Page 67 of Taming Tesla

Me: Okay. See you in an hour.

My thumb hovers over SEND.

Fuck. This is a really bad idea.

Cari: …

Cari: …

Cari: …

She’s typing something. I imagine her frustrated and confused as to why, after nearly four years of friendship, six months of living together and one week spent fucking each other blind, I’m balking at taking a goddamn shower in her presence. I imagine her telling me to forget it. To not come over. To stay away from her.

And it’s probably what I should do. Stay away from her. Keep my distance. Take things slow. Get to know her again.

Yeah, that’s not happening.

I hit send.

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