Page 13 of Texts From My Exes
“It’s a salad.”
My nod was slow, deliberate, on purpose so I could take a deep breath and form words that would come out calm verses the rage I felt. “With shrimp, and crab. It says so on the menu.”
He leaned back, unbothered, and slid something across the table like I hadn’t just spoken. The waiter opened his mouth but Cash waved him off. “Shrimp on the side then.” I stared down. He’d slid over a business card.
Cash Wilder. Entrepreneur. Crypto. Consulting. Vibes.
“I’m getting back into the game. Trying to build a portfolio.” He winked. “You’d be perfect for the wellness brand I’m launching. Real spiritual stuff. Sage candles. Reusable mascara wands, organic tampons.”
I stared at the card. Then at Gerald. Then at my life.
I drop the card straight into his glass of whatever questionable liquor he ordered and smile sweetly.
“Wanna know what else is reusable? This rejection.”
CHAPTER
SIX
EZRA
Yolo, call me. Uh, in case you didn’t know, Yolo means you only life one. So…
-Leif
“You didn’t even give him a chance.”
I poured more wine into her glass and set the near-empty bottle back down on the rustic purple coffee table. I really needed to stop staying over, I had my own apartment but half the time, I just stayed with Harper. No wonder I was in the friend zone, we had sleepovers like chicks.
Harper glared at me, even angrier than usual—though somehow still pretty—despite the terrifying face mask peeling off her cheek like a horror film extra.
“I mean, were you asleep during the part where I told you he brought a goldfish in a Ziploc bag to dinner? Or the part where he ordered me a potentially deadly dish, then pitched me a collab onorganic tampons?”
I snorted into my glass. “Classic. Bro came in with a goldfish. That’s next-level confidence. And as for the organic tampons, I hear it’s better for the vagina,” I added with a smirk.
She chugged her wine and glared over the rim. “It’s like youwantme to slap you in the dick. Are you that desperate for action?”
I laughed. “Not that desperate, thanks.”
I shifted back on the couch and grabbed the Apple TV remote. “So… before you post your update, do you wantFriendsorNew Girl? You just bingedSchitt’s Creekfor the fifth time. You need something nostalgic.”
Harper plopped down beside me and laid her head on my shoulder.
I really wished she wouldn’t do that.
Not because I didn’t like it—because I did. Too much.
It’s like ever since this wholeblog-your-exescircus started, my brain had glitched. Or rewired. Or combusted. I felt everything more; every exhale in my direction, every time she changed perfume. Every tiny Harper-specific quirk had carved itself into my consciousness like graffiti on a wall I couldn’t scrub clean.
And the worst part? The thought of her actually finding someone—choosing someone—made my stomach turn inside out.
Why was it so hard to say it?
Date me. Choose me. Try me.
Probably because she never had.
Not even once. Not even an accidental, drunken, regrettable kiss.
