Me: Don’t laugh, but I’m a total Swiftie. So if she sings it, then it’s my favorite.
Me: What’s yours?
Cove: FMRN by Lilyisthatyou.
Me: Never heard of them. But don’t judge me, I'm also a lover of 90’s boy bands. Blame my mom for that.
Cove: Hey. I listen but I don’t judge.
A voice memo follows with a clip of her groaning and it goes straight to my cock.
Cove: Here, take a listen and see if you like it.
She immediately sends me a link. But not just to the song. To her playlist. She’s inviting me in to sneak a little peek at her.
We continue to chat about bad takeout—she swears the sushi place by her apartment tried to poison her; while I swear the campus taco truck actually did.
We talk about weird dreams—hers, where she showed up late for a chemistry exam she never took; mine, where I lost my shoes in a supermarket and somehow ended up giving a motivational speech in socks.
Hey, it could happen.
She sends a LOL response and I swear I can hear her laughing in my head. The memory of what it sounded like from the carnival lives rent free in my brain.
She’s not performing for views. She’s not the girl on the camera. She’s just her. The girl who’s captured my heart.
Somewhere along the way the teasing goes quiet. Our messages slow but the content in them deepens, slipping into the kind of honesty people usually avoid.
We talk about our life dreams. If we were afraid of disappointing anyone.
Cove: No one has looked at me like you did. No boyfriend in the past. Random stranger on the street. You looked at me like I was someone. Special. I felt like I was more than the persona I portray on the website. I felt really seen.
Me: Because you are more than that. I’d love for there to be more between us.
I’m past the point of pretending this is casual.
I’m past pretending I didn’t fall for her the first time I saw her on the site. That seeing her in person was everything I wanted it to be. Sex or not.
My pulse thuds in my throat, reckless and loud, as I type the words before I can talk myself out of them.
Me: I’d like to see you again. Even if the cameras aren’t rolling.
I stare at it, thumb hovering, heart pounding so hard it’s almost painful.
Then I hit send.
And all I can do is wait, every second stretching out, every heartbeat its own question.
What will she say? What will this become? And am I ready for the answer?
Chapter Eighteen
COVE
My fingers hoverover the keyboard, every letter ofyesbegging to be typed. I almost do it—almost send the place, the time, a flirty little GIF of someone blowing a kiss or winking. Something cute and easy.
But then my brain kicks in. And suddenly I can’t breathe. Because this isn’t just another flirty DM. This isn’t a thirsty fan who got lucky in a contest. This isn’t a one-off.
This is Everest.
