Chewing on my lip hard enough to draw blood, I lock the door, sprawl on my bed, my body still humming from Zach’s touches, and pull up my messages.
I have Atticus’ phone number because I worked for him, but not Ryder’s. I should?—
Wait. There’s a new message from Atticus. It’s from this morning. How did I miss it? In it are two phone numbers: Zach’s and Ryder’s.
‘Figured you might need these,’ it says.
I frown. Why? Why would Atticus give me their numbers? Why would he help their case? Does he want me for himself or not?
Some things don’t add up. The fact that the three of them were here that night, with a banner for Zach? That tonight Zach said that the others would be so jealous, as if he planned on telling them what we did?
And now this.
My suspicion returns. If this is a joke, it’s the most elaborate one ever played at my expense.
What else could it be?
You’re reading too much into this, I tell myself. You’re full of doubt because you have an issue with yourself. All this can be easily explained. Atticus and Ryder helping Zach that night is probably only because they’re becoming friends. And Zach saying the others will be jealous is just his male ego speaking, imagining bragging to the other two.
Nothing weird is going on.
Stick to the plan.
So I send a message to Atticus. ‘My place tomorrow, dinner?’
Might as well keep the experiment parameters constant, so the results are measurable and comparable. Look at my science classes from school becoming relevant in real life!
Finally, suffering through education has paid off.
I wait for a reply, but don’t get one for a while. Here we go again, I think. He decided I’m not worth his time once again, or decided he’s not worth mine. The end result is the same. I refuse to acknowledge the way my heart twists.
I can’t have all three of them, I remind myself. Much better if I eliminate one of them right off the bat. It means less heartache down the line.
Falling asleep on the sofa is becoming a habit, my cheek mashed to a cushion, getting a lovely pattern of daisies embedded in my skin. At some point, I become aware of a buzzing, but I smack my lips and go on sleeping.
I find his text in the morning when I roll off the sofa, rubbing my crusty eyes:
‘Yes, a thousand times yes! Sorry, my phone fell and died. Just saw your message.’
I smile. And then continue smiling as I trudge to the bathroom to brush my teeth and tame my hair, as I ponder breakfast.
He didn’t blow me off.
He’s coming tonight.
How is my heart tangled up with three guys? Why can’t I be the beta my ID says I am and choose just one?
Walking home from the grocery store, I think I spot Zach across the street, but when I look again, he’s gone.
Are they really watching over me? If true, I… I like it. I like that they’re looking over me like guardian angels. I would only like confirmation it’s them, maybe a wave or a schedule with their bodyguarding hours, so I don’t have to worry that I’m hallucinating or that it’s another stalker.
For tonight, I’m making a sexy seafood pasta with cream. It’s easy and delicious, and it means I’ll have plenty of free time before dinner to stress out.
Excellent thinking, Coco. You should have prepared something complicated to keep your mind busy. Didn’t consider that, did you?
That I’d be biting my cuticles, staring out the window an hour before our rendezvous? No. Pacing my living room? Never. Dancing wildly in the kitchen to a tune I’m humming? Well… That has been known to happen on occasion.
What am I doing? What am I doing?
