I should’ve known right then I was screwed.
But instead of listening to my instincts—or the literal supernatural algorithm apparently run with help from the Fates themselves—I decided to be clever.
I told her I wasn’t interested.
Yeah.
Go ahead, take a moment to appreciate just how spectacularly stupid that was.
Because now?
Now ever since I downloaded that damn app it’s been pinging all over the place, cheerfully letting me know exactly where that fine ass she-Bear is traipsing all over town.
Without me.
Hadley is at Agatha’s Ice Cream.
Hadley is at Jessica’s Closet—a little clothing boutique owned by the Neta’s sister where they sell that devilishly sexy lingerie, Kisses by Kylie.
Hadley is delivering an ice cream cake at the Maverick Point Firehouse.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
Every notification feels like someone jabbing me in the ribs with a fork.
And it’s driving me absolutely nuts.
I tried calling her shop.
She hung up on me.
I tried texting.
She blocked my number.
I even emailed the little contact us button at the bottom of her website like some desperate tech support customer.
I won’t even repeat the reply I got.
Let’s just say it involved creative suggestions about where I could shove my stripes.
And the thing is—knowing she’s a little toughie with a serious attitude only makes me want her more.
Sigh.
Great.
Apparently, I’m a goddamn masochist and now my Tiger is sighing like a damn teenage girl.
But that’s not the worst of it. Oh no, here I am about to do the one level I never thought I’d ever stoop to.
I think I’m actually going to ask my idiot brother for advice.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Have things really gotten this bad?
