Saylor

Licking my lips, I answer the boring dude with a single word.

Slytherin4ever: Yup.

Nolan345: But I want to see what you look like.

Again, I roll my eyes, then look at Skye to find her doing the same thing.

“Block him. Block him right now,” she orders.

“But if I do that, then he’ll know, won’t he?”

“So? The point of this super-duper secret identity is to dangle it in front of a certain someone who deserves to be neutered. Don’t waste your time with this guy. Block. Him. Block. Him,” she chants.

“Will you stop chanting like a crazy person and show me how?”

“You’re the computer nerd, not me,” she counters.

“Well, aren’t you helpful,” I return, my voice dripping with sarcasm. After a few seconds, I search the settings for how to block a person from my account before finding the correct button.

“There. Done.”

“Now, on to the secret mission,” Skye announces with a yawn.

I pull up Owen’s profile.

And almost swallow my tongue.

“Damn, Say,” Skye murmurs beside me, resting her head against my shoulder again as an image of Owen with his tan skin on full display pops up on-screen. The guy has abs for days, strong shoulders, and freaking baseballs for biceps. He’s practically rippling with muscle, taut flesh, and bad decisions wrapped into a package that’s labeled: Touch me. I dare you. But it’s his eyes that pierce me. The crystal depths that don’t just look at you. They zero in on your soul, tempting you to let him in.

But I’ve already learned what happens when you give in, and I’m not stupid enough to let it happen twice.

I gulp and click on the little envelope in the top left corner of his profile.

Skye shifts a little closer and asks, “What are you gonna say?”

“No idea.”

“You could always try, hey,” she jokes.

I laugh. “Since that worked so well for Holden.”

“Nolan,” she corrects me with another dry laugh. “But nice try. Maybe ask him something? Something that you know will spark a conversation.”

“Like what?” I return, wracking my brain for options.

“I don’t know? Maybe ask about his knee?” Her face scrunches up as if she can still see the replay footage in the back of her mind. If I close my eyes, I can too. I’d never been so desperate to reach out to him and see if he was okay. Not only physically, but mentally too. It’s hard to give up on your dreams when you aren’t ready. I should know. Mine were ripped away from me on my front porch by the man who starred in all of them.

Bastard.

“I’ve got it,” I decide with a definitive nod. Then I let my fingers do the talking with the knowledge that I’m most definitely going to regret this in the morning, but I also kind of don’t care. Because no matter how much I hate him, I still crave his attention like an addict––my own personal drug. And if I can convince myself that he’s into other girls, that I don’t matter anymore, then maybe I’ll finally be able to get him out of my head once and for all.

Maybe.

4

Owen

With my ass on the couch and the ambiance of Minecraft and a potato chip bag crinkling as little fingers slide into it for the hundredth time, I pull out my phone. I shouldn’t be torturing myself like this. It’ll only cause another downward spiral of regret. But I’m weak.