dropped me off at my flat after coffee three days ago wasn’t the direct cause of my nightmare, the upcoming Newcastle match against Chelsea on Saturday was. But I still woke up drenched in sweat and yelling my head off, loud enough that it woke up Fran and made her think that I was being attacked in my room.

I was still hyperventilating once I realized I was just dreaming, my bed sheet clutched to my chest, but my heart nearly leapt out of my throat when Fran came barging into my room, a cricket bat clutched in her hands and her honey hair in tangles around her face. But even if I was being attacked, she would’ve been short on luck, as the second she stepped foot into my room, she tripped over a pile of laundry next to my door and fell to the floor.

“Shit, Fran, you okay?” I croaked out, tossing my blanket aside. I was by her side in a second, as I had practically memorized the obstacle course that was my bedroom floor.

She groaned against the shag carpet, and I spotted the club just next to her. “A cricket bat? Really?”

She pushed herself up, taking the bat with her. She spit out her tousled hair when it got into her mouth and brushed it away as she gave me a livid look, one so dark that even in my room, which was only lit up by the light seeping in through the hallway, I could see it clearly.

“It’s not like we’re packing a lot of heat in this flat,” she told me indignantly, tucking the blade under her arm. “What was all the screaming for, anyway?”

I shrugged, brushing my bangs off my forehead. “Bad dream.”

“Oh. Chelsea?” she guessed.

Just last week, I had a similar dream about Liverpool’s striker Suarez, except he ended up pulling me from the stands and biting my ear off.

“It’s like you can read me mind.” I chuckled, the sound coming out scratchy and hoarse, and folded my arms. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Half five, almost.” She sighed, and swung the bat over her shoulder. “God, Blake, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, already making my way back to my bed. But when I fell back against my mattress, Fran was still standing in my doorway, her eyes trained on me.

“You alright, love?”

I reached for my sheets, pulling them back over my legs as I turned onto my side, effectively ignoring Fran. I was never one for the emotional talks. I usually kept to myself, though this never stopped Fran from bringing up touchy subjects. I usually didn’t mind, as long as it wasn’t about me.

“It’s just, Louis—”

“I’m fine.” My voice rang out in my room, surprisingly clear, and Fran bit back her words. I could imagine her getting red in the face, somewhat embarrassed for shutting me off by asking me the simplest of questions.

When Louis had dropped me off, as expected, Fran was already home and waiting anxiously for me to get back, as I was supposed to have been finished with class almost an hour before. She hadn’t seen Louis’s car, some expensive purple two-seater with a stick shift, linger outside our building. So the second I came stumbling through the front door, exhausted as ever thanks to the four flights of stairs I had to climb to reach our flat, she was rattling off in my ear how worried she was that I had been knapped off the street since I hadn’t been answering my mobile. But when I told her how I had just been getting a cup of coffee with Louis, she flipped an even bigger shit, as it were possible, and drilled me with questions. I told her almost everything, but left out the part where I embarrassed myself by being so brash with him and verbally assaulting the fan that had asked if we were dating. She never saw the text he sent me either, and I intended to keep it that way.

But it wasn’t like the universe was going to let me forget about Louis’s text. In the last three days, almost everything I came across reminded me of Louis. I started seeing white iPhones everywhere, it seemed. I even saw a guy in one of my lectures wearing the same snapback that Louis had borrowed from Harry, the red one with the wide brim. Not to mention, the night before while I was at the market for some coffee beans, I spotted a sale on canned sardines. And in the five times I had switched on the wall radio while cooking since getting coffee with Louis, I shit you not, the same One Direction song, that cheesy one with the acoustic guitar, was always playing.

If only he had used a period instead of a question mark, I might have been saved from being driven to madness by all these seemingly connected events. But no, he just had to stick a question mark at the end of the sentence, as if he were offering up another coffee date. As if it were my choice if I ever wanted to see Louis Tomlinson, pop star extraordinaire, again. I was going insane, all thanks to his stupid little text.

And yes, I was fully aware that I was overthinking all of it.

