Missed Calls

On my way to the club, I decided to call James. Mostly because I don't want him to try to call me while I'm working. Another part is because of that needy part of me that wanted to hear his voice before I went out there and walked around half-naked for other men to ogle at me.

It rang through the first call, so I tried him again. And again and again. On the fifth phone call, when he still didn't answer, I began to get nervous.

I parked at the club sent him a message and watched my screen like a hawk for about two minutes straight, waiting for him to open his message. My stomach twisted, because he usually answered my calls, even when he was busy.

Why wasn't he answering? Where was he? What was he doing? Who was he with? All of these thoughts flooded my brain as I got out of my car, turned my phone off, and shoved it in my purse.

I walked to the back door of the club where the dancers and alike went in through and sighed, feeling completely insecur