Seeing as it's only ten, I sit down at her desk and move her mouse around. The screen blares to life with an unnecessary brightness that burns my eyes. How does she stare at this thing all day? I imagine if she keeps this up, she will be blind soon.
I try to log into her website, but it's locked down. Not cool. I want to play too. I click on Facebook and log her out and sign in under my name. I'm not a computer junkie like she is. I find surviving with my old junkie laptop and a phone fine for the sporadic times I need internet access. Plus, I have to use a computer at work, and I don't have the desire to sit in front of a screen at night after doing it all day.
I type in Wesley's name, finding he has thirty-thousand followers. This is shocking to me because I can’t understand how I never once heard his name before this week. I thought for sure he was full of himself. Speaking of which, I'm not surprised to see his profile picture is of him in a tight black t-shirt, a cocky grin, and a milk mustache. If he doesn't want this life, why promote it? I don't understand.
The posts on his wall don't sound like him either. They seem like marketing pitches. Other than those, he has funny videos of dogs and people doing stupid stunts. I don't know him well enough yet, but this doesn't seem like the man I've met. However, the women on here seem lovesick over him. He must have two hundred comments on every single one of his posed photos. It's like he’s living a fake life.
I turn the computer to sleep-mode and head to bed, needing to ensure sure I'm closed into my room before Layla gets home.
After climbing into bed, my phone buzzes on the nightstand, which doesn't happen this late at night unless someone is having an emergency. I look at the display, and I'm surprised to find Wesley's name pop up.
Wesley:Thanks for tonight. I needed that.
Me:I needed that too.
I wanted more.
I watch my phone for a few minutes, waiting to see if he responds, but there's nothing because my response doesn’t require another response.
I am the worst at text flirting. It’s time to up my game.
