Page 21 of Not Your Valentine
After dinner, I meet Jasmeet, Whitney, and Esther at a bar. Most people are drinking beer, but I’ve never cared for beer, so I’m drinking white wine and feeling classy. Well, as classy as one can feel when ordering the cheapest wine on the menu without even reading the description. I like wine, but I’m not what you’d call a connoisseur.
Nobody has asked about Taylor yet, and I have a few things to thank for that.
First, the fact that there was an (accidental) mini explosion in the lab course that Esther is TAing this term. On the very first day.
Second, the fact that Whitney and her boyfriend are moving in together.
But once there are two consecutive seconds of silence, I know what’s coming next. However, before my friends can inquire about my new relationship, I get a text, and since I’m dreading this conversation a little, I take a look. Taylor has sent me a picture of a garish pink cake with an excessive number of sprinkles. (To clarify: even a single sprinkle is excessive in my books—they just look wrong to me, like plastic rather than food—but this truly takes the cake.)
“Is that from your new boyfriend?” Whitney asks.
“Yes.” You see? I’m very good at lying. That was a quality monosyllable right there.
“Then why are you making a disgusted face?”
I turn my phone around. “He’s teasing me by sending pictures of hideous cakes.”
“What are you talking about?” Whitney asks. “That’s beautiful.”
“I think you need to consult a dictionary.”
Esther grabs the phone out of my hands and I let her. What’s she going to see if she scrolls up? Just more pictures of heart-shaped cakes.
“He’s sent you a dozen of these,” she says, “and you haven’t strangled him yet?”
“I’ve come close,” I mutter, but because I’m such a great actress, a tiny smile slips out after I finish speaking, so it comes across as yeah, he drives me crazy but I like him anyway.
I’m crushing it tonight.
Acting really isn’t difficult. I don’t know why the star of the movie I watched last night struggled so much with it, but he did; the romance subplot wasn’t believable at all. I rolled my eyes two dozen times—yes, I was counting—which is a lot, even for me.
Though that actor does have one thing that I don’t: he’s ridiculously good-looking. Not that I’m bad-looking, but I know I don’t have movie-star beauty.
I adjust my expression so that it appears I’m lost in mushy thoughts about my new boyfriend, who rolls up his shirt sleeves before eating, as though he’s really getting down to business. Then I realize Esther has scrolled up to the last heart-shaped cake, and beyond that…
Crap. Now I remember that Taylor and I do something naughty in our texts: we discuss our fake relationship.
“Give that to me.” I lunge for my phone. Esther jerks her arm back, nearly elbowing Whitney in the face.
“What’s wrong, Helen?” Esther asks playfully.
“It’s private.”
That works, right? They’ll assume it’s dirty sex stuff—I hope—rather than the truth.
“Interesting.” Esther moves her thumb downward, but she’s not actually touching the screen. I think she’ll respect my privacy, but I wouldn’t bet my life savings on her not taking a quick peek.
“Were you sexting?” Whitney sounds far too intrigued.
“Mm-hmm.” My face flames as I reach for the phone, which Esther is holding above her head.
“Really?” Jasmeet says. “Didn’t you tell us that sexting is stupid? Charlie tried to do it, and you couldn’t get into it.”
I freeze for a split second before thinking of the perfect response. “Taylor is better at it.”
“Ooh, tell me more.” Whitney leans forward.
“Fat chance.” I pause. “I might have sent a few heart emojis by accident, too. You know, super embarrassing stuff. You better give my phone back, Esther.”
