My phone buzzed halfway through my cooldown.
Unknown Number:It’s Ellis Ashford. From the gym. Just so you have my number, too.
I saved his contact. Ellis Ashford. Someone I’d been thinking about for two weeks finally attached to a real surname. I stared at the screen for way too long and typed back:
Jett:That’s gotta be a record. I'm Jett Reyes-Villanueva by the way. Glad you didn’t ghost me already.
Ellis:The day’s not over yet.
I laughed out loud, earning a weird look from the guy on the treadmill next to me.
Jett:Fair. So when’s this mysterious “thing” you have to do?
Ellis:Family dinner on Long Island. Can’t escape.
Jett:Brutal. They had better at least feed you well.
Ellis:My mom’s making pot roast, so yes. Definitely.
Jett:Okay, you’re forgiven then. Pot roast is sacred.
Ellis:I’ll let her know you approve.
I bit my lip, trying to decide if I was pushing too hard, going too fast. But something about this felt easy. Natural. Like we’d been texting for months instead of minutes.
I finished my workout in a weirdly good mood, the sort that usually only came from a successful event or a really great hookup. But this was different. Just talking to someone. Getting someone’s number. Making plans that might not even happen.
And I was smiling about it like an idiot.
Movie night at Sierra’s was a sacred tradition. We rotated who picked the movie, but attendance was mandatory unless you were literally dying.
This week, it was Raven’s turn, which meant horror. Always horror with her.
I showed up at seven-thirty with a bag of gourmet popcorn I’d grabbed from the fancy market in Park Slope, truffle Parmesan, because we had standards, and let myself in with the key Sierra had given me years ago.
“I’m here, and I brought carbs!” I announced, walking into her living room where everyone was already sprawled across her furniture.
Salem, Sierra’s cat, gave me a slow blink from his throne on the windowsill. I saluted him.
“Truffle popcorn?” Calliope grabbed the bag from me. “Jett, you spoil us.”
“Someone has to maintain our cultural sophistication.” I flopped onto the couch next to Raven, who was already queuing up the movie. “What fresh hell are we watching tonight?”
“The Descent.” Raven pulled it up before anyone could object. “Cave diving, claustrophobia, and creatures that eat people. It’s perfect.”
“You have problems.” Sierra’s voice floated from the kitchen with a smile baked in.
Calliope had brought skull-shaped sugar cookies arranged on Sierra’s coffee table like tombstones. “For the vibe”, she’d said.
The opening credits started, and we settled in. Calliope claiming the armchair, Sierra curled up on the loveseat, me and Raven sharing the couch with Salem eventually migrating to Raven’s lap because he was a traitor.
Halfway through the movie, during a particularly tense scene where the women were crawling through an impossibly tight cave passage, Calliope paused it.
“Okay, no, I have to ask. Jett, what’s with you?”
I looked up from my phone, where I’d been definitely not checking to see if Ellis had texted again. “What do you mean?”
“You’re smiling at your phone. You’ve checked it like six times. This is deeply suspicious behavior.” She narrowed her eyes. “Who is he?”
