Page 86 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“You do?”
“Yes. I am A.B.” I point to the high score list on the machine’s dot-matrix display.
She looks at the screen. The top three scores are all A.B.
She looks at me. Her expression shifts from anger to disbelief, and then to something softer.
“I came here to get away from you people,” she says, half-laughing, half-groaning. “I drove across town to a dive bar to escape the Branson gravity well, and here you are.”
“We are inevitable,” I murmur. “I didn’t know you liked games.”
“I like hitting things,” she admits, leaning back against the machine. “And since I can’t hit your brother, this is the next best thing.”
“Which brother?”
“Ethan,” she says instantly. Then she pauses. “And Owen. Mostly Ethan.”
“Ethan deserves to be hit,” I agree. “He is operating on a corrupted logic loop.”
Tessa sighs, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s a jerk, Asher. A controlling, manipulative jerk.”
“He is protective,” I correct. “He views the company as a fortress and you as the Trojan Horse.”
“I’m not a horse. I’m the best strategist he’s got.”
“I know,” I say, stepping closer. “Which is why I gave you that flash drive today. You saw the deletion record. You know what he did.”
“I saw it,” she whispers. She looks down at her shoes. “But why did you give it to me?”
“To prove a point,” I say. “I texted you that he was trying to save you. But you need to understand why.”
“The truth is that he regrets letting it happen.”
“The truth,” I say, stepping into her personal space, “is that he nuked the file because it was proof that he was compromised. He couldn’t risk the footage existing. Ethan doesn’t get compromised, Tessa. It terrifies him.”
She looks up at me. Her eyes are searching mine.
“And you?” she asks softly. “Are you compromised?”
The question hangs in the air.
I look at her.
She is the variable I can’t solve. She is the glitch in my system.
“Yes,” I say.
Her breath catches.
“You’re watching me,” she whispers. “In the office. I feel you.”
“I am monitoring you.”
“Why?”
“Because when you aren’t in my line of sight,” I admit, my voice low, “I feel… anxious. I need to know your coordinates and that you’re functional.”
“I’m functional,” she says, though her voice trembles. “I’m working. I’m paying my rent. I’m being professional.”
