I consider texting ‘Did u decide if u wanna fuck?’ but I resist. Morgan having faith in men — especially men like me — is something I don’t want to be the one to destroy.
I play it safe.
Me: text me tonight
Send.
A few weeks pass. She claims she talked to her dad about Noel, and I believe her. I won’t know for sure untilhis court date.
Otherwise, our texts stay hot enough to keep hope alive, but sweet enough to fuel doubt. I’m glad she’s texting me, regardless. It makes the mundane less agonizing. It’s the small piece of something good I needed.
However, each day, her texts become a little shorter. It’s pissing me off, so I call her one night.
“Hey, Jack,” she whispers, her tone bristling with excitement.
A good sign.
“Just wanted to hear your voice,” I say.
Which is disturbingly true.
“Aww,” she coos, then pauses. “Um, I am having a hard time with this.”
My stomach drops, and I stand up from my bed fast.
“A hard time?”
“It’s tough because... I miss you. I don’t know if I can see you again. I think it will... I don’t know.”
I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Along with any hope.
Worse, my heart rages in my chest because she still fucking misses me. I miss her too.
“We don’t have to hang out, Morgan. We can just text.”
A beat.
“Morgan?”
“Texting is hard for me, too.”
“Why?” I snap, probably too harshly. This conversation is going in the wrong direction.
“Because texting isn’t enough for me.”
I suppress a groan. “I’m confused. You don’t want to see me again, but texting isn’t enough?”
Her voice lowers to a whisper. “I want you as... my boyfriend.”
I suck in a sharp breath. She isn’t supposed to say shit like that. Neither of us can go there. It’s impossible.
There’s one thing I know about my beliefs: they aren’t changing.
And Morgan being the prodigal preacher’s daughter means she won’t change, either.
I don’t know how to respond to her Earth-shaking confession, so I do the rational thing.
“Tell me what you like. I like street racing, but what about you?”
