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Marti: Are you going to text me all weekend?
Logan: Maybe. You do keep replying.
Marti: If I stop responding, will you go away?
Logan: Unlikely.
Logan: What are you wearing?
Marti: LOL
Logan: No. Seriously. I want to know.
Marti: I bet you do. If you must know . . .
Logan: ?
Marti: I’m taking a bath, so . . . nothing.
Logan dropped his phone. It fell to the floor with a thunk, and he scrambled to pick it up. He snatched it off the floor. Suddenly, he was back in middle school, his heart racing over the thought of a naked girl. An image of Marti covered in nothing but soap flickered through his head.
Logan: Sorry, dropped my phone. So, where were we? Something about a bath?
Marti: I was kidding. I’m sitting in my favorite chair, reading.
Logan: Dang. If only . . .
Marti: You’re such a man.
Logan: Would you rather me be a woman? Is that why you’re not into serious relationships with men? Makes total sense.
Marti: Oh, you’re witty, too.
Logan: Are you flirting with me McBride?
Marti: Not a chance.
Logan: I’m going to pretend you are, while doodling little hearts with my name in your diary.
Logan: Hello? Hey, you never answered me about the movies.
Marti: *Sigh* We’re watching one now. Why is it always the same theme? It’s either a heartbroken widow, a rekindled romance, a family secret, or the woman’s striving for some huge aspirational dream until a man gets in the way. And they’re always in small towns.
Logan: And don’t forget she likely has a deadbeat boyfriend or fiancé at home.
Marti: YES! And then there’re the royalty ones. Those are the worst.
Logan: So I guess now is a bad time to tell you I’m really the prince of some obscure British country?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MARTI
MARTI LAUGHED AND CURLED her legs up underneath her on the couch, unable to help her smile.
“What’s so funny?” Her mom glanced over at her from her recliner, eyes bright.
“Oh, nothing.” Marti waved her away and bit her lip, thinking of what to type back when he beat her to it.