“Just go back to bed,” I mumbled against my pillow, my eyes trained on the light that reflected off the Trainspotting poster on my wall. Fran still hadn’t moved from her spot in my doorway for almost a minute, as she knew if given the time I’d spill what was on my mind. But I wasn’t going to tell her what was really bothering me, at least not while we were both drunk on sleep. It was when I was most vulnerable and ready to talk, only second to after having a few beers. “I’ll let you know if Chelsea’s striker bites my ear off, too.”

She only sighed before closing my door with a muffled smack a few seconds later.

When I finally woke up late that morning, the rest of my night thankfully devoid of bad dreams, Fran had suddenly decided to don a pissy mood and ignore me. In fact, she had been shirty with me all morning. This was her usual tactic to get me to talk about something that was upsetting her, as she was never quite the person to be completely upfront about the things that bothered her. This time ‘round, it would be me who was putting her nerves through the grater. But unlike Fran, when it came to confronting the things that annoyed me, I was the opposite. I was always eager to save time and bring what was ticking me off out of the woodwork, as long as it wasn’t some emotional issue that required lots of talking.

The only thing throwing me through a loop was trying to figure out why Fran was so irritated with me.

When I came into the bathroom late that morning to brush my teeth, she was already skillfully putting the aggressive in passive-aggressive. She was just finishing applying her makeup, her hand carefully poised near her eyes as she lined them out when I stumbled in, my hair still wet from my shower.

“When did Valenti say he was gonna be here?” I asked as I reached for my toothbrush. I side-eyed her, weary of her reaction.

But instead of answering me, she gave me the stink eye in the mirror before capping her eyeliner and strutting out the bathroom.

She was the same way all morning, ignoring me like I had pissed in her tea. If it weren’t for the fact that she loved Hollyoaks, so much so that she always liked to catch repeats on the telly every morning and would even go so far as to schedule her classes around it, I’m sure she would have locked herself in her room instead of sprawling out on the couch, complaining every time any of the characters did something stupid.

Suffice it to say the only time she wasn’t yelling at the telly was during commercial break.

Even after I made enough eggs to split an omelet with her, Fran still ignored me, only grabbing the plate off the island once the eggs were cold and I had hidden myself back in my own room. I was going to wait in there alone for Valenti to come pick us up if it meant that Fran was staying in that full-on passive-aggressive mode of hers.

We were planning on grabbing a late lunch with Valenti before a fundraiser we had to cater in the afternoon. It was a small event, so there was definitely going to be less stress between the three of us. But with the way Fran had clung onto her silent treatment all morning – and believe me when I say that it’s a hard thing for her to do – I was definitely flipping out. And to add to a pissed off flatmate and best friend, I spilled coffee on one of my text books that morning and I’d already lost all of my syllabi somewhere in the pile of papers on my desk. My room was an entire mess, from the clean laundry that was stacked in half-assed piles in different places on the floor to the six foot-tall bookcase that I used to store most of my movies, from DVDs and Blu-Ray discs, to older formats like VHS tapes and even some rare Laserdisc copies I had collected.

When I emerged from my room about an hour later, Fran was standing in front of the microwave, her eyes glued to the plate of eggs that I had left out for her.

“Should’ve taken the omelet when I offered it to you,” I told her, opening the fridge to fetch myself a glass of milk.

“Thanks,” she feebly offered, not tearing her gaze one moment from her spinning breakfast. “For the eggs.”

“Ah, she finally speaks. I was wondering whether or not God had finally heard my prayers.” I poured my milk into a mug, keeping my eyes on it as I kept on teasing Fran, hoping it’d break some of the tension that had taken a hold of me. “I should’ve known that peace and quiet couldn’t be found so easily.”

“Funny, because I feel like you’re being quiet enough for the both of us,” she mumbled, her eyes still glued on the microwave.

“What’re you on about?” I turned around and leaned against the counter, my mug held tightly between my hands. I took a ginger sip, eyeing Fran carefully, hoping she wouldn’t blow up after just a little nudging from my end. I could be poking either a goldfish or a shark for all I knew.

“He texted you, didn’t he?”

Even with the grip I had on my mug, I still felt like I could’ve dropped it with the shock that ran through my body, like I was struck by a lightening bolt. I felt charred on the inside, and the leftover burn was buzzing through my fingers.

I was angry.

