Page 21 of Where We Met

What the hell was I thinking? He's not some old, washed-up guy who spends his weekends alone. I bet he's out on a date with some beautiful, sophisticated woman that I would never measure up to. They're probably drinking some fancy bottle of wine in an expensive restaurant, and I just texted him a freakin' word search invite.

Before the embarrassment can completely take over, a beep from my phone pulls me out of my thoughts.

Luke: First of all, I can’t believe I never knew this existed. Second, I feel bad that I’m being forced to destroy you.

A smile takes over my face. I can’t believe he texted me back, and it wasn’t him telling me how inappropriate me reaching out is and how he only gave me the number for emergencies. If only I could tell him this is an emergency. I almost died tonight, and I need him to distract me from that reality. Instead, I opt to pretend like it never happened and be my cheery self.

Me: Sounds like you're living in a fantasy world. Game on.

I click on the link that brings me to our game. The countdown for him to join starts, and I actually squeal when he enters the game only seconds behind me. It looks like we each have our own screen of the same puzzle with individual timers, so whoever finishes first will be declared the winner.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, my heart racing for an entirely different reason from half an hour ago. The timer starts and I'm off. There are twenty words, and the theme is beach. The first word I find is lobster, then before I know it, I'm lost in the game. Only minutes have gone by, but I only have three words left.

It's so scary not knowing where he is on the puzzle. I get to the last word, and I'm about to highlight it when my phone dings.

Sorry, you're too slow!

Ugh, he beat me. I slide the app closed and move to our text strand with a smile on my face. I can just picture him gloating to himself.

Me: Dammit. I was on my last word. I want a rematch.

I refuse to let him show me up, knowing that was just luck for him. There's no way he’s faster than me. I've grown up on this shit, I've made word search my bitch.

Luke: Savannah: a sore loser. I expected better from you. Game on, princess.

I go back in the app to find him waiting for me to join. We take off on the next game, sports themed this time. I’m cruising through it, the pressure to win only fueling my competitiveness.

I’m on the final word again which ironically happens to be victory. I swear, if he wins again in the nick of time, I’m gonna chuck something.

Winner!appears on my screen.

Yes, take that, Luke. A text comes in seconds later.

Luke: Nice one, princess. We can't leave it as a tie. Best out of three, loser owes the winner.

Me: Loser owes the winner what exactly?

I really shouldn't care, I'm going to win. His win was clearly just a fluke, I hadn't hit my stride yet.

Luke: Anything. Winner gets to pick anything.

Anything? Okay, I need to think about this first. It's not that I don't have the confidence that I'm going to win, but anything can be…. well, anything. What if it's something humiliating, like standing up in front of the class and singing? Or like something more risqué like… No, don't go there, Savannah.

My stomach does a flutter at the mere thought of him implying something sexual or romantic, but there’s no way that’s his intention.

Minutes have gone by, and I still haven't answered his challenge. My phone rings and my jaw drops when I see that it's a facetime fromhim!

I sit up straight and look around my room then down at myself. Shit, I'm in an old gray sweater and black pajama pants. My makeup has long been removed, leaving my face bare and my hair up in a ponytail.

Okay, deep breath.You can do this, Savannah.

Crap, my nerves are back, but for an entirely different reason.

I answer the call, totally unprepared for the sight of this man. He appears on my screen, and when he sees me, the smile that takes over his face makes my insides turn to mush.

"Wow," he says through his grin. "Do you evernotlook breathtakingly beautiful?"

My face feels like it's on fire from the compliment. "Stop it, I know I look horrible."

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