Page 28 of Twisted Little Thing

"I think it did," Yuka adds, still smiling from ear to ear. "You have to properly talk to him now. Obviously."

I look at her, raising my eyebrows in doubt. "I guess so..."

We both flinch when my phone lets out an unexpected beep informing me of an incoming text message.

Yuka looks at me, alarmed.

"Nah, can't be him," I assure her. "I hid my number."

"You sure?" she asks.

I nod as I casually look down at my screen. It is a short message: "Smooth, cool girl."

My eyes widen. I recognize the number – because I just dialed it.

"Oh my God, is it him?" Yuka leans over to investigate as she notices the look on my face.

I nod in silence.

How is this possible? I made sure to hide my number, even checked it several times. Was I really that clumsy? Or does he have some kind of spy device that makes anonymous numbers obsolete?

"What does it say?" Yuka presses.

I glance at her. "He is making fun of me. Just like you."

She claps her hands and laughs. "Haha, with good reason!"

"Whatever..." I mumble.

Another message pops up.

"If you want to see me again, you just need to tell me."

I gulp. My heart is racing again.

"So?" Yuka is sitting at the edge of her chair, beaming over at me. "Will you be getting another billionaire treatment or what?"

"Oh, Yuka, please –"

"Hey!" she interrupts, raising her hands in defense. "Come on, there's nothing going on in my love life – let me at least get excited about yours! Especially when it's the elusive Evan Beckhart who is courting you."

"Love life? Courting? Don't call it that," I object. "It's not like we're dating or anything. I'm not even sure I would want that. I mean, this could get really complicated with who he is..."

"Yeah, yeah," Yuka says, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. "I like that you're being so cautious. It's probably for the best with that guy. But would you please meet him for coffee or something? And don't let him forbid you from asking questions again!"

***

The text I send to Evan is direct and to the point: "Need to talk."

I follow up with a picture of the magazine article.

I see that he reads my message within seconds of me sending it, but he does not answer right away. In fact, he takes his sweet time to reply.

I have little to distract me, so I find myself waiting for him to reply. How pathetic.

At least Yuka is busy. She never spends much time at home, and this weekend is no exception. With two jobs, a big circle of friends, her band, and her current attempts at making it as a freelance designer, her life is about ten times as busy as mine. It's no surprise that she hardly finds the time for men.

I feel boring and lazy compared to her. While she is bubbling over with ideas and passion for so many things, I am fully content wasting my free time plugging away in front of my computer, or napping, or grabbing a low-priced beer at a grungy club with loud – and good – music. As much as I like alternative music, I really don't have a sense of rhythm or any talent for playing an instrument, even though I truly wish I did.

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