Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Before she can reply, my phone rings. It’s Elliot. Because, of course, it goddamn is. The universe needs to remind me what an ass I’m being by thinking about his perfect, curvy, beautiful, passionate little sister.
“Yeah?” I say, answering.
“What’d you mean, yeah?” he says. “Where are you?”
“Where…” I trail off. I haven’t been getting enough sleep. Last night, Elliot called and told me about a meeting with a potential client. “My bad, bro. You’re at The Clam, right?”
“Yes, like we arranged.”
“Relax. It’s just across the street. Is he there yet?”
“No.”
“Then no harm done. Sit tight.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, Logan.”
“Elliot, is something wrong?” I ask.
My mind goes to the predictable place it always strays to. I’ve known this man since before he was a man. We were both lost kids in the system, watching each other’s backs, relying on each other to make it out of our fucked-up situations. We did it, too, and now look at us.
But I’ve put a wedge between us, even if it’s one only I’m aware of.
“I’m fine. See you soon.”
He hangs up, and I don’t believe him one bit. Walking to the elevator, I look down at my phone, at the douchebag text I just sent. I want to follow up on it and tell Piper I’m sorry, but that also feels like it would mean crossing some strange line.
No matter what I do, I constantly feel like I’m existing in some awkward in-between space. All I need to do, realistically, is stop having steamy fantasies about my best friend’s sister. It shouldn’t be that difficult. It shouldn’t make me feel like I’m losing my mind.
Piper: So that’s an order then, is it, Mr. Boss?
I read her latest text, which is sassy and sarcastic, and my mind is spinning madly around as I process what I’m reading. Is she flirting with me? Without her tone to guide me, it’s impossible to come to any conclusions about her intent.
Logan: It is. What’s your idea?
The elevator opens on the ground floor, leaving me free to walk across the lobby. I don’t want to see Elliot. That’s the cruel truth. I don’t want to look my best friend in the eye when I’m excited about flirting with his sister.
Piper: I’m thinking of calling it ‘match mode.’ Basically, when you feel comfortable with somebody, you give them access to your phone through the app. It’s like a screen share. You can seamlessly share photos and videos and watch movies together—anything you can do on one phone can be shared. In this digital age, it would allow people to feel together without being physically together. As I said, it’s far from being a copywriting idea.
I reply, leaving the building and narrowly missing somebody zipping by on a scooter. Working in SoMa, you get a sixth sense of these things.
Logan: It’s a great idea. I can imagine it having a broad appeal.
Piper: I suppose I should be happy you ORDERED me to share the idea with you, Mr. Boss.
Logan: If we’re going down the nickname route, I need to think of one for you.
I grit my teeth, then delete the message.
I can’t go there. Fucking hell. It happens so quickly, so effortlessly. Any time we talk, it’s like three years melt away, and I’m back at her party, my hands on her, my thoughts clouded by her.
Tucking my phone away, I walk into The Clam, the local seafood restaurant.
Elliot stands, seeming jittery.
“What’s up with you?” I say.
“Huh? Nothing.” He offers me his knuckles for a fist bump, but I don’t have time to knock fists before he takes a vape from his back pocket. It has a Do It All sticker on it. “Do you mind if I head outside? Sal isn’t here yet.”
“Elliot—”
But he’s already rushing through the restaurant. I watch him go, wondering if he somehow knows about me and his sister. But I haven’t even discussed it with her since she came home. So how would he know? And surely she would’ve mentioned it when we were texting.
Or maybe – what a revelation – not everything is about that.
Our usual server approaches me. Toby is young, studying to be a graphic designer, and has a black-and-white kitten tattoo above his left eye. “Coffee, Mr. Wolfe?”
“Thanks, Toby.”
I text, knowing I need to end this early before it can begin, or I’ll let it spiral out of control.
Logan: What’s with the ‘Mr. Boss’ stuff?
Piper: Sorry, Logan. I was just having a little fun. I’ll keep it professional.
Logan: It’s probably for the best, Piper.
Piper: Trust me. I understand that pushing boundaries is a bad idea, Logan. I learned that lesson well a long time ago.
A long time ago, is she talking about the kiss? That was three years ago, hardly a long time. To me, maybe. But to her, it must’ve felt longer. I need to remember her lack of experience and the role I need to play.