Echoes of Unrequited Love (Xaviera and Hogan) novel Chapter 38

Chapter 38 

I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. 

“Sorry.” I said to Darren beside me, fiddling with a water bottle, mortified. “I’m usually not such a lightweight.” 

Darren’s eyes crinkled with a smile, but there was a teasing lilt in his voice, “Maybe the driver drives in a terrible way.” 

Great, now I felt even more embarrassed. 

Back in the car, Darren pointed at the wristband in my hand and casually mentioned, “It’s dirty.” I retracted my left hand nervously, staying mum. 

He was just giving me a heads–up, but what he didn’t know was the gnarly scar hidden beneath the wristband. 

Dirty, he got that right. 

I thought to myself, dejected, it’d been dirty for a long time. 

Half an hour later, at my request, the sedan stopped at the entrance to my complex. 

I thanked Darren and turned to leave when suddenly a jacket landed on my shoulders. 

In an instant, the subtle scent of ambergris filled my nose, accompanied by Darren’s gentle voice in my ear, “It’s chilly with the night dew, take it slow.” 

The booze had hit me and the breeze made me shiver, so I didn’t refuse the offer. 

I staggered down to my building, and before I could step inside, I heard Cecilia’s sweet and sticky voice. 

“Sorry, Hogan, I was just too nervous today, didn’t do great, huh?” 

Her tone of self–blame was kind of heart–wrenching. 

Hogan was quick to respond, “No rush, practice makes perfect, you did great today.” 

His deep, raspy voice, with its honest inflection, was really comforting. 

It was Cecilia’s Hogan, alright. 

I couldn’t bear to eavesdrop any longer and headed to the staircase on the other side. 

Then I heard Cecilia ask, “Aren’t you coming up, Hogan?” 

I half–lifted my eyelids, looking out at the bright moonlight, and managed a weak smile. 

Yeah, under such moonlight, it was perfect for lovebirds to whisper sweet nothings all night long. 

Chacher 33 

Maybe the alcohol was to thank, because that night. I actually slept like a rock. 

So much so that I didn’t notice Hogan’s call until the next day. 

It was from last night at ten, not long after he’d dropped off Cecilia. 

Rubbing my temples, out of politeness, I sent him WhatsApp message. 

Mr. Zade, what’s up?) 

I didn’t expect Hogan to reply instantly with [Wrong number.] 

I knew it. 

I tapped my fingers, then deleted the message and headed to the bathroom. 

A moment later, the notification sound chimed again. Hogan had sent a dry line [Ms. March, you seem busy.] 

Somehow feeling cheeky, I quickly typed back, [Still got a ways to go compared to a time master ke you Mr. Zade.] 

Hogan didn’t reply after that. 

The chat went dead. 

I rushed to get ready for work, and as my eyes swept over the couch,‘t noticed Darren’s navy blue suit jacket. 

It still faintly smelled of ambergris mixed with the stench of booze.