“How does anyone know each other? The Internet, obviously,” Xinyan says with a little laugh. “Well. He’s nice to me in my TikTok comment section, so we started DMing.”
Jamie? Nice to a competitor? I honestly have no idea what to make of that—or if I even believe it.
I wonder who slid into whose DMs first.
“Oh,” I say. “Cool.” Jamie Larson doomscrolling TikTok soundsunlikely, but I guess I don’t really know him that well.Yet,whispers a voice in the back of my mind.
But never mind that. Why did Jamie even invite me here, if the whole reason he was coming was to meet up with his TikTok crush? I feel like the—not even third wheel, because Xinyan has her two Parker friends here. I’m the fifth wheel.
Awesome.
“We were going to go grab dinner,” Xinyan says, gesturing toward Ely and Wyatt. “You two are welcome to join us, if you want.”
“I wish I could, but I have to get back home and practice more. Need to catch up with you two,” I add, to make it seem like a joke, even though all I want to do right now is hide under a pile of blankets on my bed.
I fully expect Jamie to take Xinyan up on the invitation or tell them we already had dinner at my place, but to my surprise, he says, “Same, unfortunately. But text me. We should definitely hang out in person again.”
I have no right to stew over any of this. I know that. Jamie is not anything to me, except a maybe a rival—and now, roommate. I don’t have the authority to tell him who he’s allowed to hang out with. Or DM. Or text.
Like, good for him for having friends, I guess. The only person who can put up with my bitter ass is Cessy. And even she would rather spend time with Jamie’s friend Shrishti these days, still caught up in the honeymoon of their relationship resurrection.
Not that I resent her for it. I don’t. I at leasttryto be a good friend.
Tonight’s just a horrible night for Good Human Goldie, that’s all.
“You didn’t mention that you know Xinyan,” I say as we walk back toward the train station, forcing my voice to stay light and upbeat.
“It didn’t come up,” says Jamie. “Besides, it’s not like Ireallyknow her. We’re just mutuals online. This was the first time I ever met her in person.”
“Seemed like you two knew each other pretty well.”
He shrugs. “I guess. If being Close Friends on someone’s Instagram story counts as knowing them really well.”
It does in my book, but then, the only people on my Close Friends list are Cessy, my dad, and my pen pal from eighth grade music camp.
“So what happens if she beats you at Stockholm? No more digital friendship?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “She’s not the one I’m worried about beating.”
He doesn’t say my name, but I hear it all the same. At least it’s dark out, so he can’t see the heat rising in my cheeks.
We walk the rest of the way to the station without speaking, Jamie swiping his MetroCard through, then passing it back to me across the turnstile—a sweet gesture that I don’t feel right turning down, even though I always use OMNY to tap through, myself.
He goes to sit on one of the gross wooden benches against the wall, and I dart forward, grabbing his arm and yanking him back.
“No! Don’t!”
He raises both brows. “What? Is there pee on the bench or something?”
“No. But there probablywaspee at some point. Those things are disgusting.”
“Well, good thing it’s just my ass touching them,” he says, and starts for the bench again, although he doesn’t fight it when I don’t let go.
“You should still want to have a clean ass!”
“My ass ispristine,thank you very much.” And now he’s smirking at me, the kind of smirk that’s haunted my dirtiest dreams eversince I met him. Only usually in those dreams, we’re talking about his ass for entirely different reasons.
“I thought Midwest boys were worried about getting infected with city filth and so on.”
