Page 12 of Perfectly Naïve
“Hmm?” I ask, glancing out the window like I don’t know what he’s talking about. “Oh, look at that, I guess it is.”
Nigel’s gaze seeks mine in the rearview mirror, but I studiously ignore it. I’m too focused on the way my heart is nearly beating out of my chest.
Did that really happen?
Chapter Five
OLIVIA
I’ve typed out and deleted exactly thirty-seven messages to Sawyer over a few days’ time. After leaving him with my request for help, I’ve spent time settling in at my new lab. We’re preparing for preclinical trials, so the whole place is buzzing with excitement.
We’re close to finding a cure. I’m sure of it.
What I’m not sure of is how to go about texting Sawyer, but the longer I wait, the longer I remain clueless. Most omegas my age have settled down with a pack. Some even have babies. I’m an overachiever failing at life.
Get it together, Liv. Send a message.
Right. I can do this. Nodding to myself, I flop onto my bed and chew on my cheek as I tap out a message and hit send before I can overanalyze it.
Hi, Sawyer. I hope you’re doing well. Are you able to meet Sunday night to discuss my proposal?
Dammit. It sounds like a freaking work email. Pinching my eyes closed, I groan and rub my forehead, cursing my awkwardness while I wait for his reply. Watch him see the message, remember I’m not his type, and never speak to me again.
Henry’s annual Friendsgiving will be so weird. I’ll have to pretend like I didn’t ask him to teach me how to doeverything. He’ll show up with some gorgeous woman, probably a model type, and she’ll be super friendly. Everyone will love her. Meanwhile, I’ll be single until I’m ninety and die with dentures.
My phone dings and my chest clenches in response. God, this is so nerve-racking. Peeking at the message with one eye, I brace for the worst, but as soon as I read it, both eyes open fully and I sit up straight.
SAWYER
Liv. I hope this message finds you before I do. I’m well. I hope you’re doing great. I’ve penciled you in for six o’clock. Bring your favorite snack and a bottle of water. Regards, Sawyer.
His teasing has a grin cutting across my face, but then I reread the last part and my nose wrinkles.
This better not involve aerobics. You know I hate sports.
Who do you think you’re talking to? I remember the great beach volleyball fail of 2016.
Oh, no. I’d blocked that memory out, but apparently my accidentally mooning everyone on the beach isn’t something he forgot.
You were sworn to secrecy.
Your ass is safe with me.
Speaking of ass, I should probably figure out how that stuff works too .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Sunday. Snack. Water bottle.
Wait. Are we doing ass stuff on Sunday? Do I shave? I heard some people bleach their asshole.
A call from Sawyer flashes across the display. I fiddle with a strand of hair and answer. “Hello?”
