Night Owl(4)

Night.Owl: Oh...

Little.Bird: Yeah, I... I'm so mortified. I'm so sorry...

Night.Owl: I... really thought you did it on purpose. Obviously. Wow.

Little.Bird: No, I would never. I swear. I love writing with you. I respect your privacy. Or I try to...

I frowned and considered the words on my screen. It was an accident. And thanks to my overblown reaction to that accident, I had lost access to my only image of Hannah, the girl who was steadily setting my mind on fire.

I ran a quick Google image search on Hannah Catalano.

Nothing.

Night.Owl: Do you even want to know what I thought?

Little.Bird: What you thought?

Night.Owl: Of how you look.

Little.Bird: Oh. Um. It doesn't matter.

Night.Owl: Doesn't matter?

Little.Bird: Yeah. It's... no big deal. I'm just so embarrassed.

Night.Owl: Well, in that case, you'll be pleased to know I barely looked at it. It was a tiny picture and as soon as I realized what it was, I closed the window.

Little.Bird: Oh... okay...

Night.Owl: Yeah. And thanks for changing it so promptly. I appreciate that.

Little.Bird: Sure. So... I should... probably get back to packing.

Night.Owl: Mm. Good luck with that. I'll reply to your post soon.

Little.Bird: Sweet. I'll reply when I can.

Night.Owl: Don't worry about it. I know you've got a lot going on, and you'll be tired after the move. What state are your folks in?

Little.Bird: Oh... didn't I tell you? Haha. Gosh. Super awkward night.

Night.Owl: Huh?

Little.Bird: Nothing. They still live in the house I grew up in. In Colorado...

CHAPTER 2

Hannah

LEAVING MICK'S HAIRY ass was the best decision I made in the last five years.

Leaving my job as a teller at Bank West was the second best decision.

The guy and the job didn't respect me—and they didn't deserve me.

No matter how I asked or what I threatened, Mick refused to quit smoking and drinking. He had an infuriating habit of groping me in public and lately the sex was, well, not sex. More like a six-thrust oops!

When I looked at Mick, I had to force myself to remember that I used to love him. I used to find his nerd humor funny. I used to be attracted to his jawless pointy-chinned face and scruffy receding hairline.

Sort of.

As for the bank, I stayed on as a teller for three years while my favorite boss got canned, my friends gradually left, and I was passed over time and time again for promotions.

Good riddance to them both.

And hello to three days on the road going fifty-five with a U-Haul hooked to my Civic, spacing out and thinking about Matt.

"Hellooo?" My sister waved her iPod in my face.

"Huh? What?"

"For the... third time." She turned down my Lana Del Rey playlist. "Can I puh-lease change the music?"

"Oh, yeah. Whatever."

I stared ahead at the highway.

I felt Chrissy watching me as she plugged in her iPod.

"Sooo." She plopped her feet on the dash and hiphop blared from the speakers.

"So what?" I glanced at her. As always, I was struck by my sister's beauty. She's twenty-one and has a dancer's fit body. Much to our parents' chagrin, Chrissy was saving for an apartment and putting herself through dance classes by working at a strip club. She claimed to love it, but I wasn't so sure.

"So, who's the new guy?" She arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

Our father calls us both heartbreakers, but Chrissy and I are practically opposites. My style is natural. I let my hair grow long, prefer glasses to contacts, wear very little makeup, and work out only enough to define my soft curves.

My sister is punk. She has tats, half a dozen piercings, lives in eyeliner, and dyes her pixie haircut black and blond.

And when it comes to me, she has always been uncannily perceptive.

"New guy? There is no new guy," I said. "Can you turn this shit down? Or at least find a song that doesn't make my ears bleed?"

"Girl, you better get used to it." Chrissy grooved in her seat, lifting her arms. Bracelets clanked down her wrists. "It's what we'll be listening to when I teach you how to twerk."

"Excuse me?"

"I've seen you dance, Han. You need a little help. And then you can show your new guy, it'll drive him nuts. Is he in Colorado?"

Yes. Yes he is.

"What? No! I mean, no there is no guy. You're ridiculous."

"H'okay," Chrissy laughed. "All I know is, you would never have ditched your job and boyfriend without some motivation. Sorry Han, your balls just aren't that big."

I swallowed and focused on the yellow lines rolling ahead of me in the night. I wanted so badly to talk about Matt. I thought about him nonstop while we packed and drove.

Spread your legs. Help me come. God, my heart is pounding.

But what could I tell Chrissy? You're right sis, I met this guy named Matt. Online. I know exactly three things about him. He lives in Colorado, he's an awesome writer, and he gets off talking to scantily clad strangers on the internet. Love at first Skype.

Yeah, that would go over well. Lots of laughing and eye rolling would ensue, and of course the inevitable question: do you know what he looks like?

God, no, I didn't know what Matt looked like.