Yeah, well I notice.
I’ve been noticing for a year.
Which means I also know that we’re not going to make it two more months. Not like this. Not with Jake’s agent pushing them, not with Jake showing up unannounced and her family thread going off every time he breathes wrong.
Something is going to break.
I just don’t know yet if it’ll be the plan or us.
***
How many times can a guy type and delete a single curfew-check text?
About twenty.
I’m staring at my screen, honestly debating if I should write the wordcurfewwith a check mark or just use a clock emoji.
No, a clock emoji is stupid.
GAAAAH.
“Gah?” Logan asks, looking up at me from the round table by the window, his book balanced on his knee.
“It’s nothing. I’m writing a post and accidentally deleted it all because I’m an idiot.”
Logan’s eyebrows furrow. “So Jake being here clearly has you in a good mood.”
I groan. “Logan, enough with the Scottie stuff, okay? I’m not going there. Not while Jake’s in the picture.”
Which is technically true but also a big, fat lie.
Should I be impressed or worried at how easy it’s becoming to lie to my own twin?
When I look at Logan, I usually don’t see myself reflected in him, even though we’re mirror twins. But then, usually I’m not lying to his face.
“I’m not judging you,” Logan says.
“Right. It just feels that way,” I say before wincing. “Sorry.” I set my phone down on the top sheet of the bed, where I’m sitting.
“It’s fine,” Logan says, going back to his book. He flips a page.
The room goes quiet except for the hum of the AC and the distant sound of traffic outside. I reach for my phone again.
9:59.
I slam my eyes closed, my jaw tight, my stomach churning. This is stupid. It’s a routine. We’ve done this every night. It shouldn’t feel like I’m a puppy whining for scraps.
I type:
Lucas
Curfew
I stare at the text then notice the time at the top of the screen.
Ten o’clock.
I hit send, and the message whooshes away.
