Page 2 of Big Dix

“Okay, seriously, Jen. You want to cater a party for Rim tomorrow?” I call out to her retreating form.

“Yeah, but we need to hop on a menu and get ingredients fast.”

“My apologies for the short notice, ladies, but with that water main break at Fountain Blue and since our house is finished, I thought that’d be better. More privacy and room.”

Rim just built Christina her dream home. No, really. It’s insane—three stories, all white, modern farmhouse gorgeousness. Complete with a private eight-acre lake and a to-die-for mountain view. I keep telling her I’m moving in. She just laughs. We’ll see how funny she thinks it is when I show up with my Kindle, my parents, and myabuela. The four most important things in my life.

“We likely only have time to prepare some heavy appetizers and a few specialty drinks. I’ll have to give the staff notice as soon as possible. Is that okay?”

“Totally acceptable. Do what works. I trust you girls.” Rim nods. “Just send me the bill.”

“Okay, we’ve got to get going. Glory opened the store today, so I need to head over. She wants to see Beck before they leave on tour.” Christina tugs on Rim’s arm to get him moving toward the door when a loud bang sounds behind me, followed by some muffled cursing from Jen.

Christina and I share a knowing glance. Something has been going on with Jen and Maddox, the guitarist in Beck’s band, Beauty of Atrocity, for a while; though, neither will admit to it. We’ve all suspected it, what with their hushed conversations and the way they both manage to disappear when they are in the same vicinity. The girls and I have been waiting for Jen to open up to us about it, but I may need to pry a bit more.

“I’ll call you later, Ti. Bye, Rim.” I’m mid-wave when my phone chimes with a notification. They head out the door, and I fish my phone out of my pocket and tap the screen to bring it to life.

“Holy shit,’’ I whisper, nerves tightening my chest over what appears there. Atticus Dixon has sent me a private message. Well, in all honesty, I use a somewhat fake profile to troll him. So, he’s sent my alter ego,@BigBoo...ks4BigDix,a message.

My maturity level shocks even me.

I blame this all on the girls, really, since Jen was the one who dared me to create an account to tell him all the dirty things I fantasize about where he is concerned but only said to her and the other girls in book club. So, I did. We laughed, and boy, I threw out some good ones on his posts that night.

What the girls don’t realize is… I kept doing it. I’m not even sure why. Boredom? Horny? Because I think I’m hilarious?

Check. Check. Check.

With a shaking finger, I tap the message icon and gasp at what I find.

BigDix.69

You say some nasty things on my posts, my little admirer. Things that make even me blush. You’ve got quite the creative, dirty mind.

;)

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

I’m struck speechless, or shit wordless, I suppose. Am I being trolled? Catfished?

Never in a million years did I expect him to respond to my inappropriate comments. Not when most of the comments on his post are full of sexual innuendos from my fellow drooling women and men.

Surely, this is a joke. It isn’t really Atticus Dixon. He’s been hacked or something. Right?

@BigBoo...ks4BigDix

Who is this? I don’t believe it is you.

No sooner does the message show as “Seen” than the word “Typing” with those tiny dots appear.

Jesus, could it be him?

A picture pops up.

“HOLY SHIT!” I catch myself shouting. I did not just see that!

I bring my phone to rest against my chest as I scan my surroundings for Jen.

She must be in the back. The rattle of pans in the stockroom confirms it.

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