Page 34 of Text Appeal

“Maybe he blows my back out at his house.”

“Your car hasn’t been seen there either.”

I try to laugh it off, but the sound is hollow and wrong. “How many spies do you have in this town?”

“I’ve lived here my whole life. People care about me. They look out for me.”

“Be nice if they showed Connor the same consideration.”

She pauses. As if she might almost consider his feelings for a moment. But no—it’s just not happening. “As I was saying, I know what he’s like when he’s into someone. He’s insatiable.”

“Shut the door.” My eyes are wide as can be. “You two have done it? He never told me. I feel so betrayed.”

“Make all the jokes you want. But all signs point to your situationship, or whatever it is, not lasting much longer.”

“Okay.”

She looks down the length of her nose at me. “Have a nice night, Riley.”

“You too, Ava.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Fantastic.”

“Stop trying to get the last word,” she hisses. “You’re so immature.”

I wait until she’s taken a step away to say, “Sorry not sorry.”

The dirty look she shoots me. Oof.

A bottle of cider comes into view. The hand holding it, of course, belongs to Connor. “Do I want to know what that was?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Absolutely not.”

“Didn’t think so.”

“Though in my defense—she started it.”

His gaze is half amused and half concerned. Like he can’t quite pick an emotion to settle on.

“Thank you,” I say, taking my drink. “Finnriver is my new favorite. Speaking of thirsty, we have a problem.”

“Which is?” he asks, taking a step closer.

We’re still getting our fair share of attention. But at least now some people are smiling and talking and living their own lives. No small amount of scrutiny remains on the woman of the hour, however. They watch her like she’s a star on the red carpet. Beauty and talent tend to shine bright, but it must be a heck of a burden sometimes. She’s huddled on the other side of the room with a group of women, and their heads turn our way on the regular. We are so being discussed.

“Our sex life or lack thereof has been noted,” I say. “How do you feel about a sleepover?”

Before Connor can answer, his brother appears. “Hey,” says Stuart. “Hi, Riley.”

“Didn’t think you were coming,” says Connor.

“Nic got hired to play,” answers Stuart, doing his own version of stoic. It must run in the family. “She made me.”

---