I scroll up and see, “WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL IS THIS?” Attached is a screenshot of the picture of me and Calvin that I posted a week ago.
“WHO IS THIS?”
“WHY HAVE YOU NOT TOLD ME ABOUT THIS PERSON?”
“WHY DID YOU NOT TAG HIM SO I CAN STALK HIM?”
I chuckle as I scroll through several more similarly enthusiastic texts. We’re on opposite sides of the couch, and I feel Calvin glance over at me.
“Who are you talking to?” he inquires mildly.
“No one. I was reading missed texts from Charity. She must have been busy this past week, she just found the picture I shared of us before the Broadway show.” My eyes glittering with amusement, I look up at him. “She wants to know why I didn’t tag you in it so she could stalk you.”
He smiles faintly. “She and I are so much alike in some ways. I think she was your warm-up for me.”
“Not for that reason, obviously, but do you want me to tag you? I hadn’t thought about it before she mentioned it.”
I tell myself I don’t care what he says, but I want him to say yes. Yes means he doesn’t care if other women see it and he’s happy for anyone he knows to see the picture of us together.
I’m a little letdown when he shakes his head no.
Jackson didn’t like to be tagged in photos, either.
“You sure?” I ask lightly.
“I don’t really use social media that way. If she wants to check out my past, tell her to visit my mom and look through a photo album.”
I freeze and blink at him. “You don’t use social media?”
“The company does, of course. I pay people to run that. And I have a profile up for reference, but I don’t update it. I only log in if there’s something specific I’m looking for. Sharing every experience and thought that flits across my mind? Not for me.”
“But… how?”
His lips curve up as he flips the page of the book he’s reading. “It’s quite easy, I assure you.”
“That’s so weird,” I whisper to myself as I start a text to send Charity. I hesitate for a few moments, trying to figure out what to say. I’ve told her nothing at all about Calvin. I didn’t know how to bring him up, and I didn’t want her to feel me only sharing part of the story because then she would demand the rest, and there’s so much I can’t tell her.
I don’t know how to talk to her about what Calvin told me. It’s not the kind of thing we can discuss over text, and she’s been busy catching up on work since she got back from her honeymoon, so we haven’t had a chance to hang out.
“This guy I met a while ago. He’s Jackson’s boss, actually.”
It only takes her a moment to text me back. “I am in full support of you fucking Jackson’s boss to get back at him. Didn’t think you had it in you, but I am so proud.”
I smile and shake my head. “That’s not why.”
“Have you talked to that little weasel lately btw?” she texts back. “I forgot to check in after my bachelorette party and make sure you weren’t talking to him again.”
“To be fair, you were a little busy.”
Busier than I knew she was, but I don’t say that.
“True, true. But Jackson is history, right?”
“Museums around the world are curating his collection even now.” I haven’t heard from him since the night he lured me to Hell to meet Calvin, and I never want to again.
Some part of me thought he might text me again to check in and see how I am after what he pulled me into, but the bastard didn’t even bother.
“Yay! Tell me all about this new guy. This has to be really new, right? You just went out with Lance like a minute ago.”
I spend a minute trying to think what I can share with her, but my brain won’t cooperate. The road is completely blocked, so I close the text for now and check emails, social media, and—of course—make sure my login streak is safe.
My phone vibrates and another message flashes across the screen. “Hello?”
“Sorry,” I text back. “I’m at his house right now and I feel like I’m being rude. I’m also getting really tired. I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?”
“You’re sleeping over at his place?? Wow, that’s like really serious for you.”
It is, and I don’t know how to explain it.
To evade getting roped into the conversation now anyway, I send back, “Yes, lol, and I don’t have my charge cord with me, so…”
“gotcha. Well, tell me everything tomorrow!”
I text back telling her to have a good night, but I feel a pull of sadness knowing I can’t really tell her everything. I’ll have to set up a lunch date with her one day so we can talk in person.