“I feel like you’re bribing me,” I tease as I swipe a strawberry.
“Maybe I am, but are you mad?”
“No.”
“Next question: what’s up with your phone? It hasn’t stopped flashing alerts.”
“I take it you haven’t been on social media yet this morning?”
“Nope. Spill.”
I hand Roxy my phone. “Check my stories. Let’s start there.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this.” Roxy sounds like she might actually be offended.
“Swearsies, I had no idea who he was. I thought he was, like, the drummer or a backup dancer or something. Imagine how embarrassing that was for me, Rox,” I plead.
She snort-laughs. “You’re right, that is quite embarrassing.”
Shrugging her off, I try to casually continue making confessions. “On top of that, he reposted the story.”
“I think he’s into you, Vi. He reposted it.”
“It was the perfect one-night stand. He’s not into me, and this was clearly a publicity stunt. It will blow over and go away.” I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince—myself or Roxy.
She arches her brow but says nothing. She doesn’t need to call me out. We both know it. Stupid, telepathic best friend bullshit.
“I know, but look, it gets worse. Jackson saw my story—“
“I fail to see how that’s a bad thing, Vi,” she interrupts.
“Well, take a peek at my messages. He left me a lovely little note.”
She taps my phone a few times, then screams. “Oh-My-God! Cas Wilder is in your DMs and he’s totally fucking into you!”
“I’m aware, but I can’t deal with that until after I deal with my Jackson problem,” I say, holding my hand up to stop her from arguing.
“But—“ Roxy protests.
“No!”
“Fine. What did he say?” she asks.
I can feel the tension wrapping itself around me in a tight coil. Simply remembering the message makes me all kinds of anxious. “I just want to block him and move the fuck on.”
Roxy is quiet. She read the message and is now sitting in a rage-induced zone out. Probably imagining all the ways she could murder him and hide the body.
“I personally think we leave it to a professional,” I joke, breaking the silence.
“Leave what?”
“The murder,” I chuckle.
Roxy cackles, her serious exterior crumbling. “You’re probably right. Can I reply and tell him to choke on a bag of dicks?”
“Reply away, as long as you block him after.”
“Deal,” she says. “Fuck you, asshole. That’s the real motherfucking deal. Check his story. XOXO, Roxy. Hold on, I’m sharing the story directly to him, and blockity-block.”
