Page 72 of The Bad Girl List

I decide to distract myself. I leave the phone on the nightstand and go through the motions of getting ready for bed. A part of me hopes he’ll text back and want to go out, but I’m not desperate enough to sit around in my clothes waiting.

Twenty minutes later, still no response. The giddiness I felt has changed color, morphing into something uneasy.

I swipe the screen and open the text. Next to my message is a READ notation, telling me he received the message.

Why hasn’t he written back?

It’s fine, I tell myself. He’s probably just tired from tonight. Based on the text message he sent me that morning of his dog, I know he’s been up since before sunrise.

“Anything?” Annika comes back into the room and closes the door, her hair wrapped in a bun on top of her head in preparation for sleep.

“No.” I stare at the phone, not wanting to be the desperate girl who leaves her phone on all night hoping to hear from her crush.

Except, I am that desperate. I want Trevor so badly I can hardly see straight. If he asked, I’d be out the bedroom window and waiting on the curb for him to pick me up.

Swallowing, I force myself to turn off my ringer and put my phone on airplane mode. I refuse to stay up half the night checking my phone for a message every few minutes.

“I’m sure you’ll hear back from him before morning,” Annika says.

But when morning comes, there’s still no message. The realization that I’m not going to hear from him again leaves me feeling sick with disappointment.

I am such an idiot. There could be any number of reasons why he hasn’t written back yet, but I know exactly why I’m being ghosted.

Trevor Moretti is still in love with his dead fiancée.

The story of how he’d lost Elle, then the way he’d rested his head against me and cried–I’d been swept up in the moment, flattered that he’d shown me his vulnerability and his pain, and betrayed by my own attraction to him.

But now that the lust has worn off, I’m left to stare the hard reality in the face.

Trevor Moretti is out of my reach. Yes, he likes me, and yes, I think he’d sleep with me, but he’s still in love with Elle. He didn’t text me back because he’s still hung up on her.

I feel let down and embarrassed. Compounding that is the fact that I went to his family dinner last night. What about his promise to help me with the Bad Girl List? Now that I helped him get his family off his back, is he done with me?

“Oh, shit.” Annika stares at me as I stare at the unanswered text on my phone. “Is that fuckhead ghosting you?”

I nod and quickly set my phone down. The fact that she’s confirming what I already know makes me feel even worse.

Annika purses her lips and swings her feet onto the floor. “You know what you need?”

“A bottle of common sense?”

“No. You need a tattoo. I’m making you an appointment.” Annika types into her phone.

“I don’t know what I want yet,” I protest.

“Tough shit, cuz. You have between now and … eight o’clock tonight to figure it out. There.” She taps her phone harder than necessary before setting it down. “You’re officially on the schedule.”

“But–”

“You’re an artist, Dom. Draw something for your body. It’s not that hard.”

I swallow the barrage of excuses. If I’d spent a little more time thinking about a tattoo and less time with my head up my ass over an unattainable guy, I wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

“Come on.” Annika flings the covers off me. “You are not allowed to let that shithead ruin your vacation. Out of bed. Now. We have a Groupon for mani-pedis, then two-for-one coupons for box lunches at a deli by the coast.”

I rally. Annika is right. This is my vacation. I’ve only known Trevor for a few days. So what if he’s ghosting me? He’s not a bad guy, he’s just in love with Elle. It was stupid for me to get my hopes up, and it was stupid for me to get physical with him last night. I need to focus on what’s important–namely, coming up with a design for my tattoo.

Fifteen minutes later, Annika and I enter the kitchen to find a debate brewing among the aunties.

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