Page 57 of Playing the Field

“…Maybe?”

Vee grins. “That’s my girl.”

I groan. “This is stupid.”

She rolls her eyes. “Listen. If you want to text him, text him. You don’t owe him details about your night, and you sure as hell don’t need to wait around for him to make the next move. If you want something, you go for it. Period.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, her words sinking in.

Do I want to text him?

Yes.

Would I regret it if I didn’t?

Probably.

I pull out my phone and stare at the last message in our thread.

Have fun.

I hesitate. Then, before I can overthink it, I type two words.

You up?

Vee sees the message and smirks, raising her glass. “Atta girl.”

The second I hit send, I regret it. Graham must have more important things taking up his time, and right now I feel like a freshman in high school who’s crushing on a teacher, never mind a senior. Granted, being with someone like Graham is better than trying to date someone my own age, but it makes me wonder if our age difference is as obvious to him as it is to me. Or if I'm just in my head about it. Ugh. Overthinking is the pits.

I stare at my phone, my heart thudding a little harder than I’d like to admit. The bar is buzzing around me—music pumping through the speakers, the clink of glasses, the low hum of conversations—but all I can focus on is the three little dots blinking on my screen.

He’s typing.

I can already picture him—probably still at his office, or maybe at home, his phone in one hand, his jaw tight, expression unreadable.

Then, his reply pops up.

Always.

My stomach dips.

Of course he’s up. He’s always up, always working, always thinking three steps ahead. I should let it go, put my phone down, and get back to my night with Vee.

But I don’t.

Instead, I take another sip of my drink, my inhibitions loosened just enough to type something else.

What are you doing?

His reply is almost immediate.

Working.

Of course.

I let out a quiet scoff, shaking my head at myself. What did I expect? For him to say he’s thinking about me? That he’s been waiting for me to text?

I know better than that.