Two months.
Matthew:
That won’t change shit, and you know it.
Four.
Trouble:
Three.
My final offer.
I run my hand over my face, cursing under my breath.
Matthew:
Fine.
But I want weekly dates.
This all means nothing if people don’t see us together.
For a moment she doesn’t say anything. I hold my breath, waiting for her protest, but it doesn’t come.
Trouble:
I guess that’s fair.
No meeting family, though.
I don’t want them getting hurt in the process.
Matthew:
You know my family, so that might be a bit of a problem...
Trouble:
Matthew, I’m serious.
No meeting MY family.
Matthew:
I know you are.
Fine. I won’t drop in for Sunday dinner, then.
What else?
Those damn dots appear and disappear several times. Each time they’re gone from the screen, I can feel my palms turn sweaty with nerves. I hold my breath, unsure of what’ll come next, but at the same time, I know in my bones I probably won’t like it. Not one bit.
Trouble:
No kissing.
“The fuck?!” I push from my desk, my fingers gripping my phone. I can feel a few curious glances from my colleagues shoot my way, so I try to gather my wits before my fingers start typing away.
