Back at the table, I glanced at my phone from time to time. Let’s addchecking my phoneto my list of unhealthy addictions, along with coffee, cookies and cream cheesecakes, and Zeus.
Absolutely disturbing.
I stabbed a chunk with extra violence and popped it in my mouth.
“But why do you need to get a Golden Furs dick? And why do I need to come with you?” Tiziano insisted, shielding his eyes from Makena’s very powerful, pleading gaze.
“I need the best wingbitch with me! Please, Tizzy! For me?”
It worked eight times out of ten.
“I smashed my bat against their captain’s head after the game! As much as I love to be hated there, I’d be a target if I went anywhere near the GF campus! Want me to risk my life just to make Gaius jealous?”
“Yes. Pretty please?”
“There’s no way! And that’s final.”
It felt like the entire coffee shop went silent in response.
Tiziano always hung out with the same crowd, at the same places, wereball-approved. The reason? To avoid meeting his mate. Not that he was against it, but he was in no rush to find his other half.
In the end, Tiziano agreed to go with Makena, but only after 8,374,312,730 “you owe me” remarks.
Back at home, I sat cross-legged on my bed, with Zeus hidden right underneath the covers. For a second, his muzzle appeared, sniffing and checking that it was me. Once satisfied, the muzzle disappeared again.
After a deep inhalation, I tapped on the screen, deciding to start a conversation.
I’m curious. What exactly did Ludmilla text you?
I wasn’t sure why I expected a reply right away. Thirteen minutes later, bordering on fourteen, I chucked my phone onto the wool sheepskin beanbag underneath my window. A distinctive smear suggested that Zeus’s nose had pressed up against it.
A minute later, I slipped back into my clogs, shoved my phone into my pocket, and put my laundry basket under my arm. Zeus hopped into it.
Was my text boring? Did it scream,“sad excuse just to talk to you”? WHY am I like this?
Shuffling down the hall, I stopped intermittently to pick up my roommates’ baskets. So many baskets, only two hands.
Descending the stairs, heading to the laundry room in the basement, I reminded myself that I had no hands left to check my phone.
Yet I still took a break to do it.Just in case Uncle Andrew texted about our dinner plans for tonight, I reasoned.
Two messages.
Belly swirl.
Except, it actuallywasUncle Andrew confirming Sunday’s roast…and sending the restaurant location. “Whytwotexts, Uncle? One would’ve done.”
I pushed open the creaking metal door with my butt and turned back to walk in. The hum of washing machines welcomed me, the scent familiar, and I got to work, separating whites from black cottons.
Ping.
I jumped like someone had whispered “Boo” directly into my brain, receiving a startled look from the king of Olympus. “Sorry, Zeus.” I petted his striped furry back.
Who’s this?
My mouth dropped open. He forgot about me? I guess there wasn’t much to forget, but we had texted and talked for…like, eight minutes! Eight minutes and twenty-three seconds, to be exact.
I watched the three dots pop up again.
