She got up and joined me on my side of the booth. “Can you show me how to use the app? I can’t figure it out.”
“Sure.”
She handed me her phone, and I went to the homepage of the app. Macey scooted in closer, so our thighs were touching, and suddenly, it was like my brain short-circuited. All the buttons looked the same.
“I…don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?”
We were arm to arm now too. Macey wore a thin tank top, so I could feel every inch of her soft skin against mine. Did she know what she was doing?
Macey laughed and poked my bicep. “I thought you said you’ve been using this for years.”
“Yeah, but sometimes when I get distracted my mind goes blank.”
“Distracted?”
Ah, shit. Didn’t mean to say that either. “By the cake.”
“Oh, right.” Macey cut another piece off with her fork. “It is really good.”
Don’t stare at her mouth. Don’t get distracted by her tongue licking the cream cheese frosting.
Too late.
I turned away. “How about we work on your debut post instead?”
“Sure.” Macey pulled her laptop closer to her, settling into this side of the booth. “I’ve got a few ideas.”
We spent the next hour writing and rewriting her debut post. Macey made a list of posts she wanted to write during her first six weeks, and we got the start of a content plan going.
Fueled by cake, we also linked her Instagram to her blog. She could slowly transition into one online presence:Macey’s Miles.
It’d be a long, slow process, but I had full confidence Macey knew how to conquer it.
During our planning, a few more nasty comments made their appearance. Macey brushed them off, even though it was clear they bothered her. Trolls had taken over the Internet. It was like people forgot that the influencers and celebrities they followed were actual people with real emotions, not just characters in a movie.
I tried to bring them up to Macey again, but she claimed the angry comments and the bad press would be worth it for her blog. She had stuck her chin up and said she was going to “fake date me even harder now.”
I had no idea what that meant, but it scared me a little. I wasn’t terrified of the thought itself, but instead by how much I wanted it.
There was an even scarier thing—the more Macey gave me, the more I craved. I felt like a puppy, all too eager to accept whatever scraps she threw my way that day. A smile when she saw me. A glare whenever I said something stupid. A touch when she thought someone was looking.
Macey was fine leaving the comments alone, but something about them left me feeling unsettled. Especially with the new suspicion that some of the commenters may be closer to Macey than she realized.
“Oh, shit.” Macey frantically shut her laptop. “We’re going to be late.”
“Late to what?”
She grinned. “We have an appointment.”
When Macey said appointment, my first thought wasNot another massage appointment, please.
As it turned out, Macey had something completely different in mind.
We walked across the lawn at the University of Illinois Chicago. It felt like another world being here—old stone buildings towering above us, ancient-looking archways, the whole place humming with the quiet intensity of people who actually knew what they were doing with their lives. Students rushed past, some deep in debate, others sipping coffee from biodegradable cups, all of them looking like they belonged.
I, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb.
