Page 47 of Texts From My Exes
I’d slept with the lights on for a month because of his “dreams.”
If hell had a lobby, it would look exactly like the bar where I met Greg.
Yes.Greg.Even his name sounded like wet cardboard.
And of course, he showed up in aturtleneck.A beige one this time. He used to own them in every shade Old Navy ever mass-produced—maroon, hunter green, navy, mustard. Like his entire closet was just a color wheel of polyester nightmares.
He slid into the booth across from me, tugging the collar like it was sophisticated instead of suffocating. Immediately, he clasped my hands like we were about to summon spirits or have a very serious talk about abstinence.
“Harper,” he said gravely and leaned in despite the fact that he was already freaking whispering. “I dreamt about you last night.”
Here we go. I was going to kill Ezra. Hadn’t he been the one to narrow down the guys? I knew this wouldn’t work but at least it would prove to everyone I was playing fair and on top of that—Ezra was still the front runner and I wasn’t a fake, but why was I still grumpy and confused? I should be thrilled it was working out but every time I thought about Ezra I was hit with confusion and then wondering why I was wasting my time with turtleneck terror.
“Cool,” I said, yanking my hands back. “Last night I dreamt I was eating pancakes,” and giving my best friend a handjob, ha ha, jokes. “It turned into a nightmare because there was no syrup.”
He didn’t blink, oh good story time wasn’t over. “In mine, there was…immediate danger. Someone at your window. Watching. Waiting.”
My stomach flipped. Not because I believed him, but because I remembered. The month I slept with every light blazing just to shut him up and the fact that history was repeating itself in adifferent way, with people truly waiting outside my window for an epic downfall. At least I had Ezra.
“Well, as you can see, I powered through that trauma.” I pasted on a smile. “So. Drinks?”
He leaned forward, his brown eyes earnest. “You know I’m empathic, right? I feel things other people can’t. My therapist says it’s a gift.” He lowered his voice. “But sometimes, it’s a curse, this burden I carry for others, like filling my emotional basket with nothing but their lost tears and repressed rage.”
His poor therapist.
I nodded, sipping my drink. “Right. A gift, a curse, life is complicated sometimes.”
From the corner of my eye, I caught Ezra. Baseball cap, hoodie, pretending to scroll his phone at the bar. Except every time Greg opened his mouth, Ezra’s jaw clenched tighter.
Greg sipped his soda water like it was a rare vintage. “You shouldn’t trust him.”
My pulse jumped. “Who?”
“Vex or Ezra.” His lips curled around the name like it was poison. “The way he looks at you. It’s dangerous. I dreamt he’d hurt you.”
I glanced toward the bar. Ezra hadn’t moved, but his eyes were locked on mine, sharp as a blade.
“Right,” I said. “Thanks for the… warning.”
Greg reached for my hand again. “I could protect you, Harper. I always knew I was meant to protect you. I can be your shield.”
And that was when a shadow fell over our table.
Ezra.
He loomed, hazel eyes burning, voice smooth with just enough edge to draw blood. “Sorry to interrupt what I’m sure was a very interesting conversation. But I think Harper’s had enough dream talk.”
Greg stiffened. “Who are you to decide? For her? See this is what I’m talking about!”
Oh shit, Ezra straight up just weaponized that smile of his and thrashed it around like it wasn’t lethal. “Her best friend. The one who doesn’t make her sleep with the lights on for a month.”
I choked on my drink and almost stood up to applaud.
“…the one sleeping by her side not protecting her like she’s fragile but holding her because she’s precious. There’s a fucking difference you know.”
Greg’s jaw twitched. “You shouldn’t say things you’ll regret, at least not this publicly, Ezra.” Greg’s attention flickered to the camera set up.
“Doubt it,” Ezra said lightly. Then he added, too softly for the cameras to catch: “And by the way? It’s seventy degrees out and Justin Timberlake wants his turtleneck back.”
