Kiss and Don't Tell(119)

“Wow.” Hornsby starts to slow clap. “Who fucking knew?”

“And that’s why he’ll be my best man,” I say.

“There’s no way I can compete with that.” Taters takes a sip of his beer. “That’s perfection.”

“Now, what if she doesn’t respond?”

“Then it’s a text a day until she does,” Hornsby says. We all look to Holmes, who slowly nods.

“That’s correct.”

“Then we might want to draft some follow-up texts,” Taters says.

We all turn to Holmes again, who smirks. “Might be a good idea.”





Chapter Twenty-Six





WINNIE





“You know I love you,” Max says as he walks into the living room from the kitchen, holding up his peanut butter jar. Well, empty peanut butter jar. “But I’ll murder you if you do this again—finish off my peanut butter and then put the container back.”

“Sorry,” I say from where I lie on the couch. “I was too sad to clean it out and recycle it.”

Max points at me. “You get that excuse once.”

“Understood.”

My phone buzzes on the coffee table and Max’s eyes go to it. “Is that Pacey?”

“Why would you ask that? Of course it’s not. Why would we be talking?”

“I don’t know. A part of me thinks that maybe he’d come chasing.”

I shake my head and grab my phone. “Trust me when I say that’s not going to happen.” He didn’t chase after me when I left his apartment and it’s been days since I left. I peek at the screen and see Pacey’s name.

My mouth falls open, and Max must be watching my every move, because he hops over the couch with the empty peanut butter jar in hand and asks, “What did he say?”

I sit up now and unlock my phone. I pull up his text message and read it out loud. “‘Hey, Winnie, I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from, but I wanted to make sure you got back home safely. And I also wanted to apologize for what happened the other night. There’s no excuse for my actions. All I can do is apologize, and I plan on doing that, over and over, until you feel comfortable enough to accept that apology.’”

Max grips my shoulder tightly and whispers, “Christ. Look at him coming in hot with the text message.”

My pulse picks up as I read the text a few more times to myself. “I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?” he asks. “He’s clearly trying to make up with you.”

“But after everything we said to each other . . .”

“You know, people can say shit to each other and be apologetic about it. I know Josh fucked you in the head, but that’s not how relationships usually go.” He nudges me. “You should write him back.”

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure I should be thinking about him, pursuing this.”

“Why the hell not? He makes you happy.”

“He does.”

“Then that’s all the reason you need to text him back.”

“But I’m not . . . ready for a relationship. I should really focus on myself,” I say.

“You don’t have to marry the guy, but a response won’t kill you.”

“I have no idea what to say.”

“I have an idea.” Max takes my phone and starts typing. “Hey, Pacey, I forgive you with everything in my heart. Now please bring that cock over here.”

I snatch the phone from him quicker than I can blink. “Oh my God, Max, no. What is wrong with you?”

“Trust me, any guy would appreciate that text.”

Groaning, I turn away from him and study Pacey’s text a few more times before beginning to formulate my own response. Something that doesn’t involve the word cock.





PACEY





“Here it comes—he’s going to hit a homerun. I can feel it in my bones,” Posey says.

“No way. Maddox Paige is going to strike him out,” Taters says. “That fucker has a wicked changeup.”

“You’re talking about Knox Gentry. The dude is a goddamn legend. No way is he going to strike out under pressure.”

My leg bounces up and down, and not because of the game on the TV between the Bobbies and Rebels, probably the biggest sports rivals in history. I sent my text an hour ago, and there’s been no response, which means one thing—I’m going to have to reference the text message drafts we sat down and worked out for every situation.

“Look at the stare in Paige’s eyes. Dude is fucking intimidating,” Posey says as Paige winds up. He throws the ball, zipping it toward the catcher, only for Knox Gentry to make contact and knock it right over the shortstop’s head.

“Ha, told you.” Posey claps.

“Hey, idiot, you said he was going to get a homerun.”

“Homerun, single, same thing.”

My phone beeps and Taters mutes the TV as all the guys turn toward me. “Is that her?” Taters asks.

I flip my phone over and look at the screen. Seeing Winnie’s name makes my heart trip in my chest.