Page 60 of Set on You

“Hilarious. She had one of those infectious laughs. Like... even if you were having the worst day, she would just laugh and make everyone feel better. One time the whole family went to visit during the summer when I was eleven. She served the entire family yogurt and berries, but she replaced the yogurt with mayonnaise.” He begins to laugh and it’s pure nostalgic joy.

“That is so genius. What a power move.”

“Oh yeah. It was great. My oldest sister got sick all over their living room.”

I smile, reveling in the sound of his laughter. I could listen to it all day. And there’s no reason I shouldn’t.Just say it. Before you chicken out.“Hey, Scott?” My voice cracks.

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking, remember that rebound rule? What if we—” A strange break in the line cuts me off. “Hello? You there?”

“Shit, sorry, Crys. I’m getting a call. Gotta go.” His tone is rushed, almost frantic.

My face twists in a mixture of worry and confusion. “Uh, okay. ’Night.”

The line goes dead.

What just happened?

chapter twenty

I SHOULD NOT BEin public like this.

It looks like I’ve done years of hard time in solitary confinement. My eyes are bloodshot. My skin is pale, practically translucent. I’m dehydrated and my hair is so matted I’m surely going to require scissors to remedy the situation. All night, I tossed and turned, kicking my duvet on and off, unable to stop my mind from churning out scenarios, none of which boded well for me.

Did Scott actually receive a call? Or did he sense what I was about to say about forgoing the three-month rule, change his name, and defect to a remote desert island?

Maybe he was disappointed by our kiss in the fire truck yesterday, which has yet to be acknowledged by either of us. I’d assumed he’d make some sort of cocky remark about it last night on the phone. But he didn’t, which is off-brand for him.

And if there was a real call, who would be contacting him attwo in the morning? After my time on Tinder, I’ve learned any call or text after ten-thirty at night is to be considered a booty call, or an emergency. He’d just completed a twelve-hour shift, so I doubt he’d be getting called back in. Could it have been Diana? He’d literally brought her up in conversation minutes before.

Or could it have been another girl? He’d told me he would wait until the wedding, implying he wasn’t going to date anyone else. But maybe that long a dry spell is a tall order, especially for a guy who looks like an A-list action movie star masquerading as a normal dude to avoid the paparazzi. I’m reminded of this every time we’re in public. Women do quadruple-takes, either flirting or freezing upon sight of him, no in-between. One lady even slipped him her number in the line at the pharmacy while he was temporarily holding my purse. If he wanted to get laid, he’d hardly have to lift a finger.

It doesn’t help that he hasn’t texted me back all morning. My heart sinks as I re-analyze my ignored text from earlier to ensure it can’t be misinterpreted out of context. I’d teased him about the Blackhawks loss—our usual banter—nothing to be personally offended by. So why is he suddenly ignoring me?

Tara is quick to remind me of how Neil would ghost me for days, claiming he was “so busy” when realistically, he was an unemployed, struggling musician, getting high on his couch. In her humble opinion, I’m overreacting. “Scott’s probably just adulting,” she told me confidently before I left for the gym. But given he’s texted me nonstop for the past month, reporting the most mundane of things, like the fact that he’s pouring a glass of milk, it strikes me as uncharacteristic. Something feels wrong. I feel it in my gut.

Just as I finish my cooldown on the treadmill, Scott finally texts.

SCOTT:You’re coming over tonight.

He hasn’t fled the country after all. Maybe things are fine. Maybe he hasn’t been intentionally ignoring my very existence.

CRYSTAL:Um, I don’t remember you inviting me. Nor do I remember accepting an invitation.

SCOTT:I have snacks.

CRYSTAL:... Fine.

On the promise of snacks, I head to Scott’s after dinner after editing a new workout video tutorial. The entire way there, I find myself nervously picking my nails to stubs in anticipation of an explanation. I have no idea how to play this. Should I pretend to be chill about it? Or should I pounce and ask him about the call immediately?

By the time I arrive, I’m still undecided. When his door opens, a massive ball of beige, curly fluff bounds toward me, leaping at my face. After all of two seconds, Albus Doodledore has managed to coat my hands entirely with slobber. He flops his gangly body onto the floor, hyperventilating, tongue out, over the moon to see me.

“Hello, hello, nice to see you again.” I laugh, returning Albus’s nearly human smile. His bushy tail sways back and forth like windshield wipers at full speed. I kneel down to give him a generous belly rub, which he takes full advantage of, rolling onto his back. It’s become our ritual whenever I come over.

“Nice to see you, too, I suppose.” I pretend to regard Scott dismissively, trying to ignore the way he towers over me, and how his muscular chest strains under his fitted navy-blue Henley rolled at the elbows. The man can seriously wear the shit out of a Henley.

He closes the distance between us. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh? The dog consistently gets a better greeting than me.”

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