Page 25 of Texts From My Exes
“Showers are non-negotiable!” the older one chimed in. “And she only gives you five minutes so you don’t play with your Peter!”
“Run away, Uncle Ez!”
I sighed, but my brother was already steering me toward the waiting SUV like a bouncer ejecting a drunk.
“Godspeed,” he said. “May the Force be with you. I said a prayer in front of Master Yoda and did a mental Captain’s Log—Captain Picard style, complete with the British accent. If you die, I think we could use it as part of the eulogy.”
I stared him down. “I’m touched.”
He nodded. “It may have inspired a new app. Off you go!”
The door slammed, and I was alone in the car with Maya.
For the first five minutes, she didn’t say a word. Which was suspicious.
Finally, I broke. “Spill it.”
She sighed. “It’s just… you really like her. That’s a lot of pressure if it goes south.”
I didn’t finish her sentence out loud, but mentally:Like last time.
“You mean like last time?” I said anyway. “When my heart got annihilated? I should have never told you that.”
“You had to tell someone,” she said with a shrug. “And I’m not letting it happen again. For all she knows, an actor named Vex is meeting her at the bar at eight. Which gives us four hours to turn you into the sexiest, most perfect guy she’s ever seen.”
I glanced in the visor mirror. “I’ll put in contacts.”
“You’ll need the shots of gold, too.”
My head whipped toward her. “Thewhat?”
“Has anyone ever told you how much you look like that guy from BTS? Or like if two of them had a half-Korean baby?” she said casually. “God, he has pretty hair—it’s all teased-sexy on his forehead. One time your brother caught me staring at a poster and banned their music from our house. To be fair, I was postpartum?—”
I blinked. “That was like seven years ago.”
“Exactly. I don’t care what he says, you can still be postpartum years later. Or hormonal. Same difference.”
I shook my head.
“One of the kids tried a BTS dance challenge,” she went on, “and your brother threatened to set the phone on fire… then secretly learned it himself and made me watch.”
I made a face. “He made youwatchhim?”
She shuddered. “He’s a good man, your brother, but dancing is not his gift. It skipped him in a way science might study someday. His lack of rhythm feels intentional. And yet, by the look on his face, you know—it’s not. Cedric thinks he looks sexy.”
I burst out laughing. “I can dance.”
“Boo,” she said, giving me a thumbs-down with her free hand. “Okay. Glasses off. Tuck your hair behind your ears so I can see your face.”
I obeyed, begrudgingly.
She pulled the SUV into a parking spot. “And let’s go get those shots of gold—” She froze mid-sentence.
“What?”
Her eyes glazed over like she’d just remembered something important. Then sharpened.
“Oh, um… nothing. Just forgot how light your eyes are. Hazel, actually.”
