Exes and O's (The Influencer, #2)(84)

Crystal’s expression is one of ultimate doubt. “Wait, that’s it? You’re together and he’s barely even texting you?”

Her question is like a gut punch. I straighten my spine, suddenly feeling even more insecure than I already was. “Is that weird? Should we be texting?”

“I would think so. Scott texts me constantly when he’s gone.”

“Okay, but Scott and Trevor are two different people,” Mel reminds us, although I barely register her words given the alarm bells going off in my head.

Heat prickles my body as I straighten my spine. “Shit. This is a bad sign, isn’t it? Do you think he’s freaking out and regretting everything?”

Mel makes a face as if to say, Don’t ask me. “Why don’t you ask him to FaceTime? Ask him straight up if you’re still on the same page?” I don’t know how Mel’s question can be both so logical and so hive inducing. “Or send him the smokin’-hot mirror selfie in the red dress you took in the changing room. See how he reacts.”

Crystal’s eyes go wide like Frisbees. “Mel, I love you, but are you okay? That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. A mirror selfie will send the wrong message for sure.”

“Wrong message? Is she a nun? She’s hot and wants to show off her bod to her man.” Mel scoffs and gives her a kick under the table. “Personally, I think it’s genius. If he sends some sort of sex-related response, we’ll know he just wants your ass. If he says something lame, he’s changed his mind and decided to friend-zone you. And if he offers a sincere compliment, we can probably guess things are still good.”

“You do have a point.” In my looming sushi coma, I’m easily suggestible. I grab my phone and impulsively open my text window with Trevor. My fingers flex, hovering over the option to attach the photo.

Before I can make a decision either way, Crystal shrieks, “No!” In a blink, she’s ripped my phone from my hands before I have the chance to firm my grip. She stuffs it down her sports bra for good measure.

I cock a brow. “Really, Crys? I’m not afraid to go in there.” I make a pretend advance, and Crystal leans away from me, her hand clamped over her chest.

“Come on. Think about this. I’m not sure any of this is a good idea.”

“Texting him?” I ask.

“No. Like, all of this. I mean, from what you said, he never gave you any specific commitment other than an I’ll try. Are you really willing to accept that?” When my eyes start to well, she’s quick to add, “I love you, Tara, and I want you to be happy. But I also want what’s best for you. I just don’t want you with another guy you have to fix. Someone who needs so much maintenance. Especially someone you’re rooming with.”

“But have you seen him? Let the girl live!” Mel makes a surprise attack from across the table and stuffs her hand down Crystal’s shirt. She ends up dipping the elbow of her silk blouse in the tiny plastic container of soy sauce, which nearly dribbles on her plush cream area rug.

I reach across the table to assist Mel before she stains anything else. Crystal sees this as an attack and rolls away into the fetal position on the floor. It all goes downhill from there. Mel dives over her, and I launch myself on top of both of them with a bloodcurdling battle cry.

The three of us are screaming like children fighting over the last slice of pizza at a birthday party. Someone has scraped my neck with their fingernail (probably Mel), and somehow Crystal’s messy bun has come out and Mel’s blouse is wrinkled and disheveled. We’re seconds away from an all-out catfight.

Given Crystal’s superhuman strength, it takes both Mel and me to pry my phone from her hands. I even resort to tickling her on the ribs to give Mel a window of opportunity to swipe it. By the time Crystal finally relents, we’re flat on our backs laughing hysterically on Mel’s floor, our chests heaving like we’ve just completed a gruesome spin class.

“Okay, on second thought, let’s rethink this,” Mel says breathily. “A random photo of yourself may be a little weird. I think your best bet is a straight-up conversation when he gets back to make sure you’re still aligned. In person. It’s too important a conversation to have through text.”

“You’re probably right.” With what little strength I have left, I reach for my phone to exit the text window.

And that’s when I see it.

Somehow, through our tussle, we have collectively managed to hit Send on the mirror selfie.

Not once.

Not twice.

But three times.

No. No. No.

Fuck my life.

Mouth agape, I show Crystal and Mel what we’ve done.

Mel looks identical to The Scream, the famous painting from the 1800s with the gaunt, skull-like man with both hands on either side of his head, his eyes wide like he’s just seen death itself.

Crystal is so disturbed, she launches to her feet and starts speed walking around the living area, her hands to her temples, mumbling, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” which does little to quell my nausea.

Near deceased, I collapse onto Mel’s stylish yet uncomfortable couch, an arm over my eyes to block out my reality. It’s time to defect to the fringes of society. I’ll live out the rest of my days in rugged nature, using twigs, stones, and poisonous berries for currency.