Page 107 of Can't Text This

“Iwillclose this door,” I threaten.

“You won’t. You’ve missed me too much.”

“False.”

His smirk grows. “You’re a terrible liar. Now, go get dressed. We’re going out.”

“We most certainly are not. I told you, I need to work on my lesson plans tonight.”

“What you need is a night out, to relax. You have all day tomorrow and all night because I’m certain you won’t be able to sleep with first day jitters.”

He’s right, and it annoys me that he’s right.

I’ve always been horrible when it comes to that.

The night before the first day of school? I can’t sleep. The night before a big trip? I’ll be lucky if I get an hour’s worth of sleep. Before a doctor’s appointment? Forget it.

I am way too much of a worrywart to relax.

Hence why I’ve been running around like an insane woman, barely squeezing in any time for myself this past week.

“Robbie, no. I need to get stuff done.”

“Please, Monty, just tonight. I’m doing this for you, not for me. Youneedthis.”

“I need this, oryoudo?”

“Fine, I admit I’m being a little selfish because I miss the shit outta you, but also because what I said is true—you have got to relax or you’re going to scare those kids on Monday with all your crazy.”

“I…”Crud. He’s right.“Just tonight, and you have to promise you will not bug me at all on Sunday.”

He holds his hand up. “Scout’s honor.”

I side-eye him, waiting for him to squirm under my scrutiny, but he never does.

He means it. He’ll leave me alone tomorrow.

“Fine,” I agree.

“Good!” He pushes off the doorframe and stalks my way, forcing me to back into the apartment. “Now go put your tits in a sling and let’s get outta here.”

“How do you know I’m not wearing a bra?”

He shrugs, closing the door behind him. “I’m just good like that.”

“You mean you were staring at my breasts?”

“Fine, you caught me.” He reaches out like he’s going to grab them but I slap his hand away. He laughs and begins wandering around the very tiny apartment. “I like looking at your boobs—sue me,” he says over his shoulder.

He inspects the place, which doesn’t take long because all we can afford is a very small two-bedroom apartment.

“This is cute.”

“It’s smaller than your place,” I comment. “I wish we had more room, but it’s all we can afford.”

“I’m not judging you on how big your apartment is or isn’t, Monty. If you think I’m rolling in dough, you’re wrong.”

“Good. Wait, no,” I backtrack. “Not about you not rolling in dough, about you not judging me. I mean, not that I thought you would or anything like that, I just mean I—”

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