Chapter 3

Rhett

By the time practice ended, I was starving, sweaty, and seriously considering whether passing government was necessary for a successful adult life.

I was leaning toward no.

“Sixty-three,” Knox said from the locker beside mine.

I threw my practice shirt at him.

He caught it against his chest and immediately dropped it. “Jesus Christ. That’s disgusting.”

“Then stop talking about my grade.”

“You’re the one who got a sixty-three.”

“And somehow you’ve made it your personal tragedy.”

Knox kicked my shirt back toward me. “I’m trying to understand how somebody who can memorize an entire playbook can’t remember there are three branches of government.”

“There are too many branches.”

“There are three.”

“Exactly.”

Parker laughed from across the locker room.

I pulled on a clean T-shirt and checked my phone. Two texts from Dad, one from Coach even though I’d spent the last two hours with him, and enough other notifications that I didn’t bother opening them.

Dad’s were probably about the grade.

Coach’s was definitely about the grade.

Everyone was suddenly very invested in government.

“Friday night,” Knox said.

“What about it?”

“My house.”

“Your parents gone?”

“Would I be having a party if they weren’t?”

“You had forty people over last year while they were upstairs.”

“They didn’t wake up.”

“Your mother came downstairs in a robe and threatened Parker with a fireplace poker.”

Parker pointed across the room. “That woman is terrifying.”

Knox shrugged. “Nobody called the cops. Successful party.”

Fair enough.

We grabbed our bags and headed out with the rest of the team.

The cheerleaders had finished practice around the same time, so several of them were hanging around outside the locker-room hallway. That wasn’t unusual. Neither was Bree Dalton falling into step beside me.

“You ignored my text.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“What did it say?”

She smacked my arm. “You’re such an asshole.”

I grinned. “There. Now we’re caught up.”

Bree was pretty. Everybody knew Bree was pretty. Blond hair, great body, perfect makeup even after cheer practice. We’d flirted plenty of times because that was just what we did.

The problem was I could practically have our conversations without being there.

“So you’re coming Friday, right?”

“To the game? I was planning on it.”

“The party, idiot.”

“Whose?”

She stared at me. “Knox’s.”

I looked over my shoulder. “You’re having a party?”

Knox flipped me off.

Bree laughed. “You’re impossible.”

She started telling me who was coming, who wasn’t because Sienna was pissed at them, and something about two girls fighting over the same guy.

I nodded in what felt like the right places.

Sometimes Bree got on my nerves, and I felt like a dick for it because she wasn’t stupid. There just wasn’t much to our conversations. Parties, football, gossip, who liked who. Half the time I couldn’t tell whether Bree actually cared about any of it or whether this was simply what people like us were supposed to talk about.

“What are you wearing to Sadie Hawkins?” she asked.

“Clothes.”

“Rhett.”

“Hopefully pants.”

She rolled her eyes.

My phone buzzed.

I pulled it out expecting Dad again.

Unknown number.

There was a picture attached.

I almost didn’t open it.

Girls sending me pictures wasn’t exactly unusual. Usually I knew what I was getting before I opened one. A bra shot. A lot of cleavage. Something taken from an angle nobody accidentally chose. Sometimes there’d be a message asking what I was doing later.

They wanted me to look.

I opened this one expecting more of the same.

It wasn’t.

A girl stood in front of a dressing-room mirror wearing a dark-green dress.

Fully dressed.

Her phone covered most of her face. No pout. No pose. No attempt to shove her chest toward the mirror.

Although, yeah, she had a chest.

A pretty damn impressive one.

She was curvy everywhere, actually. Hips, thighs, a soft stomach beneath the fitted dress. Exactly the kind of body that was impossible not to notice.

But she wasn’t showing it off.

That was what made me look twice.

Her shoulders were slightly hunched, one knee turned inward, and she was holding the phone like she wished it were big enough to hide the rest of her too.

Then I read the message.

Be honest. Do I look ridiculous in this? I feel like everyone is going to stare.

I frowned.

Okay.

Definitely not meant for me.

“Yo.”

Knox slammed into my shoulder because I’d stopped walking.

“What?”

“You stopped.”

“Did I?”

He leaned toward my phone.

I turned it against my chest before I even thought about it.

Knox froze.

Then he grinned.

Shit.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“You just hid your phone.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You literally did.”

Bree turned around. “What’s going on?”

“Rhett’s hiding a girl.”

“I am not.”

Bree immediately reached for my phone.

I lifted it out of reach.

“Hey!”

“No.”

“Let me see.”

“Why?”

“Because now I want to know.”

Knox laughed. “Exactly.”

Normally I wouldn’t have cared. If a girl sent me something because she wanted me to see it, the guys giving me shit wasn’t exactly new.

But this girl hadn’t wanted me to see anything.

She’d typed one wrong number.

That made it different.

“Who’s the girl?” Knox asked.

“No idea.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious.”

Bree reached again.

I shoved my phone into my pocket.

“Can everybody stop being weird about my phone?”

Knox stared at me. “We’re being weird?”

“Extremely.”

Bree crossed her arms. “You’re acting suspicious.”

“I’m walking to my truck.”

“With a secret girl.”

“There is no secret girl.”

I left before they could make it worse.

By the time I climbed into my truck, I’d already decided what to do.

Tell her wrong number.

Delete the picture.

Done.

Simple.

I pulled out my phone.

The picture filled the screen again.

I feel like everyone is going to stare.

Yeah.

People were going to stare.

Had she seriously looked in that mirror and thought otherwise?

I typed:

Pretty sure this wasn’t meant for me.

Send.

There. Good deed accomplished.

I should’ve put my phone down.

Instead, I looked at the picture one more time.

Then typed:

But since you asked…

I stopped.

What the hell was I doing?

I didn’t know her.

Still, whoever she was, she sounded genuinely worried she looked ridiculous, and that was crazy.

If people stare, I promise it won’t be because you look ridiculous.

I sent it.

Then immediately decided that sounded too serious.

So naturally, instead of quitting while I was ahead, I made it worse.

Whoever you’re hoping notices you would have to be an idiot not to.

Send.

I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat.

There.

Now I was flirting with a girl whose face I hadn’t even seen.

Excellent decision-making, Callahan.

My phone buzzed.

I picked it up.

UNKNOWN: Oh my God. I’m so sorry.

I laughed.

Another message appeared.

UNKNOWN: Please delete that.

I looked at the picture.

Then typed:

Already did.

I hadn’t yet, but I would.

A few seconds passed.

UNKNOWN: Thank you.

I deleted the picture.

Then my phone buzzed again.

UNKNOWN: And for the record, I’m never trusting myself to type a phone number again.

I smiled.

ME: Probably smart.

Three dots appeared.

And for some reason, instead of starting my truck, I sat there waiting to see what the girl in the green dress would say next