Text you when I get back to my hotel room.
ZACH
Went out to a bar with the boys to celebrate. Just got back.
ZACH
God, I miss you like crazy.
ZACH
I want to go home so bad.
ZACH
Text me when you're back at your dorm.
ZACH
Can't wait to FaceTime you. I need to see your beautiful face.
ZACH
Babe?
More messages keep loading — sweet ones, clingy ones, the kind of mushy texts that turn my stomach into a full-on butterfly rave. The kind that make me feel so loved-up it's feeding my dangerously high girlfriend ego.
Like... sir, calm down. My heart can only handle so much. But please, give me more.
Anyway, we agreed we'd FaceTime as soon as I got back from rehearsal, so now I feel terrible that it's this late and he probably fell asleep waiting for me.
I quickly type out a reply:
ME
Babe, I'm so sorry. I'm back at the dorm. Rehearsal ran long again and my phone died. I just charged it. Are you still awake?
I hit send.
The message turns blue. Delivered.
I sit on my bed, legs crossed, staring at the screen.
One minute passes.
Then five.
Then ten.
Nothing.
My heart sinks a little.
By twenty minutes, there's a full ache blooming in my chest — the warm, lonely kind.
I lie back against my pillows, clutching my phone to my chest.
God, I miss him.