“I saw your mobile,” she explained, turning away from the microwave. I blew out a shallow breath from my nose, gripping my fingers even tighter around my milk. “And you’ve been really… You know, just downright barmy these last few days.” She licked her lips nervously as she pulled her hair over her shoulder, splaying her fingers over the darker blonde ends. “What happened?”

It took me a moment to tear my eyes from the sink. I had been counting upwards by even numbers already, my eyes glazed over as I tried to focus on anything other than how violated I felt learning that Fran had gone through my mobile. It was one thing to question me half to death – that, I didn’t mind. But going through my things when I least expected it, especially when I was trying to hide something – and for good reason! – was something else.

“Why did you look through my mobile?”

She sighed, letting the microwave beep with her finished breakfast before she spoke. She copied my pose and wound her arms around her chest, giving me an imploring look. I could barely keep my eyes off her.

“Okay, yeah, so maybe I don’t have a single right to be annoyed, but god, Blake. What really happened? I at least expect you to tell me, out of all people. I’m your best mate! And it’s not like you have other friends or a therapist or even a proper mum to go to with—”

“Don’t you dare.” My voice was curt and loud, and I finally looked her in the eyes. “Don’t you even think about finishing that sentence.”

Fran reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose, tearing her eyes away from mine. She shook her head slowly and let the silence billow between us like a stopper. I could feel the tension crawl up my skin, just begging to tear me apart.

“What happened, love? Just... Just tell me.” She looked up then, eyeing me hesitantly. “I know I shouldn’t have pried, but I had to. You seemed just so angry when you got back. I was worried. You can’t possibly blame me for being worried about you. You’re my best mate.”

I heaved a sigh, the air rubbing my lungs raw as I breathed out. There was no way Fran was going to let this go. And try as I might, I couldn’t hold it in much longer. Not to mention that I hated being in a row with my best friend. I always felt guilty if we ever fought, even if this time it was, for the most part, her fault.

“I was angry.” I nodded and looked back into my cup of milk, my fingers curling impossibly tighter around the mug. “But not at... Not at Louis.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice was quiet, almost wary, like she had just realized she was opening a poisonous, flesh-eating can of worms.

“I was angry with myself.” I shrugged and leaned back against the counter. “A fan came up and asked for a picture with him while we were there. But before she left us alone, she asked him if we were dating. And I let her have it. God, I really let her have it. I was an idiot. And ‘s not like I didn’t pry into his personal life, too. I was being a hypocrite and I didn’t even care.”

I licked my lips and took another sip of milk. I could feel my throat running dry as the nerves bouncing under my skin made my hands shake.

“And then he texted me after he dropped me off, so of course I’m fucking overthinking it. And I don’t know if I should call him again or leave it be because that git has really gotten on my nerves this entire week. I don’t know what he wants from me and it’s driving me mad, Fran.” I ran my fingers through the shorter hair at the nape of my neck before setting my mug down behind me. “That dream I had last night? It was about that bloody question mark at the end of his text, not just football.” I scoffed, just noticing how stupid I was sounding. “And I swear, to add to it all, it’s like every time I turn the corner, I see something that reminds me of him. Have you ever noticed how many white iPhones there are in London? Have you?”

Fran shook her head, biting back her lip as she tried not to laugh. I was really sounding downright loony.

“And it’s not like I could escape him if I tried, because every time I turn on the fucking radio, that stupid acoustic song of theirs is always playing!” I tossed up my arms and slapped my hands back on my thighs. It had only been three days, but I was fed up with always finding something new that reminded me of Louis. He was his own personal brand of seasonal allergy that prescription pills couldn’t even soothe. I couldn’t run away from him if I tried.

While I was spilling my guts, Fran made her way next to me, her eyes focused on me like I was a puppy stuck in a sewer on a rainy day. “I think you should call him.” She reached up and nipped at her thumb, the picture of worry, then shrugged, not once tearing her gaze from me. “Especially if it’s bothering you like this. The universe may have a point, Blake.”

“No, I couldn’t do that.” I shook my head vehemently, giving her the most resolved look I could muster. “I’d rather skip out on the chance of getting all chummy with some celeb when there’s a major possibility that he was just putting up a front.”

