Page 26 of Muddy Messy Love

Beth and I frown at each other, and she nudges her chin. “Turn it on.”

An Android logo lights up the glass, and Beth and I watch, waiting while it loads. “So pretty,” she says when the vivid home screen appears, nudging me with her elbow. “But who would—” The phone chimes, severing Beth’s question as a text alert flashes, donning a strikingly familiar name. My heart does a Riverdance, and I immediately turn away to hide and process, but Beth climbs to her tippy-toes and peers over my shoulder. “Spill, sissy. Who is it?” Beth never calls me sissy except for the rare occasion she’s the one who wants something. She grips my shoulders and manually spins me to face her, raising her brows all stern and matron-like. “Well?”

I gulp, certain the name I saw was a product of my crazy imagination. “Um, it appears to be from…Cole.” Beth stares at me blankly as if we weren’t just talking about him. “Benedict,” I clarify, and her pale eyes saucer. She snatches the phone from my grip. “Hey!” I squeal, lunging for it, but I’m too slow, and Beth opens the message, then gives me her back. This time, I peer overhershoulder, panting tiny, panicked breaths.

Cole Benedict:

Compensation for yesterday.

Temporary SIM installed.

Enjoy.

—C

Frozen, we stare in silence, my head scrambling thoughts like eggs, until Beth speaks. “Avery Masters, why did Cole Benedict send you a flashy new phone?” She turns to face me, and the cat-got-the-cream smile on her face incinerates my own.

I snatch my phone back and shrug, feigning indifference terribly. “My screen broke yesterday. He was there. That’s all.” I won’t tell her how it happened or why. That humiliation I’ll take to my grave.

Seemingly unsatisfied, Beth considers me through narrowed eyes, and to be honest, I don’t blame her. Why did Cole Benedict send me a flashy new phone?

My brain screams out answers like overzealous high school nerds.

He’s being nice! Welcoming you to the team.

Nah, he pities your sorry arse, loser.

That man is flirting. Look at that presentation. And why not wait until Monday? Helikesyou.

At that, I scoff. Why the hell would he? Unless, of course, he has a fetish for criminals.

With pursed lips, Beth perfectly arches one brow. “That explains nothing, dear sister.” Then she shakes her head with a smirk and turns for the stairs with a twirl of her hand. “But have fun with that.”

Her footsteps fade as she descends, and I stare back at the phone, perplexed. Nibbling my bottom lip, I read his message a dozen times and stare at the keyboard, typing and deleting strings of words in reply as I pace.

Me:

Thanks!

Nope. Not grateful enough. Delete.

Me:

Thank you so much! I love it.

Gah. Delete. Too peppy, hollow, and familiar.

Me:

Mr. Benedict, ordinary words cannot express my gratitude for the awesome phone, but the following Haiku poem might:

What the fuck are you doing, Avery?

On and on this goes for thirty solid minutes until I’m delirious and writing the most ridiculous replies while giggling like an idiot. A still slightly drunk idiot who decides to try on bravery like a pair of bejewelled Louboutin sneakers. Ones I have no intention of buying but want to revel in the fantasy of owning for one glorious minute. I type the response I’d send if I was everything I’m not—bold, brave, and worthy.

Like him.

Me:

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