Wait for Me Read Online Free Page B

Granted, only on Wednesday evenings and only for a few hours, then he would reel me back in around midnight to relieve him on the night shift.
    I made another attempt to contact my old acquaintances, but they were too busy with work and family commitments to find time for a drink. The only one available was Steven, a gay guy who I had known for years. He was easy to get along with – he never passed judgment and he was consistently open and honest. But going out with him became boring after a while. He would drag me around gay clubs where I’d get propositioned by lesbians, or, at best, strange men who wanted threesomes.
    One evening, I asked him if we could go somewhere more ‘traditional’ and he reluctantly took me to a lounge bar where his brother Bob worked. He had barely taken a seat before finding himself a new acquaintance. Two cocktails later and they vanished together, kindly paying for my third cocktail as consolation. I sipped it and began to observe the local selection. They were all immersed in conversation, but their eyes were hopping from person to person, searching for something. Searching for what? A cheap fuck? A life partner? I thought about the words that Dr Richardson concluded with that morning: “Sophie, I believe you should try to avoid getting involved with anybody, at least until your feelings are a little more balanced.”
    â€˜Balance,’ I thought. ‘Common sense, rational decisions and sensible behavior.’
    â€œAre you bored?” Bob asked, pouring a variety of spirits into a shaker.
    â€œNope,” I replied, smiling. “Just thinking.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œAbout wise decisions,” I replied.
    â€œAh well, that settles it then,” he said, smirking. “No romance for a while.”
    â€œExactly.”
    Between cocktails, we talked about music, films and nothing at all, until I returned to my hideaway, where I found Fred watching TV on the bed.
    â€œDid you have fun?” he asked, as I passed through the door.
    â€œYeah,” I replied.
    â€œYour face is telling me something different.”
    â€œWhat would my ‘had-fun’ face look like?” I asked, curious.
    â€œDefinitely not like that!”
    I shrugged and smiled, a little coyly.
    â€œThere it is.”
    The following days were as usual: college, followed by a session with Dr Richardson, followed by an early evening nap, and then CCTV monitoring overnight, where I would alternate between reading and watching television. The ritual became that Ben and Ester would call over at 10 p.m. and we would sit on the steps with a bottle of beer whilst they waited for their bus.
    I had been studying hard for the following day’s exam, so their evening visit was just what I needed. While I was chatting, I saw Mr Scott getting out of his car and leaving the parking lot, in the company of a beautiful woman in towering heels. I wondered whether this was the air hostess I’d overheard him talking about. I hadn’t seen him, or should I say, spied on him through CCTV, since that day. He gave me a polite smile as he left. As soon they crossed the street, Ben announced, “He’s always with gorgeous women.”
    â€œHmm,” Ester replied, in her thick Spanish accent. “I think gorgeous hookers would be more accurate.”
    â€œHookers?” I asked, puzzled.
    â€œSophie, what planet are you on? Women like that don’t exist in real life. Those are high class prostitutes – very high class. You see it from a mile away, and they’re always so different from one another.”
    â€œThey might be hookers, but they’re hot as hell,” Ben said, raising his bottle.
    Intrigued and also surprised by this possibility, I watched him enter his apartment building. I guess I’d never considered it, I had only seen the women on the monitors and the camera didn’t pick up their features in detail.
    â€œWell, not