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Though she read him right away, this time it took her a little longer to respond.
I’d say that was pretty poetic
if you didn’t also just call me snarky
puss. Lolwtf
So ... not charming?
Maybe in an “aw, so helpless” way.
Before he could respond to that barb, she sent another message.
Well, I guess you decided to text.
What does that mean?
Did you decide to cross over?
I don’t know. You were not in my
plans, snarkypuss.
Let’s hit the kill switch on snarkypuss, please.
I do not consent to nicknames yet. And that one
will never happen.
Yeah, he really did like her. Each interaction with her charged the spark he felt—even texting with hundreds of miles between them as well as some tension.
Noted
Thank you. As for my question?
What does this convo mean?
What did it mean? Why had he reached out again? Why did it flood him with serotonin that she’d responded? Was he ready to try settling down? Was that what was going on here?
He still did not fucking know. The thought of being with Phoebe more—a lot more—excited him, but the thought of being settled, of being limited, soured his stomach. He liked her, and he liked his life. Couldn’t he have both?
Even as the question occurred to him, he knew that was the road to Asshole Central. Unless she’d be interested in something open.
Okay, but he didn’t like the thought of sharing her, either.
Yep. Asshole.
Because he’d left her on read for a few minutes, he typed the only thing he could think to say.
Does it have to mean something?
Hey, you’re the one who choked this
morning because texting me might
mean something you don’t want.
Okay, fair. But I still don’t know.
