Page 51 of The Substitute

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Savage: Debauchery?

Tobi: Do I look like the debauchery type?

Savage: I don’t know, send me a picture.

Tobi: Hilarious

Savage: It wasn’t a joke. Send me a selfie I want to see you.

Tobi: Why?

Savage: I can’t miss your face?

Is this flirting? I’m not sure I can tell.

Tobi: You can but you did see me a few days ago.

Savage: It’s not enough and I am busy this weekend so I want to see you.

Tobi: You are?

I don’t want him to know how disappointed I am, but it’s hard not to be. He’s been busy a lot recently, and it’s not that he doesn’t message me and check in—he’s very attentive. But I got kinda used to the cuddling and stuff. I miss it.

Savage: I am. I’m sorry. These interviews are killing me.

Tobi: When do I get to see you?

I hate asking. I hate feeling like I have to.

Savage: can I take you out Monday?

Tobi: Sure.

Savage: Where’s my picture.

Tobi: I don’t have any selfies saved.

Savage: Don’t over think it, just snap a pic and send it.

Tobi: You send a pic then if it’s so easy

A few seconds later, a picture comes through of Savage in a hoodie with one eyebrow raised and an intimate smile. I love that the tattoos on his neck are just visible, too.

Fuck.

He has no right to look that good. He’s not even here, and that look is setting my blood on fire.

I look like a soggy garbage bag. How the hell am I supposed to send one now? I’m sure my face is red and splotchy, my hair is a mess, and everything I’m wearing is baggy and old and comfortable. Not exactly enticing.

Do I want to be enticing? Yes? No? Maybe? Ugh. My brain is too fried for this much psychoanalyzing.

Savage: See how easy it is?

Tobi: Sure when you look like that

Savage: Are you saying I’m pretty?

I snort at the word choice. There are a lot of words I could use to describe him, but pretty isn’t one of them. It’s too…soft?

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