Page 54 of The Accidental Text

“Yikes.” Chase’s eyes go wide. “Better get a second job.”

I snort laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t want Devon asking questions. He would have. Protective brother and all that.”

“I guess I didn’t realize that you didn’t tell your family about me having your mom’s number.”

My eyes go wide. “I haven’t told anyone. No one even knows about all the texting I did to my mom. They would probably think I need to be put away.”

“Really?”

“I honestly don’t know what they’d do, but I don’t want to find out.”

“Got it,” Chase says. “So that’s my cover story tonight?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I probably need to google the car, then,” he says. “So I don’t sound like an idiot.”

I laugh again. “Don’t worry about it—I’ve got you covered.”

“I believe you,” he says. “I bet all the guys like your car knowledge.”

I think about that for a second. It hasn’t really helped me all that much. “I don’t know about that.”

“Well, I’m impressed.”

I smile at him and he gives me that same side smile again. I know I just met him in person, but so far, it’s my favorite thing about him. There’s something so warm and accepting wrapped up in that half-grin.

I look around the room and spot Dawson standing by the dance floor. I clear my throat. “So how does this work?” I ask.

“How does what work?”

“The wingman thing,” I say.

“Right,” Chase says, and then takes a quick pull from his beer. “Let’s go find Dawson.”

I pull my head back, my lips pulling into a frown. “And then what?”

“You talk to him,” he says.

“Um … that’s not what I thought a wingman did.”

“Well, I mean, normally I’d introduce you to him: ‘Have you met my girl, Maggie?’” he says, holding his hand out toward me, pretending to introduce me to a fake Dawson. “But since Dawson already knows you and has no idea who I am, that won’t go so well.”

“Right,” I say, and then nibble on my bottom lip.

“How about you bring me over and introduce me as a client? Then we’ll go from there.”

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go find him.”

Chase holds out a finger. “Hold up. Let me try to find him by your description.” He starts looking around the room, and I crinkle my nose trying to remember how I described Dawson to my mom. I spy Dawson still standing off to the side of the dance floor, now talking to Chad, his hand on Chad’s shoulder.

“Hmm,” Chase says, resting his chin in his hand. He takes a breath through his teeth. “I don’t know; there are a lot of great butts out there tonight.”

“Shut up,” I say, through a laugh. “He’s standing by the dance floor, near the DJ table.”

“The guy in the gray suit?”

“Yes.”

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