Page 47 of What If I Hate You
I’m half a second from a murder-suicide pact with the cabin door when a new message chimes in from a number I don’t recognize.
UNKNOWN
You have my number now, Cunningham. If you want to keep your fingers, I’d advise you not to tell the boys what else they were up to. I could see it all over Blackstone’s face. Something is up with all of you back there.
My spine goes straight. I glance forward, a few rows up. Rivers is turned toward the window, but I catch the edge of her phone, thumb poised, waiting for a reply. The absolute fucking audacity.
Me
You get bored of cyberbullying the press corps, Rivers?
UNKNOWN
I figured I’d start with someone worth the challenge.
Me
Not even a thank you for earlier?
UNKNOWN
You want a medal? Or you just want to know if you ruined me for other men.
Me
I already know the answer.
UNKNOWN
Bold of you to assume you’re even in the top three, Goalie.
Me
Liar. I had you clawing at my neck. Takes more than “top three” for that.
She doesn’t reply right away. For a second, I wonder if I’ve gone too far. But then the phone buzzes again.
UNKNOWN
Don’t get cocky.
Me
Always cocky. Never wrong.
UNKNOWN
We’ll see about that next time.
I’m grinning like a maniac, and it’s only when I feel Harrison staring that I realize I haven’t made a sound in a whole minute. He’s got that look. The one that says he knows exactly what’s happening, even if he doesn’t have the details. “Did you just get sexted at cruising altitude?” he hisses.
“Fuck you,” I mutter, but it’s useless, because my face says everything and frankly, I don’t even care. I type out a quick reply to the woman in 17C that makes my head spin and then slip my phone into my pocket to prepare for landing.
Me
Told you there would be a next time.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
