Are you stalking my IG stories?
Are you fucking her?
No, Win, I am not fucking everyone I hang out with.
Are you with her now?
No.
So you were with her though.
You. Need. Jesus.
No. I. Need. You.
The typing bubbles stop. Then start. Then stop again.
I smirk. He didn’t outright tell me to fuck off, so that’s an improvement. We’ve been texting constantly—well, mainly I text him and he replies, but I’m high as a kite off it either way. Mom was shocked to find me grinning at my phone when she stopped by the guest house to drop off the recording equipment she ordered for me. (I sold all my old stuff for drugs before shit hit the fan.)
“What’s got you smiling like that?” she asked.
I considered lying to her but hiding my obsession was pointless. “Remy.”
I wish I’d taken a picture of her face. I swear her eyes almost fell out of her head. Then she smiled— a real one, not one of those cautious grimaces she’s given me since picking me up from the airport. “He’s still in town?” When I nodded, she beamed. “He’s a sweet boy. It’s wonderful you two are reconnecting.”
We’ll reconnect oneverylevel if I have any say in it.
My phone screen lights up with an incoming message.
I. Need. To. Eat. Are you coming up or not?
I’m incapable of resisting the bait.
Wait, is that code?
… for?
Eating my cum. Because I’ll gladly feed it to you.
I’m not hungry anymore.
Liar. You just don’t want me to see how hard you are at the thought of swallowing my load.
You’re delusional.
Cumming right up.
Oops. Coming*
I hate you.
*Kissy face emoji*
Adjusting my aching dick, I grab the takeout from the passenger seat and jog up the stairs. Just to be obnoxious, I ring his doorbell. His muffled curses make the stupid smile on my face widen.
The door swings in—
Oh. My. Fuck.
