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Fuck.

I shake my head, then fold that note too. I put it in my pocket with the other one.

Then I start the truck, trying not to think about Callie Quinn.

Which is damn near impossible.

My rental is quiet when I pull up in front of it. That's the point. It’s everything I need.

I toss my keys onto the counter. My phone follows.

I shower. Eat. Check a message from Bishop. Nothing urgent.

I set my phone down and ignore it.

I last all of eleven minutes before picking it up again. My phone beeps, and my heart gives one hard thump. It slows when I see Beck’s name, not hers.

Beck: Hot Lips + Chaos 4ever

I delete it.

Another comes through.

Beck: Did you put the sticky note under your pillow yet?

I type back.

Me: Die.

Three dots immediately appear.

Beck: Is that a yes?

I lock the phone.

Asshole.

I set it down again.

Thirty seconds later, I pick it back up and open Instagram.

I shouldn't. She knows I watch. But I open it anyway.

A new ring surrounds Callie's profile picture. A new Story.

I hate myself for the thought.

I tap it. Alibi is stretched across her couch on his back, bandaged paw in the air, one ear flopped sideways. The text across the screen reads: My new roommate has contributed nothing financially and already taken over the couch.

My mouth twitches.

The next Story.

Alibi is staring at what looks like a piece of chicken in Callie's hand. Apparently I'm easily manipulated by brown eyes.

I stare at that one longer than necessary.

I tap again. Callie's voice fills the quiet kitchen. “Tomorrow we're starting your training.”