Page 25 of Some Like It Hot

“No. Blake.”

I groan. Of course it’s Blake. He’s not a man you get rid of by ignoring.

She swipes the text away.

“What did it say?” I ask, in spite of myself.

“I didn’t read it. That would be rude.”

“But you saw his name. You must have seen the message, too.”

“Partially.” Lydia blinks at me. “Are you ready?”

She’s going to fucking make me ask outright or grab the phone from her. “What did it partially say?” I ask, striving for nonchalance.

I don’t even know why I care. He clearly only kissed me—among other things—in some effort to prove he was better than Justin Travers. He just wanted to win, because competitiveness is in his blood. Hell, it was probably some sort of weird superstition. Part of a new year ritual. He certainly seems to have all kinds of quirks on the ice from tapping his stick three times before the puck drops to lifting up his shirt and adjusting his pads every time a puck gets past him. Not that I’ve studied him or anything. He’s just obviously very set in his ways.

“It said, “Just talk. I won’t touch you,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“Oh goodie, that sounds so enticing. Just text him back and tell him to come to the bakery tomorrow morning. I’m not doing this stupid texting back and forth thing.”

“You want me to text him back for you?” Lydia looks horrified.

“Yes, as me. Just what I said. Come to the bakery tomorrow morning. Nothing else.”

“Okay.” Her fingers fly over my phone. “Do I say you’re not doing the stupid texting thing?”

“No, just to come to the bakery.”

“I feel like I’m cheating on Brady,” she grumbles. “This is weird.”

Luna, who was removing pastries from the case for the night since it’s closing, instantly yells out, “You’re cheating on Brady?”

Lydia’s face goes pale. “No! Of course not!”

As much as Luna likes Lydia, Brady is her boyfriend’s kid. Fortunately, I can stop her head from exploding. “I told her to text Blake back as me and she’s feeling weird about it. No one is cheating, no one wants to cheat. Calm down.”

“Oh.” Luna winces. “Sorry, Lydia.” Then she seems to register what I said. “Wait, Blake Wilder is texting you? That’s exciting.”

“Is it?”

I told Luna about our great elevator escape and what happened in the dark prior to the fire department’s arrival, and she was almost as disappointed as I was that he didn’t go back up to the party with me.

“Isn’t it?” she asks, eyebrows raising.

I give a noncommittal shrug and direct Lydia to start taking pictures. I run through a series of poses while she grabs the shots.

“How do those look?”

Lydia shows me my phone. As I’m swiping through the images, Luna appears behind us and checks them out.

“Elise, you are seriously so photogenic, oh my God. You look amazing.”

“Thank you.” They’re not bad. I’m actually pretty pleased with the way the skirt is falling and the lighting.

A text pops up from Blake.

I’ll be there at 7.

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