Page 61 of Can't Text This

“How could he possibly be leading me on via text?”

She shakes her head. “You know nothing about men. Hiding behind flirty messages is typical guy behavior—pretending to be someone else, someone you like, but in person he’s different. Basically, he’s just trying to get into your pants with his sweet, fake words. Then once you finally sleep with him, he’ll never talk to you again.”

I lift a brow at her. “Sounds like someone’s talking from experience.”

She shoots me a glare but doesn’t say anything else. I don’t push my luck.

“Besides, that’s not him. Robbie is sweet. He’skind.”And so very dirty.

“And how do you know that’s who he really is?”

“Because—” The rest dies on my lips because I realize I need to tread carefully. I still haven’t told Denny about what happened at the shoe store. She has no idea I’ve seen Robbie again since Lola’s, and I need to keep it that way. She’ll make thishugedeal out of it, and that’s not something I need right now.

Besides, I kind of like having Robbie and whatever it is that’s going on between us…well, just between us. It’s none of Denver’s business.

“Because I just know,” I finally say.

“From the texting, right. You can’ttrulyget to know someone via text, Monty.”

I want to argue with her, but I don’t have the energy right now.

I’ve gotten to know Robbie better via text than I have any person I’ve met in my life thus far. Sure, I know a lot of that is because we have the screen to hide behind, but I also like to think it’s because there’s something there, some sort of chemistry between us.

Or I’m just making all this up to make myself feel better about maybe kind of sort of falling for a guy I barely know.

I’m a mess.

“Do you want me to step out of my comfort zone or not?” I shake the phone her way. “Because what I’m doing right now—carrying on a conversation with a virtual stranger—iswayout of my comfort zone and we both know it.”

“It’s a good start, but you need more. Youknowyou need more.”

I do. I need to see Robbie again, but I know that’s not what she’s talking about.

“I’m not going to hook up with some random guy at a bar, Denny. I’m not…”

Her eyes fall to slits. “Go on. Say it.”

I don’t.

“Me, huh, Monty? You’re not me. That’s what you were going to say, right?” She laughs, but it’s laced with malice, not humor. “I knew this would happen if you moved here. You’d spend your days judging me instead of realizing what a stuck-up goody-two-shoes you can be.”

If there’s one thing I’ve learned while living with Denny since the beginning of summer, it’s that discussing her “extracurricular activities” is strictly off limits. The first week I was here she brought home two different guys—which, hey, that’s her thing and whatever—and when I asked her about it, she jumped down my throat about how I was “judging her life”.

It was a knockdown fight, and I’d like to not have a repeat of it.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Denny,” I say, trying to calm her.

“Good.” She crosses her arms over her chest and turns her nose in the air. “Good.”

She stomps into the kitchen where she begins rummaging around in the cabinets. I hear a familiar crinkle and then the click of the microwave door opening, and I know she’s making popcorn.

Popcorn is my weakness, and this is her apology for freaking out on me just now.

I know she didn’t mean the cruel words she hurled my way, but it doesn’t mean they don’t hurt. She knows I’m upset, but she also knows I won’t call her out on it.

“How about we go out tonight? Maybe we can find you someone else to talk to, not some stranger from three weeks ago who isn’t even sending dirty pics.”

“I’m perfectly fine with what Robbie and I are chatting about.”