Page 35 of Last Night Was Fun

I get that. I struggle with everyone. I spent my formative years playing competitive sports with a group of built-in peers, so I never really had to try to build relationships. Now I’m not good at it. At least that’s what my therapist says.

Emmy softened at his vulnerable message, feeling special he was willing to share with her.

I think you’re pretty good at whatever we’re doing here.

Again, you are the exception, Bird Girl. The one-in-ten-zillion chance “Lacey” made up a string of numbers that happened to belong to you is the best luck I’ve had in a very long time. Maybe ever?

MVP “Lacey”

Bird Girl?

Yeah?

What ARE we doing here? (Not all-caps shouting at you, just impatiently waiting for the day they implement italics in text.)

Emmy quietly laughed as she thought about how to respond. She knew he didn’t mean what were they doing commiserating about their hangovers. He meant what were they doing texting each other a hundred times a day. They were getting to know each other. They were flirting, obviously. Being vulnerable. Spilling their hearts. Having deeper conversations than Emmy had had with anyone in a long time, maybe ever. Denying they were doingsomethingwould have been an insult to her feelings.

And yet.

She knew despite the way her heart took off galloping every time she saw his name, the safety barrier of the screen was what was allowing her to be so open. Without that, she wouldn’t have the guts to tell him half the things she had—and she liked telling him things and didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it.

We’re taking it slow.

A decent pause passed before he responded, but when he did, Emmy’s heart settled.

Okay?

She smiled at the smiley face and saw him continue to type.

Well, I’d happily stay here and talk to you all day, but I have to go get ready for the family stuff I volunteered for. Happy recovering, Bird Girl.

Have a good day, Axe Murderer.♥

She rethought the heart—it was a big leap from a smiley face—but her thumb tapped it before her mushy brain could stop it. Her nerves over sending it dissolved as soon as helovedit with his own heart reaction.

On Sunday, despite her insistence she needed to catch up on work after her day of recovery, Emmy found herself at a yacht club in La Jolla. One with yawning windows overlooking the crashing waves and a view of Scripps Pier darting out into the cove like a trestled needle. If she looked closely enough, she’d probably see dolphins frolicking in the surf. It was someplace she never thought she’d be, but that was before her sister had gotten engaged to the West Coast version of a Rockefeller.

Ben’s family had biotech money.Loadsof it. The Carmichaels were cliffside-mansion, Tahoe-ski-lodge, fifty-foot-sailboat, blue-blood-with-a-surfer-tan rich. It was only fitting Piper would marry a prince, and Emmy was as thankful for Ben’s levelheadedness as she was for his humility in the face of such obscene wealth.

He drove a Jeep and wore Levi’s and played beach volleyball.

He also had champagne brunches at yacht clubs and made gooey eyes at her sister while he twirled the tumor-size family heirloom engagement ring he’d given her around her polished finger.

Piper had invited Emmy to join them that morning (more like insisted she join and guilted her over working too much), and by thethird time they leaned in to rub noses and sweetly murmur about how theycouldn’t wait to behusband and wife in two weeks, Emmy pulled out her phone to text Axe Murderer.

SOS. Family thing is killing me right now.

Shall I send in the cavalry? Bob Marley and the Quailers, The Storks, Sheryl Crow.

Emmy sputtered a laugh and disguised it with a sip of her mimosa.

Sheryl Crow isn’t a pun. That’s just her name.

You’re right. That one is a throwaway.

Do better, Axe Murderer...

You caught me off guard.