Page 128 of Tag

His typical good morning text had come in while I was in the shower, sitting below the message I’d sent last night, one I’d nearly forgotten about.

I silently cursed at myself as I reread what I’d sent, skipping right over the message where I was practically confessing that I was horny and it was entirely his fault. I blamed the Moscato for that. Instead, I zeroed in on the part where I said we could catch up next week, as if I hadn’t just agreed to be his. That was a panic text born from the mini breakdown I’d had after he left. I rethought everything we said and everything I agreed to and realized how little of it ever needed to be debated. I never wanted to say no to him. I didn’t regret a single second of it, aside from him finding out about the bathroom window.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little concerned by the mysterious plan he claimed would be set in motion. With Ryder, that could mean a million things. Why did the two of us getting together need some kind of elaborate 007 scheme? As far as I was concerned, it didn’t require black ops-level secrecy. But I was going to leave it alone. I couldn’t keep retreating into my head, second-guessing the one person who’d never let me down. Ryder deserved more than my doubt. He deserved my trust in the way I’d always claimed to give him.

I finished grabbing the rest of my things and headed downstairs. The moment I hit the last step, I spotted Arianna. She sat at the table with herphone.

Her contacts were in—no glasses in sight—which meant she was wide awake and in evaluation mode, her delicate brows pulling together. She sat cross-legged in her seat, an oversized sweater hanging effortlessly off one shoulder, dark waves framing her heart-shaped face.

“Morning,” she greeted without looking up.

“Morning,” I echoed, setting my bags down.

I made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a mug from the cabinet. “You still watching that mess unfold?” I asked, heading straight for our Ninja.

“I was trying to, but there are too many people talking at once.”

Cloe came downstairs minutes later, her camera bag slung over one shoulder and her schoolbag looped around her wrist. She didn’t look like someone who’d barely slept after getting too deep into the Moscato with me last night. She dropped her bags on the table and glanced at Ari. “I muted that group chat the second I saw how many people were in it.” She rubbed at her temple. “Almost a hundred people? I’m not participating in that circus run by clowns.”

She joined me in the kitchen, grabbing a mug and one of our intense espresso coffee pods.

“Anything from Lindsey?” Ari asked hesitantly.

“No,” Cloe replied flatly. “She won’t pick up my calls, and now she isn’t texting anymore either. It’s beyond frustrating.”

Arianna frowned. “You know, we can help if you need it.”

“I’ll have some time this weekend,” I seconded, setting my mug down. “Send me whatever she was supposed to help with.”

Cloe’s lips morphed into something close to a smile. “I appreciate the offer, but you both have more than enough to do. I got this. I only want to know what the hell is going on. How does one simply pick up and go jet-setting mid-semester?”

We fell into silence, and for a few seconds, the three of us got wrapped in the illusion of a normal college morning. Deadlines. Caffeine. A subtle hangover none of us were acknowledging. Unfortunately, the real stuff didn’t go away just because I pretended this was any other Friday. The Hunt officially started in two more days, and somewhere out there, a masked lunatic was likely picking out rope or duct tape with my name on it. I also had schoolwork piling up by the day. I took a breath and turned to face my friends.

“Alright,” I chirped, forcing a smile. “Let’s just worry about surviving today.”

“That’s the spirit,” Cloe agreed with a laugh. “Delusional optimism. We love to see it.”

Roxxi strolled down the stairs like she owned the morning. Her long red hair was down, cascading over the shoulders of a fitted black turtleneck that she’d paired with a high-waisted skirt that made her look both elegant and lethal.

“Are we talking about vengeance?” she asked sweetly, a glint in her eyes that never boded well. “Because you know there’s nothing I do better. I can do subtle vigilante or full-blown Wanda Vision. Dealer’s choice.”

I laughed. “Sorry, but not today, Rox. The word of the day is survival, not anarchy.”

“Survival?” she repeated, like I’d just spoken blasphemy. “We don’t do survival, Sanj. We dominate.”

Her gaze swept over me, lingering with approval. “Especially when we look this pretty.”

I smiled at the compliment. “You’re one to talk. Look at you.”

Her smile seemed to falter a bit, but before I could be sure it happened and I wasn’t imagining things, it was back in full force.

“Stop stroking my ego,” she joked, pulling me into a side hug. The warmth of her body and the familiar scent of herperfume were comforting. I really didn’t know where I would be without them.

“You still upset about Slim-Jim dick? Or are you stressing about your future hubby?”

Cloe chuckled from where she was finishing her coffee.

“Stop calling him that. Where did you even get that from?”

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