“But what if he wasn’t?” She pushed herself off the counter, wholly ignoring her waiting breakfast. I just knew that she was enjoying this somewhat emotional talk as much as I was hating it. “What if he’s just as interested in you as you are – were, whatever – in him?”

I shrugged. “Honestly, if he wants to get coffee with me again, then he’ll just have to ask me himself. I don’t want to be dragged along. It’s the worst feeling.”

Fran nodded like she understood, but I couldn’t put it past her if she didn’t. I’m sure if she were in my place, she would’ve gone out for drinks with Louis the night he came to pick up his mobile instead of pissing him off and inviting him in for tea. I couldn’t blame her, either, as that was just how Fran was. She liked people. She liked boys. She liked dates. And she liked going out to the pub. If she had a chance to grab a pint with a member of One Direction, she’d take it.

“What if he does call?” she asked, looking almost uneasy as she waited for my reaction.

I was taken aback for a moment, and I took my time tossing around her question in my head. I supposed I kind of still found Louis interesting, but even if he managed to swallow back what was surely a sour taste that I’d left in his mouth when I’d been such an arsehole at the coffee shop and asked me to grab another coffee with him, well...

“I... I seriously haven’t a clue what I’d do, Fran.”

And that was the honest truth.

|||

Valenti picked us up just a couple hours before we had to be at the club for the fundraiser. He was dressed in a Veal on Wheels tee and the same old jeans he always wore on off days when he pulled up to our curb and honked for us to come down. His usual uniform, which he always kept stored in the van, was a tux not unlike ours, except he was also forced to wear a cummerbund around his waist when the girls were not. He always complained about this to anyone that would stick around to listen, as he was just the guy in charge of heating up and preparing the food for us servers to take out to guests and not someone that had to interact with the customers face-to-face.

But whenever Margaret came ‘round, Valenti would shut his trap and go back to prepping the food like a dog tucking its tail between its legs. Margaret was strict and professional, almost to the point of being scary, but her playful side would usually come out near the end of the good catering events, especially if they were small like the fundraiser was supposed to be. I only hoped that she’d be civil today, as I was planning on asking her if she’d let me off after my summer term ended so I could relax for a few weeks at home without losing my job.

I kept my head down on the drive to south London where we had planned to eat. Luckily for the three of us, our two favorite restaurants, Grande’s and The Lucky Wok, had two locations right next to each other. It was doubly lucky for us today because the fundraiser wasn’t but a few blocks away as well, so we definitely had some time to pig out and relax before we had to go to work.

I barely said a word to Valenti when I climbed in after Fran and hung up my suit on the hook above my milk crate, my earbuds already shoved into my ears. I could hear the radio playing some interview between skipping songs on my iPod, as well as Fran and Valenti carrying on some discussion. But I nearly yanked my ears off along with my headphones when I heard my name mentioned.

“Whoa, steady on, what’s that?” I brushed my fingers over my bangs as Fran gave me a quick, weary look before she went back to looking at Valenti.

“I’m just saying,” Valenti explained, reaching to turn down the commercial that was playing, “that there aren’t that many tall-ish, pixie-haired gingers in London your age, yeah?”

“But Valenti, seriously, listen to yourself,” Fran pleaded, reaching over and pushing herself between the two front seats as we slowed down at a light. “You’re suggesting that Blake went on a date with Louis Tomlinson. Of One Direction,” she told him, as if Valenti needed reminding, being the human-shaped celebrity encyclopedia that he was. “I bet you she doesn’t even know who he is! Right, Blake?”

Fran couldn’t have given me a more pointed look if she tried. Thank goodness she was reading engineering and not theatre or she’d find herself on the streets the second she left uni.

“Em, yeah. Yeah, who’s this bloke?” I tried playing the wiser, or rather the stupider, but my voice wouldn’t really cooperate. I could tell Valenti sensed something weird, but he let it go when the person behind us honked. He hadn’t noticed the light had changed, as his foot was still clamped on the brakes while he let himself get sucked into our conversation.

He nodded to me in his rearview mirror, his brow pinching together. “You know him, Blake. Those five lads on X Factor. ‘That’s what makes you beautiful!’” he sang, his voice shaky and horridly off-key.

