Page 63 of Let's Get Textual

“Where did you come from?”

“The Midwest.”

“Huh?”

“You asked where I came from. I’m from the Midwest.”

He laughs, and I feel the sound rumble in his chest. “Rhetorical question, Delia.”

“Oh.”

I can feel him shake his head. “What am I going to do with you?” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Another rhetorical question, by the way.”

“Too bad. I had a really good answer.”

He meets my eyes and tilts his head in interest, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Yeah? And what is that?”

I wink. “Guess you’ll never know.”

“Tease.”

“Guilty,” I whisper before placing my lips on his again.

The kiss is brief this time and before I know it, Zach is escorting me up the stairs to my apartment door.

Leaning against it, I turn his way.

“I was really nervous to meet you, ya know. We were total strangers and then we bonded through weird text exchanges. I was crushing on you hard and formed this image of you inside my head. I was so scared you wouldn’t live up to it, that the fun I’ve had texting you wouldn’t translate in real life.”

Zach’s watching me intently, and I realize I’m spilling all my secrets to him, word vomiting all over the poor guy.

And I don’t give one single damn.

“But you, we…it was everything I hoped it would be.” He’s still staring at me, his eyes full of delight and a crooked grin stretched across his face. “So, uh, thanks…for everything.”

His grin grows as he steps into me, placing a gentle kiss on my mouth.

“Thankyou, Delia. For not being totally lame. For laughing at my horrible jokes. For falling asleep on me. For being…well, everything I wanted you to be.”

My cheeks flush red and I lean into Zach for another kiss.

Our lips lock, and we’re falling.

Thud.

We smack to the ground and I wheeze as Zach’s weight comes crashing down on me.

“Okay, you two are cute as fuck. Want me to leave so you can bang?”

“Ow! What the hell, Zoe?” I push at Zach’s heavy form. “Get off me, I can’t breathe.”

He pushes himself up until he’s hovering over me. “Did you just call mefat?”

“What? No! Did you drink the same Kool-Aid as this freak over here”—I point to Zoe—“who decided it’d be fun to open the door so I fall right on my ass?”

Zach pretends to be offended. “Kool-Aid is the devil’s drink. It was strictly Tang in my house.”

“You areso90s,” I complain, pushing at him.

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