Page 67 of The Do-Over Girl

She smiles back at me, waking up fully as her expression focuses. Then she pushes herself up, suddenly alert. “Oh shit.” She grabs for her phone. “Social media alerts. That’s what all the beeping is about.”

“Okay. If you say so.” I try to take the phone away from her before she checks it because there’s nothing like long, lazy morning sex—

“Oh. My. God.”

Too late. “Fuck social media,” I say, meaning it.

“According to the public at large, we’re officially dating now,” she says. She looks up at me with a question in her eyes, asking what I think of that.

Honestly, I still think fuck social media, but I’m not so sure that’s the response she’s looking for. In fact, I know she wants me to call it, to either agree or disagree, to admit we’re dating or blow up the idea. I wanted to take her out last night because she’s more than a lay in the hay to me. We’re more than fuck buddies. But what?

We both know dating implies a relationship beyond the mission, past our time here at APA and the end of the school year.

Fuck if I have the answer, but I can’t tell her that. What if the truth is yes? My gut churns, clearly upset with my speculation.

Before I can think of a response that won’t hurt her or me, my phone rings. I answer it so fast I almost fall out of bed.

“Saved by the bell,” she says, and I grunt instead of laughing.

I know this number. I say hello anyway. I listen and reply with one word. “Okay.” Then I end the call and face Kali. I don’t know what to tell her, so I tell her nothing, falling back on the premise that our relationship isn’t the kind where I owe her an explanation.

The premise makes me uneasy, but I run with it.

I say, “I have to go.”

And then I go.