Me:
Fuck, Cherry. You look incredible.
The silence stretches, but I’m not ready to put my phone down. I tap my fingers on my thigh, nerves fluttering like butterflies.
Cherry:
You can’t even see my face.
Me:
Don’t need to. I bet your eyes wreck people. And your smile is probably criminal, too.
Cherry:
You always say the exact thing I wish someone would.
My eyes close for a second, and I lean back, the headboard rough against my shoulder blades.
Why the hell does she do this to me?
I’ve had hookups. Casual flings. One night stands. And every single girl I could ever want. But somehow, one text from her feels better than all of it combined.
Me:
Fuck. I want to see that on you so bad.
Actually, I just want to see you.
Cherry:
If we met in real life, it wouldn’t be the same.
Me:
How do you know?
Cherry:
Because in real life, people get disappointed.
Me:
You think I’d be disappointed?
Cherry:
Wouldn’t you?
I stare at the screen, heart thudding.
No.
Not even a little.
I want to tell her she’s wrong.
That I wouldn’t hurt her. That I wouldn’t be disappointed, because I know her.
