Me
I mean with the party. I was waiting for my invite, but it’s tomorrow, so I'm wondering what I should do.
Vaughn
I told you. Use your goddamn safe word. You’re in over your head, and if you keep this up, I promise you, you’ll drown.
An icy shiver creeps up my spine. Then I scowl at the phone as my fingers start to tap.
Me
Well, still haven’t used it. Guess you have to bring me as your date to this thing. Too bad! :P
He reads the message.
He doesn’t answer.
No three dots. Nothing. I keep staring at the screen, waiting for a reply, feeling more and more pathetic when it doesn’t come.
Me
JK, it’s not “too bad”. I’m quite fun at parties.
Still nothing.
Me
Is this like a test?
Crickets.
Me
Anyhoo, what time on Saturday works? I got the address from a friend, so I can just meet you there. She and I are going to get drinks beforehand.
Radio. Freaking. Silence.
Me
OK…I’ll just see you there, then?
Another long minute drags by. Finally, those three dots appear.
Vaughn
You’re done. The Syndicate is not for you. Delete this number.
I stare at the screen, a mix of anger and something else sinking into my gut.
…Something that I refuse to label as anything approaching “feeling rejected by the guy I lost my virginity to a few days ago”.
That would be pathetic, even for me.
NewEvie actually gets as far as typing “go fuck yourself, motherfucker” as heat blooms across her face.
But then I delete it and toss the phone down onto the bed. My jaw sets.
I amnotpissed about his answer because of who he is, i.e., the guy who I had sex with for the first time.
