“Now she’s annoyed,” I said. “Or impatient.”
Connor looked to me. “What do I say?”
“Why are you asking me?”
“You’re good at this shit. How many papers did you write for me at Sinclair?”
“This is not the same thing.”
“Ballpark.” Connor made a face. “Dude, she’s waiting.”
I frowned, thought for a moment. “Tell her the truth.”
“Hell no—”
“Tell her the truth but make it better. Tell her you were messing with your phone while thinking about her. Tell her that you wanted to talk to her so badly, your subconscious made it happen.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
Connor’s fingers flew, and then he hit send.
There was a pause and no answer.
Connor frowned. “What’s this mean?”
“It’s good. I mean she’s thinking about what you said.”
The rolling dots of Autumn’s reply came in.
The old ‘accidental text’ move? I feel like I’ve seen that before… ;-)
“She’s not letting you off the hook so easily,” I said, smiling despite myself. “Don’t deny. Tell her she’s one hundred percent right. You’ll make any excuse to talk to her.”
“That’s perfect, man.” Connor typed and hit send.
I like your honesty, came the reply.
“Hey, it’s working.” Connor beamed. “Now what?”
It was working, and I didn’t like what it was.
“I don’t know, man,” I said, waving a hand. “Type something. Whatever you’re thinking.”
“I want her to go out with me.”
“Then ask.”
With a horrible fascination, I watched Connor type, So, dinner?
“Jesus, dude,” I said.
“What? That’s exactly what you told me to do.”
“Not like that,” I said. “I told you she needs romance.”
I don’t know, she wrote. I have so much work to do already.
“Fuck,” Connor said. He nudged me with his phone. “Wes, man, you do it.”