Page 57 of The Bluffing Game

I grab a fry, open the Notes app on my phone, and try to create a new profile. It’s at that moment that my phone beeps, and I see I’ve got a message from Dalton. I debate whether or not to read it, but I can’t help myself.

So, I click the screen to see what he said.

What are you up to, SassyAndSingle? Or is it NewAndPretty?

I stare at the message for a few seconds and then start typing back.

Chapter 16

DALTON

Sage texts me back immediately.

Being too cool for school, GrumpyAndAnnoying. Ha-ha.

I can’t stop myself from smiling. I’m immediately wondering if I’m making two huge mistakes tonight. But I don’t just want to text with her. I want to hear her voice. I want to hear her laugh. Before I think about it for too long, I dial her number. It rings a couple of times, and she answers breathlessly.

“Hello?”

“Hi. What are you doing?” Lounging on my bed, I push my pillow behind my back and lean against my headboard.

I wonder if she’s in bed as well. That would make this call romantic. Not that I want it to be.

“I’m speaking to you on the phone. What do you think?”

“What were you doing before I called you?”

“Why do you want to know? Is this twenty questions?”

I hear the sounds of traffic on her end, and I wonder if she’s walking. Hopefully not back home from a date.

“Have you set up your profile already?” I ask before I can stop myself, grabbing the remote control to turn on the TV so she can hear something in my background as well.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I was about to, but then you called me.”

“I see.” Relief floods through me as I realize there’s no possible way she can be on a date. “So, what are you up to then?” I ask casually, flicking channels like I’m not invested in the conversation.

“Walking on the moon with Mickey Mouse,” she says sarcastically.

I can’t help but smile. I stop on a channel showing a rerun of The King of Queens and turn the volume up a bit.

“Why? Where are you? It just got loud.”

“I’m somewhere cool,” I say, deliberately being vague.

If she’s not going to tell me, I’m not going to tell her.

“Okay, Pinocchio. You don’t know the meaning of cool.” She giggles, and I wonder if she’s drunk.

“I’ll have you know, I am the very definition of it.”

“Sure you are. Maybe cool as in cold to the touch.”

“Is that your way of saying you want to touch me?”

“Hell to the no.”

“Sad. My heart might never heal from that slight.”