Page 27 of Fragile Hearts

“Holy shit, this was before you guys were like...public or whatever, wasn’t it?” Sage now asks, practically giddy with excitement. “I knew something was going on!”

Alana laughs, rolling her eyes as she says, “No, you didn’t. No one did.”

“Jesus, I am so telling Dad,” Miles mumbles. “Do you know how much shit I got for that?”

I don’t miss the sharp look Daisy gives him, which Miles studiously ignores. Laughing, I tip my beer toward Nate and say, “Your turn.”

We continue around the circle, calling out increasingly stupid or outlandish things, mainly thanks to the increasing number of beers we are all drinking. Finally, the turns get to Sloane, who’s sitting on the other side of me, and I turn and face her, a huge grin on my face as we all wait for her to speak.

She clears her throat, a tiny blush on her face as she looks first at Daisy and then down at her beer. “Never have I ever...had a dirty dream about someone at this table.”

“WHOA!” comes the cry as Sloane lifts her beer and takes a long sip, Daisy almost falling off her chair she is laughing so hard. Flynn and Alana also drink, as does Miles, and then Daisy.

Eventually, Sloane lifts her gaze, a half-smile tugging at her lips as her eyes move around the circle before finally meeting mine. When they do, I don’t break our gaze as I slowly lift my beer bottle and take a long sip, knowing I’ve had countless dirty dreams about this girl.

It’s late by the time everyone heads home, leaving Sloane, Mochi and me.

“We should clean this up,” Sloane says, surveying the kitchen as she lets out a hiccup.

Chuckling, I grab a glass, filling it with water and handing it to her. “Drink this,” I tell her, before grabbing another and filling one for me.

We stand at the sink, both of us chugging several glasses of water each, before Sloane turns and leans against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest as she surveys the mess. “You wanna grab everything from outside?”

“Nope,” I say, grabbing her hand as I tug her toward the living room.

“Owen, wait, what are you doing?” she says, laughing as she stumbles after me, both of us falling onto the couch in a twisted mess of limbs.

“We are resting first,” I say, stretching my legs out as I lean back, pulling Sloane into my side.

“If we rest, we’ll never get this done,” she says, flinging an arm in the direction of the kitchen.

“Fuck it, it’ll still be there in the morning,” I say as Mochi trots over.

We both watch as he attempts to jump up on the couch, not quite making it because his legs are too little. “I know I shouldn’t laugh, but fuck, he looks funny trying to get up,” Sloane says, letting out an adorable giggle.

“I know, right? You should see him try to get up on my bed. It’s like those hilarious reels you see on Insta or whatever.”

Sloane lifts her head from my shoulder, her eyes wide and her hand resting on my chest. “Oh my god, we should create an Instagram page for him!” she says, excitement in her voice. “He could like go viral and make us a shitload of money.”

I laugh, pulling my phone from my pocket as I turn on the camera and capture a video of him trying and failing to get on the couch. “Okay, let’s do it,” I tell her, not giving a shit about money or fame or anything other than doing something with Sloane. “What are we calling it?”

“Um, Mochi?” she says, reaching down to grab him.

Mochi lets out an excited yelp as she puts him on the couch. He jumps all over both of us, doing a bunch of circles before he eventually finds a place between me and the side of the couch and curls up into a fluffy ball.

“I think we can do better than Mochi,” I tell her, navigating to Instagram, where I have an account I barely use. I add a profile for Mochi, snapping a quick picture of the sleeping dog to use as a profile picture before I turn to Sloane and say, “It’s gotta be like, catchy and gangsta. Something that grabs people’s attention.”

“Gangsta?” she repeats, her brow narrowed in confusion.

Laughing, I reach over and smooth out the crease between her brows as I say, “Yeah, like, Little Mo or Sir Mochi or Mad Dog Mochi.”

“But Mochi is always happy,” Sloane now says, and I can’t help but laugh again.

“He is, yeah, but we gotta make him cool, Sloane.”

“He’s already cool,” she protests, and I can’t resist leaning in and dropping a kiss on the top of her head. Sloane doesn’t pull away. If anything, she seems to move a little closer, her body now pressed against mine as she lies her head back on my shoulder.

“He is cool,” I confirm with a nod as I get an idea and start typing. “Okay, what about this?” I ask, turning the phone to Sloane.

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