“What’s her name?”
I shrug.
Beck narrows his eyes. “You don’t know her name?”
“I mean… no. Not really. We’ve kept it anonymous, it’s a voice-only thing.”
Colt looks up now. “Wait—you don’t even know what she looks like?”
“Nope.”
Evan whistles low.
“Shut up,” I say with a laugh, but even to my own ears it sounds thin. “It’s just a bit of fun, nothing too serious. She’s cool.”
“Or she’s a sixty year old dude with a voice filter.”
“Fletch,” Colt says, eyes wide. “You’re being catfished.”
“I’mnotbeing catfished.”
“You’re being catfishedso hard.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” Evan cuts in, a little more serious now. “Mason, come on. You’ve been burned before.”
I swallow, shifting the mug in my hand.
“She’s not like Connie.”
Beck, who’s been quiet, gives me a long look. “You sure?”
His voice isn’t sharp, but it’s enough to make the teasing stall and the question land.
I open my mouth to answer, but stop—and that’s what makes it worse. Iwantto say yes, but I can’t, can I? Because I don’t know, not for sure. Not her name, not her face. Just her voice.
And the way she makes me feel when I forget to guard the soft parts.
“She’s… She feels real,” I say anyway.
Colt slaps me on the back. “Well, if she is, then you’ll figure it out. But if she’s not, we’re here, okay? We’ll tell you when you’re being insane.”
I nod once, but I don’t say anything else.
Chapter three
Frankie
My office Christmas tree is taunting me.
It’s twelve feet tall, aggressively glittery, and positioned directly beside my desk like a festive hostage situation. Somewhere between the tinsel, the blinking fairy lights, and the oversized star on top that keeps tilting to the left, I’m convinced this tree is personally mocking me.
I narrow my eyes at it.
“You don’t scare me.”
Ana snorts as she dumps her coat over the back of her chair. “Frankie, it’s a tree.”