I nodded along. “Yeah, rings a bell. I remember them.”

“See!” Fran said, shaking his shoulder. “I told you. Louis Tomlinson.” She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Please. You’ve gone mad, Val.”

He turned the radio back up, nodding his head side-to-side as he considered Fran’s point. He shrugged and glanced at her over his shoulder. “Yeah, I guess that’s kind of impossible. But Blake and Louis? I can definitely see them together, duckie. They’d be a force to be reckoned with,” he chuckled, eyeing me in his rearview mirror. He tossed me a wink, one that I hastily returned in hopes of seeming at least somewhat my normal self.

“...speaking of dates, I hear that for the first time ever all you lads in the band are single right now. This true, Harry?”

Valenti bumped the volume back up once the commercial ended, his hands scrambling for the dial, but I knew he didn’t have to worry about catching Harry’s response in time. The boy took longer to speak than it took for water to boil.

“Yeah, we are. Maybe we’ll have an all boys night some time. Go out for a pub crawl or something. I like the sound of that.” He laughed, the sound nearly blowing out Valenti’s speakers. I definitely wouldn’t have pegged Harry for a laugher. “But you’ll have to ask Louis and the rest of the boys if they’d be up for it.”

“If only I got to interview all of you at once! I’m sure you’re all a rambunctious bunch when you’re corralled together for an interview, no? Especially one so early in the morning?”

“Morning?” I looked up at Valenti, who had his eyes focused on the road. He gave a grunt. “Why did they say morning? It’s almost one.”

“Rerun,” Valenti breathed out, apparently still listening intently to the radio. “I was still in bed when it came on this morning. Thank god they’re playing it again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, nodding halfheartedly.

“I’m probably the only one that likes the morning interviews.”

Louis’s words vibrated the van, the lower parts of his usually scratchy voice amplified by the radio. I could feel the sound tickle the tips of my fingers, the sensation unfamiliar and oddly pleasant. I wanted to fight it off but at that moment I didn’t really care because I was too busy being distracted by Louis recalling a time that Harry was particularly nasty about waking up on tour after a rather late visit to a club the night before.

“I’m more of a morning person myself, though,” he concluded with a sharp laugh.

“I’m thinking it has something to do with the nearly five cups of tea you’ve had while on air, mate,” the interviewer chuckled. Louis easily agreed, and not a few seconds later, the show was over and Valenti was reaching over to the dial to change the station to some music.

“Did you just want to eat together at Grande’s after I grab some lunch?” Valenti asked, starting for a right turn. My fingers instinctively tightened against the faded leather belt that was buckled over my lap.

“Yeah,” Fran said, settling back into her seat. “Sounds good. When do we have to be at the fundraiser?”

“Marge said some time before half two.” Valenti slowed to a stop and reached for the cigarette behind his ear, lighting it up in one sweeping motion. “She told me it starts at three, so we’ll be fine,” he said, tapping his finger on the clock on the dashboard, which read a few minutes after one.

We had to walk a couple blocks to get to Grande’s and The Lucky Wok, but we were lucky with the weather as it was still a foggy and misty day, having rained all through last night. I hugged my cardigan closed against my chest as Valenti strutted a few paces ahead, his hands tucked deep into his jeans.

“I tried my best. I hope he didn’t notice.”

I barely caught Fran’s words in my ear, her voice was so quiet.

“It’s fine,” I told her, my eyes glued to the back of Valenti’s head, his buzzed black hair easy to spot over the couple holding hands in front of us. “What did they say anyway? Was it even about me?”

“I’m pretty sure,” she said, reaching up to brush her hair from her face. “Short, brazen hair. Cute and round-faced. Went on a date with Louis earlier in the week. I’d wager they were talking about you, though they said the paps didn’t get a good shot.”

“What...” I sighed, steeling myself. “What did he say about it? I didn’t catch it.”

“Thought so,” she said, glancing at me. “Louis didn’t say anything. Harry answered for him. Said you were just a friend. That’s it, though. Kind of put the rumor to rest so I think you’ll be alright.” She sighed, shaking her head. “They mentioned Vic briefly, though. I think it made Lou kind of shy about all the dating questions.”

“Lou?” I balked, giving Fran a smile. “What, we’re using nicknames now?”

