“Troy, don't make me say it.” It comes out as a whisper.
He sits up, his eyes roaming my face, and I take the moment to read his. It’s a cross between being hurt and contemplating if he believes me.
“Okay,” he whispers, and despite being in opposition to the anti-relationship vibes I’m putting off, he kisses my forehead and tucks the covers in around me when he crawls out of them to leave.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LEXY
Troy:Whatcha doing?
Me:Just got to Mack’s.
Troy:At 3 a.m.? What are you two getting into?
I hate how you can never read intent behind words in texts. It’s annoying. Not that I care what he thinks about my middle of the night habits. Was he hoping I’d be down to come over?
Me:Picked up Chinese. Kind of our thing after the nights we work together.
Troy:I will say that’s one thing I love about LA. You cannot get food in the middle of the night in Oregon.
Me:Sounds terrible.
I’m half in this thing and half out of it, and I have no fucking clue what direction I want to go. I shouldn’t be rude, though, and it’s just texting. How much trouble can that get me into?
Me:What are you doing?
Troy:Just got home.
Me:No wild Saturday night plans? No Lauren?
Troy:We had a drink after work. But that’s it.
Me:Oh.
Troy:We called off our arrangement.
Why do I feel relieved by that? And a lot of pressure I’m not sure I want.
Me:Not on my account, I hope.
I watch the three dots indicating he’s typing appear and disappear three times before his text comes through.
Troy:Lauren deserves more than sex with a guy wishing she was someone else.
Me:Troy.
Troy:I’m not expecting anything from you, Lexy. I’m just trying to not be a dick.
Me:Fine.
Troy:What’s your fortune cookie say?
Leaning toward the coffee table, I grab a cookie from the white plastic bag with "thank you" in giant red letters repeating on the front. I resume my criss-crossed position on the couch and crack it open even though I haven’t finished my sweet and sour chicken.
Me:“You didn’t come this far to only come this far.”
Troy:In bed.