There’s nothing else to say.
I drop my phone like it’s a snake ready to attack. I’ll pretend this never happened and hope she can too. I’m good at forgetting things, such as the feeling of hunger scraping my belly when I was eight, or the dread of walking into a new foster home.
I step onto my deck to put space between me and my phone, when what I really want is space between me and my thoughts. The wood is cool beneath my feet as I stare at the water below, watching it shift in and out, ever-changing.
I’ve already forgotten my first life. Or at least rewritten my part. I’m now Chase James, superstar. I have a whole fake bio that doesn’t mention anything about dead mothers or runaways. This message is one more thing to pretend didn’t happen in a lifetime of pretending. I guess that’s why I’m so good at acting. I’ve had a lot of practice.
It’s better this way. If I tell myself that often enough, I just might begin to believe it.
CHAPTER 6
Olivia
The next day, I pour my third cup of coffee and will the pounding in my head to stop. Thank God it’s slow in the bookstore today. Audrey is taking advantage of the quiet to organize inventory, so I’m keeping an eye out for customers at the café and trying hard not to puke.
Champagne is evil. The happy bubbles are deceptive and make people do stupid, stupid things. I’d never been a big drinker. My mom had been overfond of alcohol, so I’ve always avoided drinking too much, and now I know why.
But it isn’t just my headache, exhaustion, and upset stomach causing the regret.
It’s what I did last night.
I close my eyes, my head hitting the counter. I look at my phone for the hundredth time that morning.
I sent a selfie to my pen-pal crush. And not just any selfie—a sexy selfie. I hadn’t realized my nips had been in full view in that white shirt. I broke our main rules and smashed through the wall we’d erected. I asked him to tell me his name, send me a photo back. And he turned me down—hard—then went radio silent.
I’m humiliated. Does he think I’m hideous? Does he have a girlfriend? Is he secretly a creepy sixty-year-old man living in his mama’s basement? Has he broken both hands so he can’t type?
Fuck. My. Life.
Remington never indicated he wanted anything more than a virtual relationship with me. The guy ignored every subtle hint I made over the years to become more than online friends.
Tipsy Olivia decided subtle hints were overrated. There was nothing subtle about what I’d done last night.
I cringe for the hundredth time today.
I ruined everything.
The door jingles. I look up to find Daisy strolling toward me. She’s sunshine personified in flared vintage jeans, a white top, and a crocheted green beret that should look ridiculous, but is adorable. Her curly blond hair rebels from two thick braids.
“Happy birthday, babe!” she cries. “Mama’s back!”
Her smile fades into an expression of concern. “Whoa. You look rough.”
“Thanks.”
My forehead collides with the counter again.
“I don’t mean to pry, but what’s that fabulous pink Formica ever done to you?”
“I’m hoping if I hit my head long enough, I might lose my short-term memory of last night. Champagne is evil.”
Daisy grins. “Damn. I missed it. I wanted to be the first to see Drunk Birthday Olivia!”
“Trust me, no one should ever see Drunk Olivia,” I say. “Drunk Olivia is going to crawl back from where she came and never again emerge.”
“And you call me dramatic.” Daisy saunters behind the counter and helps herself to a cup of the brewed coffee, adding a load of sugar and milk to it. Daisy doesn’t work here, but she might as well since she spends more time at the bookshop than at her own store. I keep telling her she needs to hire someone because, while Daisy is great at sourcing designer vintage clothes, she’s crap at the day-to-day running of a business.
“Drinking is the devil. It made me…”
“What? What’d you do?” She sets down her coffee and leans against the counter, all chipper eagerness. I should’ve known she would appreciate my bad decisions.
Telling her might not be the best idea I’ve ever had, but I need to unburden myself to someone. “You know how I was going to text my friend last night?”
“Of course. Your text-should-be-sext guy from your nerdy forums.”
“I’m not on nerdy forums. I’m on mystery writer forums. We help each other with research. Like how to murder someone and leave no trace. Or how to get rid of a body.”
“You’re kind of proving my point here. And also, you’re freaking me out.”
“Okay, fine. Maybe I am on nerd forums. But I didn’t meet him there. It’s a long story.” I’ve never told Daisy or Audrey about how I met Remington. I never even told Nanna. I’m not sure why, other than it felt too personal.
Our relationship is just between Remington and me. I also don’t want their judgment. They’ll tease me about being catfished. I know our relationship is weird. But it works for us. Or at least, it did, before I messed everything up.
I look down at my hands. “The problem is, we’ve been messaging each other for years, and I’ve sort of developed feelings for him.”
“I knew it! You like him. So, what’s the problem?”
I sigh. “From the beginning, we agreed not to get too personal. No names, photos, not even phone calls. But we got close. So last night, I took a chance, probably because of your champagne and Nanna’s letter.”
“Oh, my god! I forgot to ask. What did Nanna’s letter say?”
“She said I needed to start taking more risks.”
“Go, Nanna. I miss her.” Daisy’s smile is a little misty.
We exchange wistful looks. “Me too.”
I know that Daisy, like me, didn’t have much in the way of parents. Nanna took Daisy under her wing and cared for her as well. When she died, she left a hole in both of our lives.
Daisy shifts, as if shaking away the memories. “So, continue. Last night, you were drunk, lonely, and horny.”
“I didn’t say I was horny! Well, maybe I was a little. But anyway, I sent him a selfie and wrote that I wanted to be with him.”
I pass her my phone, and she reads my message, then grins.
“Honestly, I kinda dig Drunk Olivia. You really put it out there. You’re smoking hot in that photo you sent him. So? Are you two an item now?”
I watch as she scrolls down to read the message he sent me back, and she inhales sharply.
“Shit, I’m sorry, honey,” she says softly as she passes the phone back to me with a frown of concern. “Maybe he’ll change his mind after he thinks about it.” She reaches to touch my hand. “He might have just been caught off guard.”
I shake my head. “He made it pretty clear that he doesn’t want anything more than an online friendship. He hasn’t messaged again, and I’m too humiliated to text him back.”
“I hate to tell you this, Olivia, but this might be for the best. You can do better. He’s probably texting you from his mother’s basement.”
“I knew you’d think that. But he doesn’t come across as a creep.”
“Eh.” Daisy shrugs. “I’m not sure if you can tell. There are a lot of online catfishes. You probably dodged a bullet. Besides, he’s an ass if he isn’t running here to meet you. And as for drunken mistakes, welcome to the real world. We all do stupid shit when we drink. I’ve done way worse. It’s why I never drink cheap vodka anymore.” She shivers. “Only the top shelf for me.”
“It’s not all his fault. I changed the rules on him.”
“Oh shit. What if he’s married?” Daisy gasps, as if the idea just occurred to her.
My stomach churns. “He’s not. I’ve thought about it. But I don’t believe he is.”
I shove the coffee cup away, sick from more than just the alcohol. “Did I ruin everything, Daisy? I don’t want to lose him. He’s my best friend.”
“Excuse me. Aren’t I your BFF?”