Page 53 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“I have to go,” I say, pulling my gaze away from the flickering numbers. “I have errands. My laundry is piling up, and my cat is probably plotting my murder.”
“You have a cat?” Owen asks. “Why didn’t I know you have a cat?”
“Because we’ve been busy doing other things, you know?” I say, pulling on my skirt.
I feel the loss immediately. Putting my own clothes back on feels like putting the armor back on. I’m becoming a Brand Strategist again.
Owen walks me to the door. He’s wearing sweatpants low on his hips and nothing else. It takes a significant amount of willpower to walk away from that view.
“I’ll drive you home,” he offers.
“No,” I say. “I’ll take an Uber. It’s safer. If someone sees your car parked outside my building…”
“Right. Too many moving parts,” he mutters, sounding like Asher.
He pulls me in for a kiss. He lingers, his mouth warm and solid against mine, anchoring me to the spot. It feels less like a goodbye and more like a down payment.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his lips.
“For what?”
“For making me feel… reckless.”
“Anytime, trouble.”
I step out the door. The elevator ride down to the lobby feels like an eternity. By the time I hit the busy Austin street, I’m blinking in the harsh afternoon sunlight.
I pull my phone out and hold the power button.
The screen flares to life.
The moment it connects to the network, the backlog of notifications starts to flood in. I ignore the buzzing just long enough to call an Uber. While I wait, I finally check the screen. Three emails from Sarah. One from HR.
And a text from Asher.
Asher: Your phone has been off for several hours. Your phone pinged the network from Icon Towers downtown. That is Owen’s loft.
I stop breathing, a cold sweat breaking across the back of my neck.
I stare at the message.
He knows. Of course he knows. He’s the Watcher.
The three dots appear. He’s typing again.
Asher: The probability of you discussing marketing strategy on a Saturday morning is 2%. The probability of you sleeping with him is 98%.
I hold my breath.
Asher: Be careful, Tessa. Owen breaks things. He doesn’t mean to, but he does.
I lower the phone, my hand shaking.
I thought I had forty-eight hours. I thought I had a weekend of secrecy.
But the Phantom Trio sees everything.
My Uber pulls up. I get in, sliding into the backseat.
