4. Stevie
four
stevie
Unknown Number
Hey there, princess
I stare at the text message, heart pounding.
It’s Hunter, isn’t it? It has to be. He called me princess the day he rescued me. I remember every single word he said to me that night and keep replaying it over and over in my head. I literally have not stopped thinking about him since that night.
I like thinking about him. I like conjuring his perfect face in my mind.
I like thinking of how safe he made me feel, with his strong arms around me, telling me to relax.
I’m standing in the middle of my bedroom, staring at the phone in my hand. Dazed. With no idea how to reply. I don’t even know how he got my number. I’m not sure I want to know.
Becca enters without knocking and I look up at her.
“What’s wrong?” she asks right away.
I hand her my phone. “I just got a text from an unknown number. I think it’s Hunter.”
She reads the text. “Princess? He’s calling you ‘princess’? Be still my heart.”
I snatch my phone back. “It’s nothing. He probably just calls all girls that.”
Becca sits down on my bed, crossing her legs. “Maybe. Aren’t you gonna reply?”
“What should I say?”
“Hello, my prince,” she says, then falls back on my pillow, cackling.
“Well, you’re no help.”
“Just say ‘hi’ or something. ‘New phone, who this?’” She grins maniacally. “This is very exciting. My love life is nonexistent, so I’m glad you’re having some fun.”
I frown at her. “I’m not having fun at all.”
She rolls her eyes. “You got a text from an unknown number calling you ‘princess’ and it could very well be the hottest hockey player in the whole university. I call that fun.”
“Fine. I’m texting ‘hi’ and nothing more.”
Becca nods and I shoot off the text. Immediately, three dots appear in a bubble. “Oh god, he’s typing.” I bite my lip and look to Becca for help.
“Um, yeah, that’s typically how communication works. Not that my ex ever understood that.” She blows out a frustrated breath.
Unknown Number
What are you doing Sunday night?
I nearly drop the phone.
Becca comes over and reads the text over my shoulder. “Holy shit, he’s asking you out.”
“We don’t even really know if it’s him.”
“Oh, it’s him, alright.”
I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. My insides are in turmoil. I don’t think I can handle being alone with Hunter on a date. “I’m gonna tell him I’m busy,” I say, beginning to type.
Becca snatches my phone away. “Oh, no you’re not. You’re going out with him.”
“Becca!”
“Stevie!” She mocks, holding the phone out of my reach. “You have to do it, okay? You have to do it and tell me everything. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened all year. Do it for me.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t owe you that.”
“But you owe him,” she says, smirking. Wow, I walked right into that one.
I clamp my mouth shut, with no idea how to respond. Becca laughs. “You trapped yourself, babe. You’re going on this date.” She types something into my phone.
“What are you typing?”
“Just telling him you’re free and ready to have him fuck your brains out.”
“Becca, no!” I lunge at her. She gives me the phone, cackling like a psychopath.
I check the message she sent. It says, “no plans.”
I glare at her, “You’re the worst.”
She doubles over with laughter, clutching her stomach. “You should’ve seen your face.”
Unknown Number
Great, I’ll pick you up at eight
I stare at his message, terror and excitement warring inside me. This is really happening. Becca looks like the cat that got the cream.
“I’m so freakin’ excited for you,” she says.
Later, after I do some reading for class, take a shower, and get into bed, I keep thinking about Hunter’s messages. He sounds so self-assured and confident, even via text message.
I bet he’s someone who literally never hears the word “no.”
He’s got puck bunnies throwing themselves at him. He’s rich and handsome. A star athlete in a school that bends over backwards for athletes.
His life must be a dream.
I hate feeling jealous of anyone, but since my own situation sucks so much, I can’t help but covet other people’s lives, especially when they look easy and carefree.
I must’ve applied to about ten jobs today, and I desperately need to hear back from them. The meager amount of money in my bank account keeps dwindling, disappearing like water through a sieve.
I have a jewelry business as a side hustle. Someday, I hope to make it my full-time job. For now, I’m lucky if I get half a dozen sales a month.
But designing jewelry is my passion.
When I was seven years old, I got one of those bracelet-making kits for my birthday. I must have driven my mother crazy with all the crappy bracelets I made and insisted she wear. She never complained. I’m even pretty sure she kept all of them.
But they were ugly.
