Page 145 of Can't Text This

“I didn’t either.”

“The photos must have printed out and that fucking douchenozzle grabbed them.” He lets out a string of curse words. “God, Monty, I want to rip his goddamn head off. Just knowing he’s seen you like that…it has my fucking blood boiling.”

“Trust me, it doesn’t make me happy either. I just…I can’t believe he’d do that. I can’t believe he’d be so…mean.”

“I think mean is going easy on him.”

“Probably.”

I hear him moving around and want to ask him what he’s doing, but I almost feel as if I don’t have that right anymore, not when I haven’t spoken to him in nearly a week.

Him ignoring me hurt. It hurtbad, especially since I practically confessed that I was in love with him on Sunday.

“I’m sorry this happened, Monty.”

“Me too. It stinks.”

“No,” he says, and I hear it in his voice before he even speaks the words.

This is it.

This is goodbye.

“I’m sorry we let this keep going on. We shouldn’t have. We should have kept it light and fluffy and parted ways when we found out you’re Xavie’s teacher. What we’re doing…it’s not right. You can’t put your career on the line for good sex, Monty. I won’t let you.”

I’ve been fighting back tears this entire phone call, and I’m not surprised when they finally begin to fall at his words.

He’s saying goodbye, and it hurts just as bad as I thought it would.

The worst part? He’s wrong. He issowrong.

What we have isn’t just good sex. It’s more—somuch more—and I thought he knew that.

Maybe I was wrong though.

Maybe Robbie isn’t the guy I thought he was, isn’t my new adventure.

Maybe he’s just a stepping stone.

If that’s the case, why does this hurt so much?

I do everything I can to muffle my cries, but I think he hears them anyway.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Gathering myself as best I can, I wipe away the tears making their way down my face. “Y-Yes. I’m good. I’m fine.”

“Good. That’s good. This is for the best,” he says, trying to convince us both.

Another unsteady sigh from him.

Another strangled cry from me.

“Goodbye, Monty.”

There’s a click on the other end of the call, and I break.

Twenty-Six

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