Page 102 of Caught Stealing

But even as the words form on my tongue, I’m helpless to let them slip free. Powerless to the fear of what will happen if they do, because the mere idea of losing either of them feels unbearable at this point.

“It wasn’t him,” I say quickly. “And as for us speaking…I guess ten days in the same house kind of makes you get over your differences.”

Lie, lie, lie…like a fucking rug.

He must believe it, in any case, since he simply nods and accepts my words as the truth. However, it’s the relief in his eyes that only makes the guilt churning in my gut grow to vomit-inducing, and it’s then I realize two very crucial things.

Theo was right.

And I have not a damn clue of what I’m doing.

Twenty-Eight

Phoenix

My mood has been shit since last week’s Super Bowl party—all thanks to my inability to fess up to Kason about things with Holden—and the clouds of toxic doom around me have made no signs of lifting anytime soon. Though, there are moments when they break apart, and the sun shines through. Usually, in class, when Holden sends me a text message about something stupid that inevitably makes me smile while I’m sitting beside him.

I think my mood has even started infecting him, though. Which is exactly why I’ve decided to hole up in my room with my favorite episodes ofFriends,hoping it might help a bit. And if “pivot” doesn’t do the trick, I’m not really sure what will.

Or at least, that’s the thought when my phone buzzes on my chest, pulling my attention away from my laptop screen.

H: Wydrn?

A little grin lifts my lips, having no idea what the acronym stands for.

P: In English?

H: Are you eighty? I asked what you’re doing right now.

I must be ancient, because I probably never would’ve pieced that one together.

P: Nothing, why?

H: Really? You’re doing absolutely nothing at all? Just staring at a blank wall?

P: Ceiling, actually.

H: Pics or it didn’t happen.

My smirk shifts into a full-blown grin, and I let out a little laugh. Never in my life did I think tossing banter and jabs back and forth with Holden would lift my spirits, yet here we are. The world works in funny ways sometimes.

P: You’re the definition of a man-child.

I find myself waiting and watching as the little bubble in the corner of the screen moves, indicating he’s typing out his response, only to realize just how addicted I’ve become to talking to him. A fact that becomes all the more obvious when my stomach does a little flip after his message finally pops through, followed by a second.

H: So you’ve said before. But you can either send a photo of you clearly watching Friends on your laptop (not nothing, by the way) or come open your window and let me in.

H: Unless it’s porn. Hard to tell from here. But if that’s the case, then you do your thing, and I’ll stay out here and watch.

My brows furrow as I reread the texts several times, still not entirely understanding what he’s saying.

Open my—

A gentle tap at my window scares me shitless, causing me to drop my phone to the floor and jump clear off my bed. My eyes flash to the window, and sure as shit, there’s Holden fucking Sykes standing on the fire escape.

Rushing over, I quickly unlock it and slide the pane of glass up and out of the way.

“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper-shout at him, a mixture of fear and adrenaline rushing through my veins like a rip current. “Are you trying to get caught?”

---