Page 7 of Dessert Flirt Repeat
Something aboutheris getting to me.
Yeah, it’s ridiculous, but I’m curious. I gotta know—is this cute and wholesome-looking woman the one who sent me that drunk DM?
I type a quick reply, send it, grab my gym bag, and jog out of my apartment to my car parked down the street. I text Tyler to let him know that I’ll be a few minutes late. He’s gonna run my ass off as payback, but whatever. After that ice cream sundae I ate yesterday, I could use the conditioning.
As I speed to the gym, I laugh to myself. I’m amused as hell by this. I can’t stop thinking about that message—about that cute blonde.
And as I head to the gym, I find myself hoping that she’ll message me back.
Chapter4
Becca
Itry to open my eyes, but it’s a no-go when my eyelids feel like they’re filled with cement. My head does too.
I groan into the arm of the couch, where I must have passed out last night. God, what was I thinking, drinking all that wine?
You weren’t thinking. You were wallowing because your life is in complete shambles.
Oh, right.
A full minute later I manage to sit up, but not for long with how dizzy I am. It feels like a tiny, invisible person is banging on bongos inside my skull. Okay, no more wine ever.
My stomach curdles. Hot acid claws its way up my chest to my throat. Crap.
I dart to my bathroom and hurl all the wine I downed last night into my toilet bowl. When I finish retching, I land on my butt and fall against the nearby wall for support. I’m a mess. Thank god Sweet Cheeks is closed today. There’s no way I’d be able to work in my current state.
My phone buzzing pulls my focus back to the living room. I crawl on my hands and knees to the coffee table and see a notification from TikTok. I also see that it’s three in the afternoon.
My shoulders slump with shame. I’m thirty years old and have adopted the drinking and sleeping habits of a college student. Real classy.
I tap the TikTok icon and see that I’ve got a message.
When I open it, I squint in confusion. Who’s Gage? Have I ever met someone named…
Oh my god…No way…It can’t be…
I stare at the username for a solid ten seconds. Gage Grant, the TikTok star, DMed me. But why?
It doesn’t take long to read his message, considering it’s one line.
Hey. Is this a joke? Are you serious?
What in the world…?
I see the message above his—the message I apparently sent last night.
Dread pools in my stomach as I quickly skim. No way. Oh my good lord, no, no, no, no…
My memory claws its way out of the hangover haze, and I piece together what happened last night. I remember scrolling through TikTok. I remember watching a bunch of random videos. A visual of a shirtless Gage delicately plating ice cream flashes in my mind. It triggers a wave of other memories, of me thinking of Sweet Cheeks, of the hashtag #sweetcheeks, of thinking that it would be a good idea to message Gage to see if he could help me go viral to save my business…
My stomach churns yet again, but this time it’s embarrassment fueling the nausea. Did I seriously send Gage Grant this barely coherent message?
I blink at the block of text that I drunkenly typed. Yup. I definitely did.
I toss the phone to the far side of my couch like it’s on fire and cover my face with both hands. It doesn’t do me any good though. It’s not like I can shield myself from the humiliation. It already happened—I’m already experiencing it.
My phone buzzes again, and I pray to the universe that it’s not Gage. When I see it’s Tori, I huff out a breath.
