Page 35 of Good Luck Charm for the Wolf

Doug

I am such a fucking jerk.

The thought hits me like a freight train as I stare down at my phone screen... again.

Yep. I did it.

Again.

I texted her.

A dumb dog meme.

A stupid, grinning mutt with its tongue hanging out and some ridiculous caption.

It’s not even that funny.

Not even that clever.

And yet, I sent it.

Because she’ll laugh.

Because I want her to laugh.

Hell, I want to know what her face looks like when she gets it.

I want to hear the soft little snort I know she makes when something catches her off guard.

I want to imagine her curled up on her bed, phone in hand, cheeks pink as she shakes her head at me like Doug, you’re such a dork.

What. The. Hell.

I sit there, phone still in hand, rubbing my face like I can physically scrub the pathetic out of myself.

What’s wrong with me?

I’m not this guy.

I’m not the text-happy, emoji-sending, can’t-stop-thinking-about-her asshole who looks for reasons to connect.

I’m supposed to be casual.

Cool.

Detached.

The bad boy she should stay away from.

Not whatever the fuck this is.

Not some lovesick teenager who wants to send every meme, every stupid observation, every this reminded me of you thing I see all damn day.

But here I am.

Again.

Every time I see something silly? I want to share it with her.

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