SEAN
It’s definitely that you’re too good a kisser. I can’t focus. Griggs snuck one blocker-side today ‘cause I was too busy dreaming about your lips.
I take a selfie of the biggest duck lips I can make.
KAYLA
What, these lips?
SEAN
Those are the ones.
I pause.
KAYLA
You know, if it’s the other—you feeling discouraged or defeated—you can tell me, right?
SEAN
I know. Thanks, K.
KAYLA
SEAN
I gotta hit the hay. That 5:30 wakeup call waits for no man.
I miss you.
KAYLA
Okay. Good night. I love you.
I audibly gasp and stare at the screen.
Did I just text “I love you??”
My phone rings. With a FaceTime.
FROM SEAN.
I throw the phone like it’s on fire, but at the same time it’s soaring through the air onto the couch, I hear the distinct sound of the call being answered.
DID I JUST ANSWER THE CALL AND THROW THE PHONE AT THE SAME TIME OH MY GOSH I DID.
“Kayla?”
“No one’s home! Please leave a message!” I squeak, curling into the chair.
“Kayla Carville. Pick up the phone.”
It’s not a request.
It’s a command.
I tiptoe over, my face burning hotter than the phone—which was clearly on fire when I threw it. I peek at Sean’s gorgeous face on the screen like I’m a toddler who’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Except, the cookie I’ve stolen is a man who makes my soul feel both seen and stripped bare all at once.
