Say no to a good fuck, and last night, I did. Something’s off. And I need to fix it. I check my phone on my way out of the gym.
Guess I was wrong about Callie never speaking to me again.
Callie: Hey sexy. I have the house to myself. Come over for round two? ;)
But that’s not the only text I have.
I double-check the second sender.
Kass.
Kass: Just finished my shift and my shitty car broke down. Can you give me a ride?
Attached below is the address of the place where she works. Conflicted, I slip inside my car, read both texts over and over again, and sprint down the street in a roar.
Kassidy
When I receive a text from Morgan saying, “Be there in ten,” I sigh in relief, messaging her back “Thanksss. I love you” and hastening out of the pet store to wait for her.
That’s when I see it.
The name on the top of my screen.
Willy Wonka.
Wait, I texted Will?
How could I not realize I selected his name? In my defense, he and Morgan have been competing for the spot of the last person I texted lately.
Kass: Shit. Sorry. Wrong person. Forget it. I’ll manage.
I expect his reply to consist of a careless “Okay”—if he even replies at all—but instead…
Willy Wonka: Too late. I’m coming to get you.
My pulse quickens.
Kass: That was meant for Morgan. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure she can help me out.
A reply lights up my screen right away.
Willy Wonka: I don’t care. Wait for me.
A smile tugs at the corner of my lips.
That easy?
I doubt he had anything better to do if he said yes, but still. Scenarios of what he was doing when I texted him arise in my mind. He was probably working out. He seemed on his way to the gym this morning.
My joy quickly gives way to racking anxiety. I wasn’t expecting to see him twice in one day. You mean I’ll have to deal with my annoying crush again?
Conveniently, I found myself without a ride right as my mom was about to start her shift at the hospital. She couldn’t bail just to give her daughter a ride, so she hit up a friend of hers who owns an auto repair shop. He towed my car thirty minutes ago with the promise of getting it back to me in two days tops.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m beginning to think Will was messing with me. Then I see his car pull up in the distance. He comes to a slow stop in front of the store, and I swallow hard, making my way over.
I open the door, slide into the passenger seat, and drink him in. He’s wearing a black hoodie and his go-to gym sweats. He looks a bit sweaty—but hot sweaty—which tells me I was spot-on: he was training. He smiles at the sight of me, quickly averting his focus to the road.
“Hey,” he says, his voice a bit strained. He looks exhausted.