Page 15 of Trouble in Love
“Don’t who me. You know who. Your cowboy.”
“Pfft. Please. He’s not my anything, Loony. Unlike you, who is Hot Doc’s future wife.” My eyes darted to the screen again, picturing his expression when he found the photo.
“Polly. You’re practically swooning. It is him! Oh my god, let me see.”
“Uh, no way. This is stupid and immature, and ... private. And he will probably never message again, so there’s no point. I’m deleting it.” I had no intention of deleting it.
Ping.
Oh shit.
Unknown: I see you read me. What, no sassy comeback? Has my naughty girl gone shy on me?
My heart not at all fluttering, I glanced up to find Luna’s arms crossed over her chest as she smirked. “Never messaging again, hmm?”
“Smugness doesn’t suit you, Luna. Now fuck off and let me read.”
Me: Not at all. I was just stepping out of the shower. I’m dripping wet.
Unknown-Sounds awesome. Let’s Facetime??!!
Me: In your dreams, Cowboy.
Luca
The earliest memory I had of my father was him calling me stupid.
I had no idea how old I was, but I could still picture myself by his feet, inspecting his collection of hockey cards as he lounged on our musty old couch, his face lost in a haze of cigarette smoke. “Fetch your pop a beer, kid.” He’d said, toppling me sideways with a kick to the ribs. I wanted to make him happy, to see his smile, so I ran to the fridge, a spring in my tiny step, a determined set to my jaw. The only problem was I was too small to reach the handle, and the seal was too tight for my chubby little fingers to pry open without it.
“You idiot. What do you mean you can’t open it? I knew you were a stupid fucking Nancy boy, but this is pathetic. Why are you crying? You wanna be a hockey player when you grow up, ya better snap out of it. Hockey boys don’t cry.”
I’d done plenty of dumb shit over the years, but waking naked and alone, the Aussie sun splintering through the cracks in the blinds, was the epitome of proving him right.
“No! No, nononononono! You fell asleep, you fucking moron!”
It was an unforgivable sin. What kind of idiot falls asleep with the hottest woman he’d ever seen licking his come off her almost equally hot friend’s face?
Me.
As stupid as it was, I felt we’d had a spark and shared something other than simultaneous mind-blowing orgasms. But she didn’t even wake me to say goodbye. Discovering she’d left her number, an X-rated photo, and a sassy message—A cooch for my coach—brought mild relief. So, too, did her cheeky response to my text. But eons passed with no further replies, and we had only four hours left in Sydney.
For better or worse, our night was a strictly one-time deal.
Disappointment made a miserable companion during my morning stretches and jog along Sydney harbor, each step cumbersome, like I was dragging my feet through setting concrete. A similar sinking sensation stole my appetite the second I joined Asher and Teddy for breakfast.
“Someone had fun keeping us awake last night,” Teddy smiled, his eyes wider than the plate-sized pancake he was cutting into. “The walls shook with each pounding thrust, and we want details. I know there are plenty.”
Asher made a grunty snort as he passed him the maple syrup. “Maybe if you weren’t standing on the mattress with your ear pressed against the wall, you would have been able to sleep.”
“Oh please, Mr. Innocent. Like it wasn’t your rock-hard boner stab, stab, stabbing me in the back that alerted me to it.”
Glancing at me then Ted, Asher blushed, picked up his plate, and made a hasty exit. “Need more bacon.”
“I can’t believe he’s still so shy about sex,” I said, forcing a smile, a tinge of my woe fading even through the fakeness.
“Thankfully, it’s only when he’s talking about it and not while he’s having it. Now stop changing the subject and spill.”
I leaned back in my chair, taking a moment to decide the best course of action: Tell Ted I was pining over a girl I would never see again after telling him my heart belonged to another only hours earlier, or act the smug playboy?
