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What do you want?
Dude.
What
You’re seriously gonna
play that game?
Shit. Was he trying to do that dance? No. No. He just wanted to know where she was in this.
Not a game. Just asking.
Okay then.
What I want is not to get jerked
around by some game-playing asshole
who won’t say what he fucking
means. Bye, Duncan.
Fuck! He’d fucked it up, and he was going to lose something—someone—he might actually want. Adrenaline shot through his body as he hurried to catch her if he could.
Phoebe, wait.
She read that right away, so at least she hadn’t dropped the phone like dropping a mic. And it didn’t take more than a minute for her to start writing. If he were playing games, he’d read something encouraging in that.
Her actual text wasn’t encouraging, but it wasn’t an ice bath, either.
It’s late. I’m over this talk.
So say something real or don’t.
Afraid if he took the time to think and compose, she’d bail and then block him or something, Duncan jumped in and wrote out his thoughts.
I really like you. A lot. I texted because
I’ve been thinking about you all day and
wishing I’d had an answer this morning.
He sent that, so she wouldn’t get impatient waiting for a text wall, and kept writing.
I wish I had one now.
But I had a plan for my life, and getting
serious with anyone now was not part of it.
I also like being single and doing what I want.
I like my life. Meeting you, it feels
like it could be a big deal. I don’t know if
I’m ready for my life to change like that.
