Wild Thing

19. Nineteen

Nineteen

DYLAN

Wednesday

I should've been paying attention to the panel discussion underway, but instead, I had spent the last ten minutes staring at the text from Zack.

Why are you ghosting me?

Guilt swirled around my stomach.

What was I supposed to write back? That I was falling for my ex again and had the hottest phone sex last night? I couldn’t tell him the truth—obviously.

But I didn’t want to give him false hope either. Surely, after everything, he knew what was coming.

Hadn’t I been clear enough? Isn't my radio silence a dead giveaway?

Taylor leaned over her armrest. “I don’t understand why you won’t just put him out of his misery.”

I shrugged my shoulders, blowing out an exasperated sigh. “Isn’t breaking up with someone over the phone a dick move?”

Her eyes flicked to me. “So’s having an affair with your ex.”

Her sharp words made me wince. I walked into that one.

The shame swirls became knots, turning my insides into a tangled web as I typed out another lie.

Sorry, I've been busy. Also, I told you that I needed space. Please respect that.

It was blunt. Possibly a little too insensitive.

God, if I received a text like that, I would be hellbent on finding out what the fuck was going on.

But I knew Zack didn't have it in him. He'd be shitty at my response, sure, but he wouldn't try any harder.

He was weak in that regard.

I showed Taylor my response. She shook her head. I knew she was disappointed in how I was choosing to handle this fuckery. “Your lies will catch up to you, Dyl.”

“It’s not a total lie. I have been busy.”

“Yeah, busy making out with Brax.”

The optics weren’t great. I knew that much. If anyone found out what I was doing, there would be no defending myself.

I was a hot mess, plain and simple.

But it wasn’t like this was concocted to hurt Zack on purpose. If I was being completely honest, I’d barely thought about him.

And that was the part that hit hardest.

It wasn’t that I didn’t care about him; it was that I no longer cared enough to feel bad for what I was doing.

I'd checked out of the relationship. Probably months ago if I really thought about it. All the signs were there—the irritation when he called, the indifference when he reached out, the distance I had put between us.

I was exhausted from pretending. The truth was, I was done with Zack.

In my mind, it was over.

“I feel bad about it, I really do. But I can't break up with him over the phone. I know I'm a shitty person, but I'm not evil.”

My thoughts drifted back to last night on the balcony. Brax's breath against my skin, the warmth of his hard body pressed close to mine. His husky voice whispering that he missed me… and the phone sex.

I was hot and bothered just thinking about it.

I couldn't wait to see him again. I wanted the real thing next time.

Taylor cleared her throat and indicated for me to focus.

I turned my attention to the stage. “Form and function work together as one,” one of the speakers droned on. “Great design doesn’t date, but it’s deceptively complicated to get it right.”

Fuck, this was boring as shit.

I’d resigned myself to the fact that I couldn’t focus on the panel discussion; my mind was a haze of horniness.

Besides, I wasn’t hearing anything I didn’t already know.

Fighting the urge to close my eyes and drift off into a micro-sleep, I unlocked my phone again. I lowered the brightness to keep it under the radar and checked Instagram.

Taylor leaned into me, her voice hushed. “Has Brax accepted your follow request yet?”

I didn't know, I hadn't checked. I typed in his profile, holding my breath as the page loaded. Yes!

I scrolled through his posts.

The most recent one had been from nine months ago.

Building site, building site, work ute, a random beach shack, black Camaro, surf break, building site again, a steak sizzling on an iron pot over an open fire, more car rims. Typical bloke.

He didn’t live chronically online. Thank god. I fucking hated the overshare culture.

Scrolling further, I found a few ocean shots peppered through his feed, but it was mostly building sites.

I wondered about the ocean, though. It looked like the same stretch of coastline in every picture. Probably from one of his surfing trips.

I braced myself, knowing I’d likely find at least one photo of Ally—but there was nothing. Not even one. I felt a rush of relief.

Leaning over, I showed Taylor my screen as I scrolled. “Do you think it’s weird Brax doesn’t have a single picture of his girlfriend?”

Taylor glanced at the screen, frowning. “No, not really. Cam didn’t put a single photo of me up when we were together. Some guys don’t give a shit about socials.”

That was true. Besides, Brax didn’t seem the type to doom-scroll anyway.

Still, I couldn’t help myself.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I went to his followers, typed in "Ally," and found her instantly.

I clicked on her profile.

Damn. It was private. But her last name was there.

Ally Woodridge.

I swiped out of Instagram, opened Google, and typed her name in. A few results popped up: a doctor, a university professor... none of them were Brax's Ally. Adjusting my search terms to include "Grey’s Forest," I pressed enter.

Bang. There she was.

In a Facebook picture with Brax.

His arm was draped around her, a grin stretching across his face, while Ally smiled sweetly at the camera. My stomach plummeted, bile rising in my throat.

She was pretty. Shoulder-length brown hair, blue eyes, petite... the kind of girl-next-door pretty that made me hate her instantly.

I clicked to enlarge the photo, my heart cracking as I read her caption: My everything.

Jealousy burned in my throat. I swallowed it back down.

Pathetic, basic bitch caption.

Taylor flicked me in the arm. “Stop it, Dyl. Don’t torture yourself. Hand over your phone.”

Grimacing, I passed it to her. She turned it off and shoved it back into my hands. “Put it away.”

Sighing, I obeyed.

It wasn’t healthy to keep looking at Brax’s girlfriend. Until then, she’d been just a name. But now that I had a face to go with it? She felt real which made me feel terrible.

And, if I was being truly honest? Fucking jealous.

Was I even allowed to feel that way?

After all, I was the other woman.

The jealousy quickly shifted to anger.

At myself. At Brax. At Ally. At Zack.

I didn’t know where to put all of it. Maybe that was the problem—I wasn’t processing it. I’d been acting without any thought for the consequences.

But wasn’t that how I’d always operated? Why change now? Maybe because now you're turning into the very person you swore you never would… No, fuck that. I was nothing like my Dad.

I sank back into my chair, forcing myself to focus on the discussion on stage.

But all I could focus on was the oily feeling in the pit of my stomach. And how there was a part of me that was beginning to really dislike myself.