Page 92 of Can't Text This

“Excellent point. One coffee coming right up.” He pours her a cup like the good boyfriend he is and shakes the pot my way. “More?”

I push my mug away. “No. I’ve already had three cups. Any more and I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

Zach snorts. “Like you’ll be able to anyway—not after last night and this morning.”

“Oooh.” Delia rubs her hands together and rests her elbows on the counter, leaning toward me. “What happened? I wantallthe juicy details.”

“Yeah, Robbie, tell her how bad you are in the sack.”

“I amnotbad in the sack.”

Delia frowns. “That’s a bummer. I always thought you’d be amazing.”

“That’s what I said!” Zach agrees before furrowing his brows. “Wait a damn minute—you think of him in the sack?”

“With biceps like those, can you blame a girl?”

“Holy shit,” I mutter, laughing. “I’m getting my child and leaving. I can’t handle any more of you two today.”

“What?” Delia inquires innocently. “What’d I say?”

Zach grins, proud of his girl. “Exactly what I did.”

She falls into a fit of laughter. “I love us.”

“Me too, and you know what else I love?”

“Pizza? Me too. I’ll make us some.”

She pulls open the fridge and slides out a box of pizza then retrieves a skillet from the cabinet right next to her. She flips the stove on and turns back toward me.

“Wanna see some cool shit I learned on the Facebook?”

“TheFacebook, huh?” I tease. “Sure. Show me your magic pizza skills, D.”

“After you heat up the pan you…”

She starts going through all the steps and Zach pays attention like he hasn’t heard all this before, though I’m certain he has.

Me…I tune her out after the first step.

I adore Delia, love her like my own sister, but right now all I can think about is Monty.

Monty who abandoned me.

Monty who fled.

Monty who bailed on me the morning after I took her virginity.

Who the fuck does that?

My first instinct this morning was to call her, chase her ass down, and demand she give me answers. Ineededanswers—deserved them.

Then the anger set in. I waspissed,absolutely fuming. How could she just leave? After the night we had?

She gave no sign this morning that she was going to flee. It surprised me, because it’s unlike her. Hell, she even left me her number after Lola’s. I one hundred percent expected her to be lying on the bed when I stepped out of the shower, but there was nothing but an empty apartment and this unfamiliar, aching hole forming in my chest. I can feel it now, thinking about her. I cannot leave things as we did; it’s just not who I am. If she thinks we’re done, she’s wrong.

“…and that’s it—the perfect reheated pizza,” Delia says, sliding the plate my way.

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