I peek at the message that popped up, grinning.
Can’t. He took it on his date.
I try to focus on the puzzle, but the ticking clock above the kitchendoorway is too distracting. Has it always been this loud? It’s making me hyperfocused on the time. 8:38. He left less than an hour ago, but it feels like it’s been two days. And who is this girl he’s out with? He said they hooked up last summer, and my nosy brain is now cycling through every female I remember seeing here last year.
Was it that blond from the mini golf place? I think her name was Cassandra?
No. She hooked up with Gray, I recall.
Maybe those two punk-rock chicks from the music festival at Commons Beach?
Wait. That was also Gray. His dad found them on the boathouse roof after the concert, and we all had to listen to Uncle Hunter’s lecture the next morning about how threesomes—“however awesome,” Uncle Dean had interjected—are not appropriate during our Tahoe family summer.
Wyatt better not be having a threesome tonight.
My phone lights up again. I expect to see Juliette’s name, but it’s Isaac. It’s taken him three days to respond to my last message.
THE CHEATER
Be honest, Blake. Is this even about a toaster? Because I’m starting to think you want me back.
I gape at the screen. Wow.
I don’t want you back.
THE CHEATER
It’s okay to admit it.
You cheated on me. For a whole year.
THE CHEATER
And I’m willing to work things out if that’s where your head is at.
He’s willing to work things out? What in the actual fuck.
Fuming, I type back one word at a time.
You
Cheated
On
Me
THE CHEATER
I made a mistake.
Really? Was it a one-night stand? Because a repeated mistake is a choice, Isaac.
I don’t want you back.
I just want my fucking toaster.
THE CHEATER
