Chapter Two
Robby
Every morning, my internal clock wakes me at six a.m. no matter how late I stayed up the night before.
It’s been this way since that night. I rub my eyes and grab my phone off the nightstand, where a slew of notifications are waiting for me.
Rook didn’t post last night, so it’s nothing too crazy.
Mostly junk and work emails that I’ll get to at eight when I log in for the day.
I bite my lip as I tap to see if Appa has posted since last night, but the flutter of hope quickly deflates in my chest when the circle around her profile picture isn’t illuminated with anything new.
She was quiet at night, especially on weeknights, but my days always seemed to start off better when there was something fresh for me to see from her.
She used to post throughout the night, and I’d wake up periodically to check my phone.
Thankfully, for both of our sleeping habits, she no longer posted like that.
I haven’t seen Appa since that night during my senior year of college, but I could never forget her. A barely legal teeny blonde standing alone in a crowded space.
My roommate had finally convinced me to go to a party near campus. I relented to get him to shut up with a concrete plan to bail after one drink.
“There’s gonna be freshman girls there,” he said, but his predatory words soured my stomach. I didn’t need to chase barely legal coeds, but apparently, he did.
The party was mid at best, with its attendees wrecked by the time we showed up, and I knew it wouldn’t be worth my time.
The house already reeked of weed and was trashed with empty beer bottles, abandoned red Solo cups, and half-assed hung streamers.
The music was obnoxious, playing rap with the bass turned up so high I thought the speakers would blow out at any beat drop.
Finishing my beer, I was just about to turn for the door when I saw her.
The only light at that party.
I was studying engineering and too focused on my classes to bother with girls. I could get laid if I wanted to, but anything more serious was out of the question. Or so I thought.
Until her.
She drew me in like a moth to a flame. She was short and thin but unmissable. I couldn’t recall what she wore then, but I’ll never forget the warm tones of her curled hair and huge blue eyes that still sparkled in the dimmed lights.
I finally found the courage to talk to her.
“You know, I’ve been here an hour and can’t figure out why a girl like you is alone,” I said.
It was an awkward pickup line, but twenty-one-year-old Robby did the best he could.
I remember how I hated having to look down at her, but I was easily a foot taller and shifted my weight from foot to foot to distract from the height difference.
She raised her eyebrow at me inquisitively.
“Well, you found me, so now what?” Her voice was like honey, warm like her curly locks, and a dead giveaway that she was from out-of-state.
She would be from the South with the sass I’d expect from a girl who only stood five foot two, but I was hooked already after she had only said six words to me.
But it wasn’t like me to have meaningless sex with a girl who didn’t know better.
She felt special in her own way and kept eye contact with me like she wasn’t afraid, and to be honest, I was the only good guy at the party.
“Are you a freshman?” I asked.
“Yeah. I’m Appa.”
It had to have been a nickname. “Appa? I think that’s father in Korean.” I had to resist the urge to facepalm. Why did I have to be such a nerd?
She laughed and toyed with a curl framing her face and tried too hard to seem flirtatious.
In that moment, it made me feel triumphant that I had caught her eye, too.
The weight of the metal cross that hung around my neck under my shirt shifted and reminded me who I was.
I didn’t doubt she was legal, but she was too damn young, too innocent, too inexperienced. I couldn’t let it go any further.
“That’s a fun fact,” she said. “It’s short for Apple.”
Apple? What kind of name was that?
“That’s a pretty unique name. I’m Robby.
” I swallowed and looked down at my scuffed black Chucks.
“And I think you should go. This isn’t the crowd for you,” I said, being the fucking hero.
Her brows slightly furrowed at my statement, and her smile faded.
I realized it probably came off like I thought she wasn’t cool enough to be here.
“There’s just some…” I glanced around, trying to find my roommate, but I could hear his laugh nearby. “Bad dudes here.”
“You?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, I’m about to head out.”
“I could go with you,” she said and bit her bottom lip like she was hopeful.
‘No, nope, not today,’ I thought to myself. ‘Stay strong.’
“Um, don’t come back here. Trust me.” I turned to walk away before I changed my mind. “Nice meeting you, Appa,” I called over my shoulder.
I got another beer and stayed at the party long enough to watch her leave with a female friend who also looked like a freshman.
I remember feeling so grateful she had a buddy because she was safer that way.
They both were. We went to a safe university, but it was late.
The freshman dorms were a walk from the party’s location if they didn’t get an Uber, and I had to stop myself from following her at a safe distance to make sure she got back okay.
Instead, I trusted she’d be fine with her friend and went back to my apartment, welcoming the cool night air after the stuffy party.
Back at my apartment, I fired up my laptop and searched the student directory for the name Apple.
Thank fuck it was a rare first name because I had her full name, major, and student email address in seconds and only minutes before I found her on social media, @Appleygirl.
I grinned at the sunny username and spent too long looking through her pictures, including any she was tagged in, and who she followed, while being careful not to accidentally like anything as I swiped through her page.
My throat went instantly dry at the vast number of bikini pictures I tried hard not to look at.
Her high school graduation pictures were also posted the spring before.
I was right; she was fresh out of high school, and I wasn’t.
She already had two thousand followers, so I hit the follow button.
And that started it all.
That was about six years ago, and I should have taken her home and made her mine. Or at least got her out of my system, so I could fucking move on. But that’s not the man my mom raised.
After my morning workout in my makeshift home gym in the garage, I head inside to shower and shave. I have meetings today, and they’re likely to be video calls. Letting the shower beat on my back, I think back to senior year again.
Months after my meet-cute with Appa, I found my roommate overdosed in our apartment’s living room, where he had choked to death on his vomit, and that sight will forever be branded in my memory.
So many years later, I still have to press my palm on the moist tile wall of the shower to stop me from doubling over and puking at the thought.
Of course, I called the police as soon as I found him.
Our apartment was silent as they took his body away that morning.
But his rich family was convinced that I did nothing to save him, which wasn’t true or fair.
I was asleep, and after living with him for months, I was used to him getting home in the early morning hours or having loud sex with random girls to the point I tuned it out completely.
For all I knew, someone had come home with him and bailed when shit went south.
The police cleared me, of course, as it was a classic overdose situation, but that didn’t stop his somewhat popular sister from blasting me on social media for letting her brother die.
I muted my notifications but allowed myself a daily check to see if Appa posted anything new.
After the social media blast, I tried my best to keep to myself.
Everyone saw the post, so I focused on finishing my classes and staying private.
I didn’t even walk at graduation and moved back to Napa as soon as my last final was completed.
To this day, my graduation gown and cap remain in their original plastic in the closet of my childhood bedroom.
The summer following my graduation, I helped Dad and his brothers with the vineyard.
My parents knew I couldn’t do something like what I was publicly accused of, and I appreciated their endless love and kindness as I pieced myself back together.
Appa helped, too. I eventually turned on notifications, so whenever she posted or added to her story, I would get a push notification.
She posted little back then, but when she did, I’d spend hours studying every pixel until my eyes went dry.
I’m still that fucking way, and she posts far more now.
The best content she posts now is try-on hauls where she’s giving me permission to look at her body.
She’s still as short, but her body has matured—fuller breasts, rounder hips, and toned arms and thighs from the yoga she posts.
She was fuckable now, but this is the most we’ll ever be… me thirsting from afar.