“Hush now, love.” She nudged my shoulder with hers as she spotted Valenti standing outside Grande’s, his eyes on his phone as he waited for us to catch up. “The world’s biggest gossip might hear you.”

“Let him hear. It’s not like I’ll be seeing Louis again any time soon.”

Fran laughed and reached out her arm to hook it around mine. “Let’s hope not. I could go without all the drama he’s got on his back.”

“Hear, hear.”

Fran suddenly dropped her voice even lower, and I had to strain to hear her what with all the people around us on the footpath. “Hey, I’m... I’m sorry for what I said earlier. About... about your mum. That was shitty of me. I’m a twit, honestly. Don’t know how you put up with me.”

I squeezed her arm and she leaned her head on my shoulder. “It’s fine, honestly. It’s not like you weren’t telling the truth or nothing.”

“Just say you forgive me before Alex hears us having a heart-to-heart that he’ll never let us forget.”

“You’re forgiven,” I mumbled, unraveling my arm from hers as we finally made our way next to our unshaven friend.

“Took you birds long enough.” He tucked his phone into his pocket and turned to face us, folding his buff arms over his chest. “Remind me to never tag along with you at the shops. I’ll be stuck waiting forever.”

“With your fashion sense,” I said, reaching out and plucking his t-shirt before he could brush my hand away, “it’s not like we were rushing to invite you along anyways, mate.”

“Funny shit. Oi, I’ll be back ‘round here once I get me grub. Save a table in the back. Mind you, not on the patio. Though I don’t even think they opened it today,” he guessed, already turning on his heel and making his way next door to his favorite Chinese takeaway. “I’ll text you if the queue’s long enough!” he called back over his shoulder, a wave shortly following his voice.

Grande’s was possibly the best sandwich shop for the money. Granted, I always felt like I was wasting the four quid I spent on my usual ham club and coffee, but it was better than most places and it actually tasted like real ham and not the wet packaged meat you’d find at the market for cheap. It was homey, too, with chalk boards lining the walls with the specials and children’s doodles pinned to a corkboard just behind the counter. It was always warm during the winter and cool during the summer too, so the atmosphere was relaxing enough even though it usually got kind of crowded during lunchtime.

Even though I already knew what I was getting before I even stepped foot inside, I still took a gander at the specials on the walls. They usually included horrible puns or a pop culture theme, and sometimes they’d even make me laugh. Today’s special included both a half-arsed pun and a reference, written with pink chalk on a blackboard just behind the counter with a messy, hand-drawn portrait of five swoopy-haired boys underneath:


I scanned my eyes over it twice, just to make sure I hadn’t hit my head on the slick footpath outside and had started imagining things. I tossed up my hands and shook my head slowly, raking my fingers through my hair. “Okay, that’s it. I can’t stand this anymore,” I hissed.

I could feel Fran stiffen next to me. “Blake, whoa. Relax. What are you on about?” Her voice was as low as mine as it traveled between us, but the comfort that seeped in between her words did no good for me. I was flipping a major shit.

“It’s him. I just... It’s like world wants me to call him or something.”

Fran turned around and stood in front of me, looking absolutely perplexed as her eyebrows pinched together. “Blake. Seriously. Chill out. What’s up?”

I groaned and pointed up to the chalk board a few meters in front of us. “Look at that, look! ‘What Makes You “Butter-ful”‘?”

Fran turned around, her eyes following to where I was pointing, all the way behind the counter at the front. I could feel a few pairs of curious eyes from around the shop focus on me, even though I was trying my hardest to keep my voice down. I guess no one really got riled up over an almond butter sandwich special all that often.

“Seriously. If some almighty power thinks I should call him, then you know what, I’ll just do it.” I tossed up my hands again and Fran turned back around, giving me a worried look, that same one like I was some drowning puppy that she couldn’t fish out from under a sewer grate. “I can’t swallow the idea of seeing white iPhones and canned sardines and hearing his fucking band on the radio for the rest of my life like this. If that means I have to call him, then seriously, fuck it.” I scrambled for my mobile in my pocket and flipped it open, already scrolling through my contacts as I sourly pursed my lips. “I’ll call him.”