Page 92 of Scattered Glitter

I scratch behind her ears, sighing. “Guess you’re the only one who still wants to hang out with me, huh?”

She blinks at me, unconcerned, as if my entire world could crumble, and she’d still demand her ear scratches. I oblige, my fingers moving gently, finding comfort in her small, steady presence. The lump in my throat rises again, but I swallow it down. The ache in my chest doesn’t go away, though, and I wonder if it ever will.

When my phone buzzes on the coffee table, it pulls me from the edge of my spiraling thoughts. I lean forward, displacing Good Lookin’ just enough that she lets out a disgruntled chirp.

My fingers close around the phone, and the screen lights up with a message from Captain Bossy.

You done sulking yet?

I huff out a laugh, sharp and bitter, my fingers trembling slightly as they hover over the keyboard. A million sarcastic replies spring to mind, but none of them feel right. My thumb hesitates, hovering, before finally typing.

Didn’t realize you cared.

I don’t. Just wondering if you’re gonna keep acting like a brat or actually be useful.

You already told me that I’m useless. Thank you very much.

Stop being dramatic. You know that’s not what I meant.

I roll my eyes, my thumbs tapping out a response before I can think better of it.

Could’ve fooled me. You’re not exactly Mr. Warm and Fuzzy, you know.

And you’re not exactly Miss Easygoing. What’s your point?

I laugh, shaking my head.

Who is this guy?

He’s probably the kind of guy who knows he’s attractive but doesn’t bother with charm because he’s too busy being an ass. I bet he doesn’t smile easily, but when he does, it’s devastating. The kind of guy who doesn’t take shit from anyone.

Or maybe I’m completely off. Maybe he’s some average dude behind a phone screen, giving me orders while he sits in his boxers eating takeout.

Whoever he is, he’s piqued my curiosity.

And that’s dangerous.

At least he’s talking to me.

My point is, you’re a jerk.

Takes one to know one.

I let out a frustrated groan, but I don’t have time to type a snarky response. Another message comes through.

Look… I’m sorry, okay?

I blink at the screen, my fingers freezing.Did he apologize?

Did someone steal your phone?

Don’t push it.

But yeah, I shouldn’t have been so hard on you.

I stare at the message, the unexpected softness in his words making something inside me loosen.

Maybe I haven’t completely fucked this up after all.

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