Page 18 of Texting My Valentine

Damn Julian and his perceptiveness.

I watch Tori across the busy bar. She furrows her eyebrows as she types, cute, interested. Who’s her Valentine? I want to find the jerk and tell him to back off even though I just said I’m not interested because clearly, that’s a lie when it comes to Tori.

She puts her phone down… and mine vibrates.

My heart pounds like it does when I put on the gloves and pick up the scalpel. It’s the same mixture of fear and adrenaline. Only then do I have to become cold.

If my hunch is correct, I won’t be able to remain cold. But I can’t tell Julian. He’ll lose it.

Valentine Stranger:It takes a special kind of man to come to a bar for a Valentine’s event and be this stubbornly miserable.

She glances up at me and then looks back down at the table. Are her cheeks burning?

I should remember Robin and Lena, the betrayal, the heartache, the responsibility.

A memory of my little brother when he was a kid comes to me, a smile on his face.“I’m a robin, a bird, and I’m going to fly away…”

Poor kid didn’t know how right he was.

She picks up her phone, types quickly, and sends a text. My phone vibrates again. There’s no way this can be a coincidence. Luckily, Julian is absorbed in his phone, seemingly forgetting he was giving me a speech about seizing the moment and following my heart.

Valentine Stranger:Or maybe you just want to make sure I’m hot enough to deserve your attention.

My dick throbs. I try not to stare, but it isn’t easy. What if it isn’t her? I’ll be a man twice her age, ogling her, imagining the sound of her moaning.

Alex:You don’t know what my type is.

She types on her phone—I get a text.

Valentine Stranger:Why don’t you tell me?

Julian looks up from his phone. “What the hell?”

“Huh?”

“What’s happened between me sending a few messages and rejoining the physical world?”

I laugh. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t look so miserable anymore. Have you finally realized I’m speaking the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but?” he says enthusiastically.

“I may have said a few times,” I admit, “that I want to find the real deal. But you’re forgetting the second part, where I come to my senses and realize it’s for the best if I keep my world simple. Surely you’d prefer if I stayed single so you’d have a wingman.”

“Bro, no offense," he says, giving me a droll look, “but you’re the worst wingman. I’d rather see you happy.”

“Wow, Julian, that was actually quite moving.”

“I’m not always a jerk. Duty calls…” He picks up his phone.

I do the same. She wants to know my type. I haven’t really got one. Lena looked nothing like Tori. I don’t even want to compare them.

Alex:I like brunettes with wavy, somewhat wild hair. And I like it when I can tell they’ve made an effort but still want to let some of their natural wildness show. I like women with full figures, curves in all the right places, and jeans that show off just how voluptuousthey are. I like women who need saving but pretend they don’t.

I hesitate before clicking send. If I’ve got this wrong and my texter isn’t Tori, I’m going to look insane.

If it is her, though, maybe this could be it.

I don’t want to get my hopes up. I’ve had my heart shattered before, a betrayal that still gives me twisted nightmares sometimes, dreams in which I scream to stop, but I can’t make any noise. I can’t change the past.

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