Page 58 of Burning Daylight
My phone pings.
Felicity:
Tell me you’re on your way to get absolutely wrecked by Hot Artist Boy because if you’re just getting coffee like a coward, I SWEAR TO GOD.
I tilt my phone like the angle might make her message less aggressive. It doesn’t.
Me:
Obviously I’m here for the ambiance.
My teeth sink into my lower lip, and I type out another one.
Me:
And to tell him I want to be friends. Heavy emphasis on that last word.
Felicity:
BOO. You’ve been a buzzkill ever since your parents went full Romulan and sabotaged your graduation trajectory.
I roll my eyes at her calling my parents a fictional alien species. She’s dubbed my mom a Romulan for years. Something about being manipulative, cold, and probably capable of war crimes.
Me:
Are you watching Star Trek right now? Quit using your weird obsession to psychoanalyze me.
Felicity:
Let him rearrange your spine and restore balance to the galaxy. Live long and prosper.
Me:
Sometimes I genuinely wonder if you even like me.
Felicity:
I love you. That’s why I support your journey toward personal growth via orgasm.
Me:
Supportive is a word for it, definitely.
Felicity:
Just remember that horny girls make bad decisions, but they also make great stories. Call it a character arc and write it into your next book.
I smirk at my phone and toss it on the table, picking up my coffee and taking a sip.
Someone slips into the seat across from me, and I jerk out of my thoughts, my eyes softening when I see Ryder, grinning at me, cocky as hell, like he knew I’d be here.
“Fate strikes again,” he muses.
My heart jumps into my throat, and I clear it. “You’re surprised?”
“Not really. Like every good creeper, you’ve got a pattern. I show up…you follow.” He stirs his drink with a wooden stick, somehow making it feel like foreplay. “You’re not glaring at me. Should I be concerned?”
A small smile tips up my mouth, and I hide it behind my cup. “You’re right. I’ll try harder.”
