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I should only be so lucky.

Misty snakes her gaze over me, and I just don’t have it in me to fight with her. Can they see it on my face? The shame of what I am. The product of darkness.

Dani pats the empty barstool beside me. “Why don’t you have some pizza, and I’ll open a bottle of wine. And you two can talk; I’m sick of the tension between you two.”

Swallowing my pride, I head over and slide onto the stool. “I’m sorry. I can be mean sometimes. I don’t hate you, Misty.”

She runs her hand through her hair. “It’s fine. Let’s have some fun. I’m sick of the tension, too.” She’s probably forgiving me because she knows Dani won’t relent until we make up.

We have a couple drinks, relax, and try to have fun.

It’s…robotic. Typical. Boring. And I end up having one too many drinks.

“Are you okay, Summer?” Dani asks me as the three of us finish a game of cards.

I keep staring at my phone as if that will make a difference. As if it will make him call me. I fake a yawn. “Yeah, I’m just…tired.”

I excuse myself and head to my room, change into my camisole and shorts, open my window, and crawl into bed. Picking up my phone, I scroll to the last message I sent SF.

I asked him not to contact me, and he listened. And his silence lands like a gut punch, which I can’t help but think is what he intended.

I click on the message and start typing, knowing I will completely regret this decision. The couple glasses of wine are clearly clouding my judgment. But the heat in my blood doesn’t want to simmer, even as the cool breeze from outside pebbles my skin.

Why the fuck do I miss him so much? I don’t even know him.

Summer: Hi…

It’s a while before he reads my message. I place my phone down and lean my head back as my stomach shifts into full-blown anxiety.

He doesn’t want me anymore.

Then, he has the decency to respond.

SF: What do you want, Summer?

What do I want?

I pause for a moment, not actually expecting him to respond, let alone respond like that. This man stuck his fingers inside me. He ripped into my skin with the heated edge of a razor, and now he’s asking what I want?

Summer: I want help… You told me you’d help me study.

Truth. All truth… I just have to ignore the burning in my core.

Again, he doesn’t respond right away. A few minutes tick by, and I start into my textbook. The words are not quite registering. When I look at my phone, I find the last message wasn’t even read. Finally⁠—

SF: You’re such a good liar, aren’t you?

Fuck him. I’m not a liar.

Summer: So that’s it, then?

SF: That’s it…unless you can tell me what you really want. You told me numerous times, and not politely, to leave you alone…so I did.

I bite my lip and shift, waiting for his response. Trying to imagine Lincoln on the other end of the line, where he is right now and what he’s doing.

Summer: That’s not what I want.

He responds quickly this time.