Whatever alcohol still hanging around in my gut like a clingy one-night stand swirls in loop-de-loops at the mention of CK dating. When’s he going to take my flirting seriously? I swear I’ve all but donned a whipped-cream bikini trying to get him to realize I’m into him. Yet…nada.
“Oh-kay.” I roll my lower lip between my teeth, racking my muddled brain for why I continued to hold on to it. “And…what? I kept it so I could delete any of the matches I saw after proving him wrong?”
That actually sounds like a brilliant plan. I’m already mentally patting myself on the back when Emma metaphorically dumps the football team’s Gatorade cooler on me.
“Your marketing major side took over, and you went all Oh em gee, Superman, you didn’t tell them all the things that make you a super sexy hot nerd dreamboat,” she mocks in an exaggerated falsetto and Texan drawl.
All of those are accurate descriptors for one Mr. Christopher Kent, and yes, I have said them out loud before, but…
“One”—I boop Emma on the nose, sound effect and all—“I don’t sound anything like that.” Yes, you can tell I’m from Texas, but my accent is slight. “And, two, shut. Up. I did. Not say that.” I pause, rolling my eyes up with a blink, as if sorting through my memories. “Did I?”
The first vestiges of a smile start to tug up the corners of Miss Grumpus’s mouth.
Well…
At least one of us is amused.
“Not in those exact words, no.” She shakes her head. “But you did tweak our shy guy’s dating profile.”
Mierda.
Freaking tequila.
“What did I put?”
If Mr. Cuervo was involved, I’m liable to have put anything. Hell, it’s a damn miracle it was CK’s phone that ended up in my bed and not my person in his.
Ooo, that’s a strategy I haven’t tried yet…
“I don’t know.” Emma reluctantly sits up, the blankets pooling around her waist as she shrugs, rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes, moaning about needing coffee.
Sure…let’s take care of her caffeine fix. That’s what’s important here. It’s not like I’m completely panicking about the possibility of blowing up any potential future of a love life or anything.
“Emma,” I whine. My use of her full name has her arching one of her perfectly sculpted brows at me—seriously, those suckers could make Ellen Pompeo weep at their altar.
“Qué pasa, chica?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. This is not a laughing matter, but Emma Logan dropping the Spanish on me? Yeah, it’s like Abuelita is here with me, waiting for the daily gossip.
“I need to know what I wrote.” My nail aggressively taps the screen, lighting it so the Greet Geek notifications show. Their mere existence mocks me. They are a visual reminder that I am, in fact, not the type of girl CK is looking for.
All of it…freaking all of it is made all the more annoying because I can’t even open them to see what they say. Freaking passcodes.
Hmm…
Would it make me a total creeper if I tried to tiptoe into CK’s room for a Face ID?
“Worried you confessed your undying crush in written form?”
I narrow my eyes, my mouth pressing into a flat line. “Are you trying to get me to hide all the coffee in this house?” I arch a brow. “Because I’ll do it.”
She smacks a hand over her heart, flopping back onto the mattress like she’s reenacting her performance of Juliet’s death from her high school production of Romeo and Juliet.
“You’re a monster, Q,” she whisper-hisses.
“And you’re”—I poke her twice in the belly—“being a. Bad. Friend.” I wave the phone around—again. “Help. Me.”
Emma takes the phone from me, tapping and swiping across the screen, only to end up growling and tossing it when she realizes what I already knew—it’s locked.
My hopes plummet, and it feels like I have one of my poms shoved inside my throat.
What did I do?
What did I flipping do?
Guess eight months is my official limit. One too many margaritas and a dating app were what it took to finally break this cheerleader’s back.
Except…
Now instead of just having to deal with a clueless cutie, I have to contend with my own overzealous stupidity.
“You know wh—” Emma’s hair goes flying around her face as she viciously shakes her head. “Nope. Even I know that’s a bad idea.”
“What?” I all but shout as I clutch her forearm like she’s a life preserver in this stormy sea I created for myself.
No more tequila for me.
Dammit, why couldn’t my brain cells channel Joe Nichols and just make my clothes fall off instead?
“Chill, babes.” Emma twists her arm and reverses our grips until she’s the one holding on to me. “I was just going to say that Kay might—might—know CK’s passcode. But…”
She trails off, but I don’t need her to finish.
It was one thing for me to bust in here and wake her up; it’s an entirely different level of insanity to even consider doing the same with Kay.
Plus…there’s the whole she-sleeps-next-to-her-own-personal-alpha-caveman thing.
Do I…?
Don’t I…?
Holy shit.
Estoy loca.
Fuck it!
I’m doing this.
No.
We’re doing this.
Yup—I’m invoking girl code and forcing Em to be my backup.
Here’s hoping Kay and Mason don’t sleep in the nude.
#CHAPTER4
* * *
A cold nose touches my cheek, and I blindly reach out for the furry head I know is there as I’m roused from sleep.
“Hey, bud.” I give Herkie a good scratch between the ears and get a face full of tongue and dog breath in return.
My canine companion ditches me as soon as I’m awake, leaving me to get ready by myself while he goes in search of his next victim to rouse. The dog has made it a habit to wake anyone and everyone he can in the morning since his mama avoids them as often as college student—or, in Kay’s case—humanly possible.
Blindly, I feel around on my nightstand, slipping my glasses onto the bridge of my nose and blinking at the empty space where my phone should be.
Dammit. Quinn still has it.
What the hell happened last night?
What did I drink?
Too much.
Way too much drinking.
I need coffee.
I can’t believe I let her take my phone last night.
No. Wait. Scratch that.
Yes, I can.
There’s very little I wouldn’t give Quinn if she asked. It’s one of the many reasons why I try to keep my distance from her.
And now I share an apartment with her. I glare at my bedroom wall like I have the X-ray vision of the superhero she’s nicknamed me after and can see her out in the living area.
My head swims as I whip my gaze to the left, my laptop taunting me, tempting me to pull up my profile on the Greet Geek website.
What changes did Quinn make to it?
What did she say about me?
I…