CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ROWAN
I should’ve stopped texting him after that.
That would’ve been smart.
Instead:
Rowan:
Was he drunk or naturally stupid?
The reply came so fast it was honestly embarrassing.
Mason:
Both.
Dangerous combination.
I smiled at my phone before I could stop myself.
Immediately annoying.
Very immediately annoying.
Rowan:
You sound fond of him.
Mason:
Don’t spread that around.
A second later another message came through.
Mason:
What are you doing awake anyway?
I looked around the library.
Half the tables were full of exhausted students pretending caffeine counted as nutrition.
Rowan:
Portfolio work.
My professor basically threatened my future today.
Typing bubbles.
Stopped.
Started again.
Mason:
Dramatic?
Rowan:
Accurate.
Then:
Mason:
What portfolio?
I hesitated for a second.
Which was stupid.
It wasn’t some giant secret.
Still, showing people your work always felt weirdly personal.
Rowan:
Internship application thing.
New York program.
This time the typing bubble took longer.
Mason:
NYC?
And suddenly I remembered:
the showcase.
Basketball scouts.
New York.
Pressure.
Right.
Interesting timing.
Rowan:
Yeah.
Apparently everyone on campus is trying to escape there this summer.
Three dots again.
Mason:
Same.
Well.
That hit differently than it should’ve.
MASON
I stared at the conversation longer than necessary.
New York.
Of course she was going for something huge.
That tracked.
Rowan didn’t seem like the type to do anything halfway.
My phone buzzed again.
Rowan:
Wait.
Is yours basketball stuff?
I laughed once under my breath.
Mason:
“Basketball stuff” is a brutal description.
Rowan:
I’m supportive but uninformed.
Supportive.
Weird word choice.
I rubbed a hand over my face before answering.
Mason:
Showcase tournament.
Scouts. Media. My father becomes even more annoying than usual.
The typing bubble appeared instantly.
Rowan:
That sounds awful.
I stared at that reply for a second.
Most people said:
That sounds amazing.
That’s huge.
You’re lucky.
Not awful.
And somehow that tiny difference got under my skin immediately.
Mason:
It’s complicated.
Rowan:
Yeah.
You kinda scream “complicated.”
I snorted quietly.
Luca looked over from the couch across the apartment. “Why are you smiling at your phone like a teenage girl?”
I looked up immediately. “I’m not.”
“You literally are.”
“Shut up.”
“That’s definitely Rowan.”
Damn it.
ROWAN
Serena came into my room holding iced coffee and bad energy.
She took one look at me sitting cross-legged on my bed staring at my phone and pointed immediately.
“Oh, you’re gone.”
“I’m literally answering messages.”
“You’re smiling.”
Traitorous face.
I threw a pillow at her.
She caught it easily. “Who is it?”
“You know who.”
Serena gasped dramatically. “Mason Reed the emotionally repressed basketball god?”
“That sentence made me physically ill.”
“But accurate.”
Unfortunately… maybe a little.
My phone buzzed again.
Mason:
You still in the library?
I frowned slightly.
Rowan:
Yeah.
Why?
That reply came immediately.
Mason:
Because it’s almost midnight.
Go home, Ellis.
I stared at the message.
Then reread it.
Then hated how warm it made me feel.
“This is bad,” I muttered.
Serena perked up. “Ooo, what happened?”
“He told me to go home.”
She blinked. “That’s it?”
“You don’t understand the tone.”
“No, I understand. You people flirt like divorced forty-year-olds.”
Honestly?
Fair.
MASON
Luca was still watching me like this was the greatest night of his life.
“Are you done being creepy?” I asked.
“No. This is fascinating.”
“It’s texting.”
“You hate texting.”
True.
I usually responded to people three business days later if at all.
Meanwhile I’d answered Rowan in under thirty seconds for the last hour.
Crap.
Luca pointed at me from the couch. “You’re cooked.”
“I hate that phrase too.”
“Still true.”
My phone buzzed again.
Rowan:
You sound bossy over text too.
Impressive consistency.
Before I could think too hard:
Mason:
You sound stubborn in every format.
Almost immediately:
Rowan:
Damn right.
I laughed again.
Actual laugh.
Luca looked emotional. “I miss the old toxic version of you.”
“Go bother Tessa.”
“She’s asleep.”
“She survived that long?”
“Barely.”
ROWAN
The conversation should’ve ended naturally like ten messages ago.
Instead it somehow kept going.
Not deep.
Not emotional.
Just easy.
And weirdly funny.
Mason:
What’s your portfolio even about?
Rowan:
Media writing.
Interviews. Culture pieces. Editorial stuff.
Mason:
So you judge people professionally.
Rowan:
Exactly.
You should be terrified.
Mason:
Too late.
My stomach did something dumb at that reply.
Again.
God.
I leaned back against the wall behind my bed while Serena kept pretending not to listen from across the room.
Very badly pretending, by the way.
Then another message came through.
Mason:
You’ll get the internship.
I stared at it longer than the others.
Not because it was flirty.
Because it felt honest.
Simple.
Certain.
Like he believed it completely.
Rowan:
You don’t know that.
Typing bubble.
Stopped.
Started again.
Mason:
I know you don’t do anything halfway.
Well.
There goes my emotional stability for the night.
MASON
I shouldn’t have sent that.
Not because it wasn’t true.
Because it was too honest again.
But Rowan didn’t answer right away this time.
And for some reason that made me nervous.
Which was absolutely ridiculous.
Finally:
Rowan:
That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.
I leaned back against the kitchen counter.
Then typed before I could overthink it.
Mason:
Low bar.
Three dots instantly.
Rowan:
True.
You were kind of an asshole when we met.
I smiled despite myself.
Mason:
“Were”?
Her reply took a full minute.
Way too long.
Then:
Rowan:
Don’t let it go to your head, Reed.
Yeah.
I was completely screwed.