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Bueller . . . Bueller . . . Bueller.
He’d never responded.
He should have just deleted it, but his message from this morning, the one about his grandfather, sat there right above it.
He’d been such an idiot. Why had he told her about it? God, he’d been ready to completely unravel in front of her, and then she’d started texting some other guy.
The phone suddenly vibrated in his hand, and he almost dropped it.
I am going to stare at you until you respond. O_O
It made him smile.
He told himself to knock it off.
His phone vibrated again.
O_O
And again.
O_O
Hunter slid his thumb across the keys.
Careful. Your eyes will dry out.
As always, her response appeared almost instantly.
I knew the staring would get you.
He didn’t know what to say to that. A pause, and then another message appeared.
What are you still doing up?
I couldn’t sleep while someone was staring at me.
Why did you throw me out of your car this morning?
Hunter had no idea how to respond. I didn’t want to get played seemed like the wrong thing to say.
He already felt like a loser for almost breaking down in front of her. No sense adding more weight to that.
Then again, she’d lost her mother. Maybe he’d misread this morning entirely.
Nick’s breathing changed, and he shifted on the bed, running a hand across his face before looking down at Hunter. “What are you doing?” He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. “It’s two a.m.”
“Sorry. Can’t sleep.” Hunter clicked the phone off and shoved it under the blanket.
“Who are you texting?”
“Nobody.”
A pause. A long one.
A weighted one.
Then Nick’s voice gained an edge as he said, “Is this some elaborate trick to get in our house? Are you reporting back to Bill about us—”
