Me: I am so excited. All the ideas are coming.
I send her a picture of my screen with all the designs, and she writes back quickly.
Auntie: Yes, queen! Fireball and Baileys? Are you an alcoholic? I can get you help… JKLOL!
Me: Hahahahaha, right? But for real, you like them?
Auntie: I LOVE THEM!
I squeal some more before I open my Instagram to mark this moment. I take a selfie of myself, grinning from ear to ear. Don’t care that my hair is a mess, that I have no makeup on, and that I’m wearing my thick white glasses. Nope. I am stoked. I put the photo in my stories and then write a caption.
When ideas are flowing, this girl is happy.
I hit Send, and I’m about to log off when I see a post from Wes. I draw in my brows at a towel covered in blood and the caption: Rough night. Picture to come when my face is at its gnarliest. I shiver. I saw the fight, and boy it was scary. But so hot. There is just something about men fighting on the ice that gets me going. I love the brutality of it. Shit…I sound like Emery. I tap the picture to “love” it and then write in the comments: Hope you’re okay. You won, IMO.
Before I can really think it over, I hit post. We’ve been playing this flirty back-and-forth for a while now, and while I would love to take it to the next level, I know it won’t happen. We’re on two very different roads. His is full of no-commitment fucking with anything that walks, while mine is full of fear and rejection for my career choice. And I have no time, nor do I really fancy whatsoever, to find a man to walk with me. Every time I try or even attempt to date or anything, I always find something wrong with the guy. No one is good enough, and when you have the examples of my dad, Aiden, and Asher, it’s a huge step up to that pedestal.
Wes must be on his phone because he likes my comment and writes back to it: Nothing I can’t handle…or a huge bag of ice. Thanks. I always win.
I don’t have the time to be turned on by Wes McMillan right now. But I do like his comment before I throw down my phone to ignore it. I go back to drawing, moving my pen along the screen to sketch the frosting of the Dragon Fire cake I’m thinking about. I want bright red colors, glitter, and maybe I can make a dragon. Yeah, I can do that. Hm. Perhaps I’m getting a little too ostentatious here.
Oh, who cares?
The grin on my face is unstoppable as I continue to design happily. I feel my phone vibrate, but I ignore it since I am so deep in my design. It’s well into the morning when the door to the bathroom creaks open and I see Emery peering at me. I close the page I’m working on, meeting her gaze. “Yes, Em?”
“What are you doing?
“Working.”
She nods, coming into the room, her blanket wrapped around her like a cloak. She looks a little spooked.
“You okay?”
She hesitates. “Are you busy?”
“Not at all,” I say, putting my iPad on my nightstand and scooting over. “Come on.”
She comes over quickly, crawling into my bed and snuggling into my side as I pick up my phone. “The last episode was super scary. The mom was so normal, and then something snapped and she killed everyone. Even the two-month-old. How do you kill a baby?”
Terror runs down my spine as I cuddle against her, holding up my phone to see all my messages from my design friends, all gushing that they can’t wait to see my creations. I know they’d be highly unimpressed when they realize it’s cupcakes. I kiss her forehead. “I don’t know, sis. That’s rough.”
“I know. I think I’m gonna stop watching that show for a bit.”
“That’s a good plan,” I say with relief in my voice, but then I see a message from Wes.
Before I can open it, though, Emery asks, “Can I sleep in here with you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Sorry if I interrupted your work.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulders, hugging her tightly. “No worries. I was done, just overanalyzing and fixing small things.”
“Were you designing?”
“I was.”
“A dress?”
“Yeah,” I lie, and she rubs her nose against my boob. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” she says with a grin in her voice. She knows I hate when she rubs her nose on me. Especially on my boob. Or lack of boob. How she has bigger boobs than me and she’s younger is downright rude, but whatever. I have ass for days. When she settles against me, I open the message from Wes, a grin coming across my lips.
Wes_McMillan: That smile. <3
StellaAnn: Show me yours.
Wes_McMillan: No way in hell. I’m a hot mess right now.
StellaAnn: I doubt it’s that bad.
Wes_McMillan: Since I don’t want to scare you away, I’ll wait to show you this mug.
My brow perks.
StellaAnn: Away? I didn’t know I was near.
Wes_McMillan: Unfortunately, you’re not.
Wes_McMillan: Though, that could change.
StellaAnn: Oh yeah?
Wes_McMillan: Yeah.
StellaAnn: Interesting.
Wes_McMillan: Is it?
StellaAnn: Yeah. But what do you mean? We chat but we don’t talk in person, so I’m unsure what you’re talking about.
When his chat bubble comes up, Emery shakes her head. “You’re ruthless.”
I smile. “Hey, can’t just let him think he can get it when he feels like it.”
“True, but you like him. A lot.”
My darling sister knows about Wes because she walked in on us making out. She’s got the biggest mouth, but even she knew telling Aiden would be bad for everyone. Surprisingly, she didn’t rat me out the way she’s ratted out Aiden and Asher.
Wes_McMillan: We talk. At the restaurant.
StellaAnn: Wow, what else did you type but decide not to send?
Wes_McMillan: Hey, give me a break. My face hurts.
StellaAnn: Never. You’re the one who slid into my DMs.
Wes_McMillan: Got me there. Listen, it’s complicated.
StellaAnn: What every girl wants to hear.
Wes_McMillan: Fine, tell me something. Do you think of me, past Instagram?
Yeah, but I’m not telling him that. “Don’t say yes. Even if you do, make him say it first,” Emery says from beside me.
“Excuse me, younger sister. I know how to talk to guys.”
“Sure, that’s why you have so many boyfriends.”
“Nope, I have admirers because no one can have me until they come up to my standards.”
“And Wes is that standard.”
I scoff. “Not yet, but he has potential.”
“I mean, he’s hot and all, but so are a lot of guys.”
I grin as I type and delete my next line. “I don’t know. I like the Viking look of him.”
“Viking?”
“Yeah, he reminds me of that guy from Vikings, the main dude. He looks wounded, like he’s been through some shit. Only pretty boys want me. Wes is rough.”
I feel Emery’s gaze on me, and when I look down at her, she says, “And you say I’m deranged.”
I give her a dull look. “Who’s in my bed?”
She snuggles close, grinning at me. “I’ll shut up now.”
I snort. “Sure,” I draw out as I look back to my phone.
StellaAnn: Maybe.
Wes_McMillan: Ha, now who deleted and sent a one-word answer.