It’s not?—
It can’t be?—
But it is.
Cherry.
Right there. Clear as day.
There’s no mistake.
The contact name. My words. The timestamp.
And just like that, everything tilts sideways.
The world. My stomach. My brain.
Because this entire time—every message, every night, every stupid inside joke—I thought it was someone else. Some faceless stranger who somehow got me when no one else did.
But it wasn’t a stranger.
It wasAustin.
Austin is Six.
And he knew.
He knewexactlywho I was the whole time.
36
AUSTIN
I’m whistling.
Like actually whistling.
In the shower. With shampoo in my hair and soap in my eyes and not a single goddamn care in the world.
It’s embarrassing, honestly. But I don’t even care. I’m so happy. Never been happier in my life.
I rinse the shampoo out of my hair, letting the water fall down on my shoulders. Everything aches in the best possible way. My back, my legs, my fucking jaw. I smile into the spray, trying not to think about how she sounded when she whispered my name. Or how she looked naked in my bed. Or the way she touched me like she was learning me from scratch, and liking every part she discovered.
My brain’s a highlight reel and every second of it is her.
Her thighs tightening around my hips. Her lips parting when I kissed the inside of her knee. The quiet littlepleasethat slipped out of her mouth.
I lean forward, pressing my forehead against the shower wall, grinning.
For a guy who’s fucked up a lot of things, I want this to be the one thing I do right.
I turn off the water, towel off, and run my fingers through my hair. All I can think about is crawling back into bed, curling my arms around her, and kissing every inch of her.
I wrap the towel around my waist and step into my room with a grin.
Except she’s not there.
The bed’s still messy, my sheets rumpled, her shape pressed into the pillow, but she’s gone.
