@IntrovertedVibes: Please, I’m desperate. I can’t stay here.
For the first time in a really long time, curiosity got the best of me, and before I could think better of it, my fingers were already typing out a reply.
@MidnightHookup: Where are you?
@IntrovertedVibes: The hospital.
I felt my eyes narrow on the screen.
@MidnightHookup: Explain.
Three dots appeared and then disappeared, and I let out a low growl of impatience.
@IntrovertedVibes: I got into an accident, okay? I hit my head, and now they won’t let me leave unless I have someone to help me. But I can’t stay here. Just come tell them you’re my boyfriend. They’ll let me leave, and then I’ll give you what you want.
I was not a man surprised by much, but the word vomit I was currently staring at on this dating app left me incredulous.
@IntrovertedVibes: 4th floor. Room 404.
@MidnightHookup: No.
Like hell I was going to get dragged into some drama by a manipulative little shit. Not only did he want a ride, but he wanted me to pretend to be his boyfriend? And offered sex as payment?
@MidnightHookup: Are you a prostitute?
@IntrovertedVibes: What? No!
@IntrovertedVibes: I just don’t have anyone.
The image of his wide, innocent eyes flashed behind my eyelids, and something unpleasant coiled in my stomach.
@MidnightHookup: You don’t have me either.
I waited for him to reply. To see what absurdity he’d come out with next. I wondered how far he’d go to get what he wanted. Seconds stretched into minutes and no reply came. Not even the annoying appearing and disappearing text bubbles.
He’d left me on read.
CHAPTER
THREE
Haz
Freaking of course!
My life was a string of unfortunate events that had been occurring since the day I was born. So no, I wasn’t all that surprised when my crappy prepaid cell phone ran out of data right after I was harshly rejected on H2H.
Granted, using the app to find a fake boyfriend to get me out of the hospital was not my best idea, but I was desperate.
He called me a prostitute.
If I still had minutes left, I’d delete my entire profile. I could never go there again. I mean, sure, it wasn’t like everyone on Heart2Heart saw him call me a prostitute, but he would know. And he’d probably be lurking. He’d see my profile every time he logged in, and he would judge me.
I glanced down at the dark screen and groaned. I saw the last thing he’d said to me before my phone shut off.
You don’t have me either.
Those words didn’t even make it into the top ten worst things ever said to me, so I didn’t know why my eyes got a little blurry.It was probably the head injury. Getting eight stitches in your head would cause anyone to tear up. Not to mention the bill these stitches were going to incur.
