And yet, as I open my email and start typing, I can’t help but feel my phone burning in my back pocket, like a little ember of possibility waiting for me to check if @HalfWritten has replied.
I force myself not to check. Nope. Not doing it. I’m not about to live my life waiting for a notification from a man I’ve spoken to once.
Instead, I bury myself in work. Meetings, content drafts, photo edits, scheduling posts. By the end of the day, I’ve checked off everything on my to-do list and even made a list for tomorrow. That small sense of control, of having my life in order for once, leaves me humming with quiet satisfaction.
Hours later, I push through the glass doors of the media offices, the afternoon sun hitting my face as I step into the quiet parking lot.
Rogue appears from the direction of the practice fields, a black duffel slung over one broad shoulder, strides purposeful. The lot is nearly empty, most of the team left hours ago, so seeing him is… unexpected.
We cross paths in the middle of the lot. I lift a hand in a small casual wave. He glances my way, his expression carved in that permanent scowl.
“Lass,” he rumbles as we cross paths, voice low and distinctly Irish, giving the single word as a greeting and dismissal in one. Then he keeps walking toward his car, leaving me with the faintest shiver down my spine I refuse to acknowledge.
That’s it. Why is heTHATattractive?
I shake it off and head to my car. My brain is not to be trusted where he is concerned.
Back at the apartment, I change into running shorts and a tank top, tie my hair into a high ponytail, and force myself out for a 30-minute run along the beach. I hate running. I hate the burn in my legs, the sticky heat, the sound of my own huffing breath in my ears, but I love the way I feel afterward. Light, accomplished, like I survived something.
The sky is bleeding pink and gold over the water by the time I cool down and stretch. That’s when I finally allow myself to check my phone.
Sure enough, there’s a message from my new best friend.
@HalfWritten:
My day was good. Long, busy, but productive. That’s what matters, right?
Hope yours treated you well.
The sight of it makes me smile, stupid and giddy as ever.
I drop onto a weathered wooden bench facing the ocean, letting the breeze cool the sweat on my skin as I type.
@OneLastLine:
My day was good, productive too. Just finished my workout and now I’m dreaming about food. I’m looking forward to dinner. What about you?
The typing dots appear almost immediately.
@HalfWritten:
Already had dinner, but now I’m craving something sweet.
I laugh softly, thumbs flying.
@OneLastLine:
Same. I cannot go to bed without something sweet.
Sweets will 100% be the death of me.
@HalfWritten:
What’s your go-to?
I chew on my lip, thinking.
@OneLastLine:
