I blink, and wipe away a tear. Did he just...
“Also,” he continues, “I talk to my calendar like it’s a person as well. So we’re even.”
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. It’s not a cute laugh either. It’s the kind of laugh that turns into a snort, which makes me laugh harder, which makes me blush harder, which puts the full catastrophe of my existence on display.
“I hate technology,” I manage.
“Technology seems to hate you back.”
Before I can formulate a response that doesn’t involve climbing under the bar (or him), phones start pinging all around us.
Mine buzzes. Marco’s buzzes. Somewhere behind us, another phone chimes.
I look down.
“AirDrop: ‘Mr. Panty-Wetting Marco.jpeg’ sent to FioreHQ-iPad (Jag), Marco’s iPhone, and 3 other devices.”
“How is that even possible?” I demand, glaring at my phone like it personally betrayed me. Which it did.
Oh God. Oh no.
When I was having my little panic attack and button-mashing like I was trying to unlock a cheat code, I must have activated AirDrop mode.
Because of course I did.
Because the universe looked down atthis exact moment and thought, “You know what would be super extra hilarious?”
I would like to be struck by lightning now, please. Or a meteor. A small, targeted meteor that only takes out me and my phone.
Is that so much to ask?
My face feels even hotter than before, if that’s possible.
Marco picks up his phone. I watch in slow-motion horror as he taps Accept. I consider trying to grab the phone out of his hand to stop him.
But it’s too late.
He looks at me stunned, then back at the phone. And then grins widely.
Then he saves it.
He actually saves the meme.
Then he puts his phone back in his jean pocket without a word, his mouth doing this thing where it’s not quite a smile but it’s definitely not not a smile.
“Good old Jess,” Ethan announces, returning from the bathroom with perfect terrible timing. He slides onto the stool on Marco’s other side, leaving Marco between us like some very attractive sandwich filling. “AirDropping the world.”
“You saw that?” I ask.
“I got it on my phone again as I was walking back,” he replies.
“It was an accident,” I protest.
“It’s always an accident with you.”
Marco’s phone buzzes with a text. He pulls it out, glances at it, and that almost-smile becomes a real one.
He shows me the screen.
