Page 40 of Revved up & Ready

“You’re right,” Allie says, and for a brief moment, I think she’s being reasonable. But then she adds, “You deserve fresh dick pics. Special just for you.”

“You must be the only woman on the planet who thinks receiving a dick pic is a good thing,” I respond.

“Obviously, I’m not talking aboutunsoliciteddick pics,” Allie laughs.

“Wait a minute,” Devon joins in. “Are yousolicitingdick pics?”

“Yeah,” Allie says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Are younot?”

Devon blinks at her, before saying, “No.”

“You’re missing out.” Allie shrugs. “It’s like long-distance foreplay.”

“You two work on either side of a glass wall and live together,” Devon says. “You’re never more than fifteen feet apart. You don’t need long-distance foreplay.”

Allie smirks. “We find opportunities.”

Bea shrugs as her lips curl into an amused smirk.

“Oh, my word. We are not talking about this.” I bury my face in my hands.

“No, we are not. We’re watching a movie,” Devon says, pressing play again.

I try to focus on the opening scene, but all I can think about now is Cam’s dick.It’s a problem.A big problem. Well, maybe notthatbig. Probably. Whatever. My preoccupation is a big problem.He’s not really my boyfriend. He’s just my friend. I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this.

Once it seems like no one else is paying attention to me or my phone, I text him back.

Me: Thanks for sending those. Allie is the most embarrassing person I know.

He responds immediately.

Cam: Cute how you keep saying they’re for Allie.

Me: They are!

Cam: Uh huh.

Me: At least she’s finally shut up about dick pics.

Me: Which I am not asking for!

Cam: You sure?

Me: Cameron! I am not asking you to send me pictures of your junk!

Cam: Your loss.

Chapter 9

Cam

Training hard or hardly training? –caption from Cam’s social media post – a video of him and Luke messing around at the gym,March 6th

I try to be quiet as I shut the front door, not wanting to wake Sadie.But she screams.Calling out to her, I rush through the living room and down the short hallway to her bedroom.

When I throw open her door and flip on the light, she recoils from the brightness, then snorts a laugh.I did hear her scream, didn’t I?

“Did something happen?” I ask, scanning her room for anything that could have scared her. It’s just her usual setup—soft blankets, pastel paintings, a sunflower-printed rug. The most dangerous thing in here is the sharp corners on her dresser.

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