Page 58 of Burning Daylight

My phone pings.

Felicity:

Tell me you’re on your way to get absolutely wrecked by Hot Artist Boy because if you’re just getting coffee like a coward, I SWEAR TO GOD.

I tilt my phone like the angle might make her message less aggressive. It doesn’t.

Me:

Obviously I’m here for the ambiance.

My teeth sink into my lower lip, and I type out another one.

Me:

And to tell him I want to be friends. Heavy emphasis on that last word.

Felicity:

BOO. You’ve been a buzzkill ever since your parents went full Romulan and sabotaged your graduation trajectory.

I roll my eyes at her calling my parents a fictional alien species. She’s dubbed my mom a Romulan for years. Something about being manipulative, cold, and probably capable of war crimes.

Me:

Are you watching Star Trek right now? Quit using your weird obsession to psychoanalyze me.

Felicity:

Let him rearrange your spine and restore balance to the galaxy. Live long and prosper.

Me:

Sometimes I genuinely wonder if you even like me.

Felicity:

I love you. That’s why I support your journey toward personal growth via orgasm.

Me:

Supportive is a word for it, definitely.

Felicity:

Just remember that horny girls make bad decisions, but they also make great stories. Call it a character arc and write it into your next book.

I smirk at my phone and toss it on the table, picking up my coffee and taking a sip.

Someone slips into the seat across from me, and I jerk out of my thoughts, my eyes softening when I see Ryder, grinning at me, cocky as hell, like he knew I’d be here.

“Fate strikes again,” he muses.

My heart jumps into my throat, and I clear it. “You’re surprised?”

“Not really. Like every good creeper, you’ve got a pattern. I show up…you follow.” He stirs his drink with a wooden stick, somehow making it feel like foreplay. “You’re not glaring at me. Should I be concerned?”

A small smile tips up my mouth, and I hide it behind my cup. “You’re right. I’ll try harder.”