Page 43 of Thirst Trap
17
Jake
You have reachedthe voicemail box of Whitley McAvoy…
I throw the phone down onto the passenger seat as I drive what feels like one hundred miles per hour down I-65 on my way to Birmingham.
I need to see her. I need to explain to her that it was all a misunderstanding.
Though if the fact that her phone has been going straight to voicemail is any indication, she has seen it, and that should be my clue that she doesn’t want to talk to me.
But it also means she hasn’t seen the second video. Which means I don’t know if I’m too late or there still might be hope for us.
No matter what, I have to try. I’m not letting some rogue fan girl ruin the best thing that has ever happened to me.
As soon as I realized what happened, I sprinted out of the bar. I don’t know how Trent got home. I don’t care. All I know is that minutes after whoever that was kissed me out of nowhere, my phone was going crazy with notifications of videos I was tagged in. And sure enough, they were all of the impromptu performance.
And the kiss.
“Fuck!” I yell, stepping on the gas a little faster as I pass the first sign alerting me that I’m nearing Birmingham.
I knew I shouldn’t have danced. And I don’t even know why I did. Was it the dare? Was it the number of people cheering me on? Being recognized in public for the first time? I don’t know if I’ll ever know why; I just know that I can’t let it ruin what I have with Whitley.
My phone rings, and I hurry and grab it, not even looking to see who is calling.
“Whitley?”
“No, but you have one chance, right now, to explain yourself or I swear to Jesus I will drive to your bum-fuck Tennessee town and rip your testicles off with a pair of pliers.”
“Betsy?” I ask, nearly missing the exit to get to Whitley’s apartment.
“Yes, it’s Betsy, you moron. Or should I say, cheating moron?”
I slam my hand against the steering wheel. “I didn’t cheat, Betsy, I swear.”
Great. If Betsy has seen it then I know Whitley has. I press down on the gas pedal a little more, now only a few blocks from her apartment.
“That’s not what it looks like. And I can’t get a hold of her and that girlneverturns off her phone. Which means you better make this right.”
Fucking social media. This is why I was barely on the shit before all thisForUstuff happened. It’s drama. It’s people only showing you things they want you to see.
It’s only getting one side of a story, and most of the time, the video doesn’t tell you everything that is happening.
Take tonight. No one who watched it knows that I had no idea that woman was behind me. No one knows how quickly I pushed her away.
But I don’t care what the rest of the world knows. I only care that Whitley knows that it’s not what she thinks.
That is, if she’ll even let me explain.
“I’m almost to her place,” I say, thanking whoever is watching over me right now that there is a parking spot in front of her building. “I love her, Betsy.”
“I know you do. I’ve never seen her smile like this. And I swear, the next time I see her, she better be smiling.”
“If she isn’t, I give you permission to do the plier thing. I gotta go.”
I hang up and jump out of my car as I sprint toward her building. I punch in the key code and race to the elevator, thankful there is a car ready.
I swear it takes hours to go to the tenth floor, and now that I’m nearing her apartment, I realize I have no clue what I’m going to say.