Ever since then, I’ve been making jewelry of one type or another. A year ago, I launched my Etsy shop and started marketing my stuff. I use natural gemstones, crafting each piece with intention, from simple, elegant pieces to more statement styles.
Becca, who’s into crystals and witchy things, loves them. But friends can’t be your only customers. And my marketing budget? It’s firmly at $0 right now.
The anxiety from being jobless keeps me up for another hour, but eventually I fall asleep.
BECCA BURSTS INTO my room the next morning as I’m getting ready for class.
“Something just arrived for you,” she says, eyes wide.
“What kind of something?”
“A big box with a red bow on it.” She pauses and gives me a meaningful look. “It’s from Hunter.”
I drop my blush brush and race to the living room, Becca hot on my heels.
The box is brown, a red velvet bow tied all around it like a big Christmas present. A card tucked into the bow reads: “To Stevie, From Hunter.”
I’m speechless.
“Aren’t you gonna open it?” Becca asks.
“I need a moment to process this.”
“Girl, same.”
“Who delivered it?”
“Some guy. I didn’t recognize him.”
So many questions race through my mind. Why is Hunter sending me anything? How does he know where I live? Is he stalking me? WHAT THE HELL IS IN THE BOX?
“Stevie,” Becca says. “Open the box.”
I shake my head. It feels like Pandora’s box. It feels like if I open this unasked-for gift, I’ll be unleashing a world of craziness and stress and hell into my life.
“Can you open it for me?” I ask Becca like a total coward. My hands are clenched and pressed to my chest, that now-familiar feeling of terror mixed with excitement making my heart pound like a drum.
Becca doesn’t need to be asked twice. She grabs one end of the bow and pulls, then slips her fingers underneath the top of the box and removes it, revealing white tissue paper. I’m holding my breath. She looks at me and I nod, and she carefully, reverently peels the tissue paper away.
“It’s a gown,” she says, sounding awed. Gently grabbing the straps, Becca lifts the dress out of the box and holds it up for my perusal.
It’s stunning. Black with a subtle sweetheart neckline and a slit that seems way too high for my taste.
I swallow. Becca checks the tag. “It’s 100% silk,” she says in wonder. “Wow.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Um, yeah, considering everything in the world is some kind of polyester blend these days.” She looks at the gown in her hands. “I bet it cost a fortune.”
“I can’t accept it,” I say, turning on my heel and heading for the kitchen. I need a glass of water. Or a shot of tequila.
I pour water from the tap and gulp it down loudly.
Becca joins me in the kitchen, an envelope held in both hands. “This was also in the box.” We stare at each other. “Want me to open it?”
I nod slowly.
Becca tears it open and takes out a single card, reading it out loud: “The honor of your presence is requested at the grand opening of the Madera Art Gallery, hosted by Jack Cruise and the Cruise Family.”
Becca holds the card out for me. My eyes zero in on the date. This Sunday.
“Hunter must want you to wear that dress to the opening,” Becca says. “Damn, girl.”
I press the invitation to my chest and groan. “I can’t believe this.”
“Poor Stevie,” Becca says in a teasing tone. “Forced to wear an expensive dress to a fancy art gallery opening with the hottest guy on campus.”
I glare at her. “Shut up. This is nerve-wracking. I won’t even know anyone there.”
“You know Hunter.”
“Barely.”
Becca sighs. “Come on,” she says, taking me by the elbow and leading me out of the kitchen. “It’s time for a pep talk.”
We sit down on the couch in the living room and Becca takes both my hands in hers. “You need to calm down. It’s okay to be nervous, but don’t forget that you’re beautiful and smart and kind and Hunter is not better than you.”
“I didn’t say he was better than me,” I protest.
“I know what you’re thinking.” She pats my hand.
“I know you’re mostly nervous because he’s rich and you’ll be surrounded by other rich people who will look down their nose at you, but none of them are better than you.
They’re normal people who happen to have more money.
I spent last summer as a server at Wildfire, and let me tell you, most rich people are losers. ”
“I find that hard to believe.”
Becca shrugs. “It’s true. Just keep your head high and walk in there like you own the place. Don’t slouch. Don’t fidget. And try not to look like a terrified deer in the headlights.”
“Weird pep talk.”
“Really good pep talk, actually.” She stands up. “Now, can you please try on the dress?”