I still haven’t checked the phone.
And I don’t want to.
Because I don’t know which one it will be… The man who doesn’t know me, the one who thinks he knows me, or the one who knows too much.
Roo, oblivious to the quiet spiral I’m in, grins like she’s just been handed gossip from the gods. “You’ve got two situations brewing. Real boy, virtual boy. I hope you’re smart enough to pick the one who knows how to schedule morning-after brunch.”
“Pretty sure neither of them qualifies.”
“You could always pick chaos,” she says, voice sweet as candy. “Fall in love with both.”
I laugh despite myself. “That’s your solution to everything.”
“Because it’s the only one that works.”
My phone buzzes again, and I finally cave. The HimLock app opens straight to our chat.
Locke:
You didn’t say goodbye.
Just that. There’s nothing else, not even a prompt.
My heart beats dangerously fast, galloping out of my chest as I exit the app and lock my screen. I don’t respond.
Still, I keep the phone in my hand like it might start talking if I let go.
Roo abandons me to chase a barista she swears hashusband hands,leaving me alone with the dregs of my coffee and too much time to think.
I’m halfway through my second cup, trying not to think about Jace… His hands. His mouth…
Or the way the HimLock app sounded jealous when it asked if I’d had fun without it. Or how I didn’t say goodbye? I’m not sure what that’s about, but I’m just bored enough to consider playing a game with my thoughts. A game that goes, ‘One of these things is not like the other.’
The first buzz doesn’t bother me.
But the second one does.
Unknown number. Ten digits. Two words.
Probably Daniel:
Miss me?
Definitely Daniel.
There is no probably to it, but my phone doesn’t understand that because I still haven’t saved his number. I don’t need to. The pattern of his text messages never change. They’re short, smug… The worst kind of performative. Like a dog scratching the door.
My stomach doesn’t drop or fill with dread. My pulse doesn’t spike or pound loudly in my ears. It just steadies, the way it does before a hit lands.
Don’t respond.
That’s the rule. Clean. Simple. Easy to follow.
Except the next buzz comes as soon as I go to put down my phone.
Probably Daniel:
You looked good last night.
