Page 35 of Hard to Score

But he texted.

And at least that’s a start.

The problem, now that he has? I’m stuck staring at it and trying to not overthink how exactly I should respond.

Do I just come out and scream from the rooftops that it’s about damn time for him to communicate or do I play it low-key cool?

I take a deep breath and type.

Me: You mean the part where you pretended to be an airplane? That part?

Drew: Yes. That. Exactly.

Me: lol.

Drew: I’m sorry about everything.

Me: Everything?

Drew: The kissing you part.

My heart falls. I stare at the blinking cursor and hate how everything, when it comes to him, seems to be a mindfuck. Two steps forward and then ten steps back.

I bite my lip and wonder how I should respond. Because I have to respond.

What’s the worst that can happen? I say what I really want to say and he either gets spooked by it or welcomes it? Either way, I’ve gone almost ten years without crossing his path, so I’m sure if this is a disaster, I can figure a way to avoid him for the next ten.

What is it you want though, Brexton? You’ve sworn off men and relationships. You’ve promised yourself that you’re not going to fall for anyone anytime soon.

And now you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place and wanting that hard place to be one Drew Bowman.

I reread our texts again, teeth worrying my bottom lip, and wonder if he’s on the other end feeling the same way. Wondering how he’s in this situation with an old family friend from his past.

Maybe I just need to get him out of my system. If I fulfill my unrequited teenage fantasies—but now on a more grown-up scale—perhaps the mystery would be gone and there’d be nothing between us.

I poise my fingers to type, the angel and devil on my shoulders having a field day in their spotlight.

I suck in a breath and hit send. You only live once, right?

Me: What if I’m not sorry, though?

I squeal and put my face in my hands like a teenager who can’t believe she just said or did something in front of the most popular kid in high school . . . and I wait for him to respond.

The three dots blink slowly on the screen for some time as he types, while I’m silently freaking out on my end.

Drew: Is this coming from Bratty Brexton or Gorgeous Brexton?

Thump. My heart is ridiculously influenced, and I don’t care that it is in this simple moment.

Me: Both.

Drew: It can only be from one or the other. Pick.

Me: The latter.

Drew: Say it. Own it. It’s true. I’m waiting.

Me: Gorgeous Brexton.