Page 66 of Only With You

Reid said that I need to be more patient. I’m not sure why he would suggest such a thing when I clearly stated how precious my time is to me. I’m not going to give it to anyone who doesn’t deserve it. He said he understands why I want to protect my peace, but in doing so, I’m pushing people away.

That’s the whole point. I figured someone with a Ph.D. would understand that, but like I’ve said before, a degree can’t give you common sense.

He left me a task and that’s to give someone a chance to speak, even if I don’t like it. I wasn’t going to, but he said he’d want to hear about it.

“What now? I thought you’d leave.”

“I need a favor.”

I breathe in deeply. “Oh fuck off.”

“But not now, though.” He gives me a cheeky grin like that’s supposed to make it better. “I figured you wouldn’t help me out unless I gave you something in return.” His gaze drops to the paper in my hand. “So, we’re even now.”

I attempt to give it back, but he takes a step backward like the childish fuck he is. “This isn’t even. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t?—”

“It’s Julianna’s private Instagram account. Goddamn it, Landon, you really just know how to kill the vibe. Why couldn’t you just go along with this?”

I’d reply that I don’t care for his games or the suspense, but I’m still stuck on what he first said.Julianna has a private account?

“Is something not clicking in that brain of yours? I said I don’t get on Instagram. I don’t even follow her. Why would I want her private account?”

“I may or may not have seen you checking her out when we saw her in the Student Union.” he gives me a look as if he were sayingdeny it.

So what if I was, sue me. “Okay, and?”

“Now, you can check her out in private…and I may have already sent her a follow request for you.”

Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him.

I slam the door in his face.

“Don’t forget you owe me! And you’re welcome!” he shouts from the other side of the door.

This is what I get for being patient. Never again.

As I take a seat on my chair, temptation whispers in my ear. I don’t know why I’m contemplating looking at the paper. I shouldn’t be curious, but…

I unfold the paper and my cheek twitches at her Instagram name:toasted.marshmallows.

Of course she’d pick that name. After being around her for almost three weeks, I’ve noticed she has an obsession for those miniature marshmallows. She’s always eating them.

I throw the piece of paper in the top drawer and stop my curiosity from running wild. I’m not going to redownload the app just to see her account. She’d have to follow me first and I’msure that’s not going to happen. Plus, I don’t care about her, so her having this means shit to me.

It’s what I keep telling myself, but it seems like my mind has gone against me, because I’m doing the one thing I said I’d never do.

I download the app, log in, and go to her account. Sure enough, it’s private and she’s not followed me back. Figures.

I go to delete the app, but my thumb suspends over the screen. Instead of doing what I know I should, I do the opposite and close out of it.

There’s no reason why I should keep it, but desire has roused a part of my brain that I can’t shut down. I shouldn’t, but I’m intrigued to see what she posts.

Am I fucking myself over? Yeah. But do I care? No.

Something is severely wrong with me because I’ve checked eight—not including when I checked in my room—times now to see if she followed me back and she hasn’t.

I don’t like this, because my mind likes to spiral and hyperfixate on things that mess with my head. Fuck helping Saint. I’m deleting the account when I get home.

I shove my phone in my pocket when the front door to her apartment opens.

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