But this feels like something else. Something bigger than my rent.
This feels like the right thing to do.
I glance at the clock. 11:42 p.m.
I grab my phone. Hesitate.
And then I type:
Olive:
Let’s do it.
Simple. Direct. Contractual.
I hit send.
And then immediately sit bolt upright.
OH. MY. GOD.
Not like that.
Not likethat.
What have I done?!
"Let’s do it"? REALLY, OLIVE?
I throw my phone across the bed like it personally betrayed me and faceplant into my pillow with a groan.
I roll over and stare at the ceiling, mortified.
This is fine. This is totally fine. No one’s ever died of accidental innuendo via text, right?
…Right?
6
ASH
Roomies
The house is quiet after Liam leaves. Too quiet.
I figured Olive needed space to think in his tiny apartment, so Liam came over for a few drinks. He left a few minutes ago.
Now that he’s gone, my thoughts won’t settle. I’m pacing the edge of the infinity pool barefoot, city lights scattered like diamonds below, phone in hand, thumb hovering over nothing.
And then it buzzes. Just once.
A message. From her.
I swipe it open.
Olive:
Let’s do it.
