“Great.” One less crazy fucker to worry about.
“No way,” Fletcher gasps as he looks at his phone.
“What?” I frown.
“Oh my God.” He puts his hand over his mouth. “Alita VanDerCamp just messaged me.”
“And?” I frown.
“She’s the hottest girl in school.” His eyes are wide with disbelief.
“Hmm, okay.” I shrug as I open a kitchen cupboard. I need a fucking drink.
“Where are the wineglasses, and who the hell is Paul from Pilates? He looks like a real tool.”
Patrick smiles goofily up at me as he climbs onto a stool at the counter.
“Hey,” Fletcher says as he types.
“That’s it?” I pour a glass of wine, having found what I was looking for. “That’s what you’re going to write? You can’t write hey.” I screw up my face. This kid must be stupid.
“Why not?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t tell me you are clueless with women too.”
“Well, what would you write?” he asks.
“I wouldn’t text a girl back unless I had a plan.”
“A plan.” Fletcher frowns. “What the hell does that mean?”
I swear, I need to drink out of the bottle in this house. Do they have any tequila? “If a girl texts you, she’s looking for more than a fucking hey.”
Patrick’s mouth drops open.
Oh shit. I point at him. “I swear sometimes. Don’t tell your mother.”
“Okay.” He shrugs. “Harry swears too.”
Hmm, I bet he does.
“So?” Fletcher frowns in fascination. “Like . . . what kind of plan?”
“Like, do you want to get something to eat, do you want to go to the movies . . . something like that. Strike while the iron’s hot. If she texted you first, she’s into you. Move fast, before she changes her mind.” I sip my wine. “Girls are changeable, man. One day they like you; the next day they don’t.”
“Oh.” His face falls. “So I’ll call her tomorrow, then?”
“No, aren’t you listening?” I roll my eyes. “Call her now.”
“But I can’t do anything tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m minding Patrick.”
“On the off chance she says yes, I’ll stay with him.” I pour the wine so fast into my glass that it sloshes over the sides.
Fletcher looks between Patrick and me.