Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“I am at peak health.”
Luca eyes me as he sets the kettle bell on the floor. “You know what you need?”
Here we go again…
“No,” I say flatly. “But I have a feeling I’m about to find out.”
“You need to get laid. Like—urgently. For the sake of everyone around you.”
“I have gotten laid.” He knows this. “I’m literally pressing three hundred pounds, climb down off my nuts.”
“You haven’t been in a good mood since she moved out.”
My jaw tics.
And there it is; the thing he’s been dying to say.
“Luca,” I warn.
He holds up both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I get it. She was cool. Cute. But it’s been weeks. She moved out and ghosted you. You need to move on.”
He softens his tone slightly, but not by much. Luca Babineaux has never been one to pull punches. “I’m not saying jump into a rebound. But you’ve got to stop orbiting this girl. She’s gone, bruh. Whatever it was between you—didn’t stick.”
I feel the need to defend my mood swings by saying, “Just because I haven’t heard from her in three days doesn’t mean she ghosted me, asshole.”
Luca snorts. “Maybe, maybe not. Not to be the bearer of bad news, but she’s been sick. According to Nova she’s been barfing her guts out and sleeping around the clock.”
I stare at him.
“You fucker. You knew this and still gave me the whole ‘she’s gone, bruh’ speech?”
“Yeah, cause you’re fucking depressing. I was trying to get you to snap out of it, not load you with more guilt. Jeez, cut me some slack.” He pauses. “Bruh.”
I almost laugh at him, because he’s being funny.
Almost.
Instead, I mutter, “Why didn’t she tell me she was sick?”
Luca gives me a look. “Uh, probably because you’re not her boyfriend?”
He doesn’t have to say it in that tone. Dick.
Luca shrugs. Like the label ‘boyfriend’ draws a line in the sand between who gets informed and who doesn’t.
He rolls his eyes when I have nothing more to say. “She used to live with you and steal your hoodies. Things change, man. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to keep chatting—just means she’s been barfing and a limited social battery—and you’re not the first line of contact.”
He’s making way too much sense of the situation it’s starting to get annoying.
“Anyway!” he chirps cheerfully as he switches gears. “Are you skating tomorrow? I know coach bumped practice back, but I heard he’s bringing in a scout.”
I nod without thinking about it.
“Maybe for defense, too,” he adds. “If you keep flailing like a rookie beyotch.” He pauses. “You’re annoying—are you listening? I’m giving clarity and you’re giving me grunts. Cool. Love that for me.”
I shrug one shoulder.
Because I’m already back in my own head.
Back on the couch where she used to hog the remote. Back in the kitchen where she once spilled cereal and muttered a four-minute apology. Back in the driveway where she left that night with her boxes and her stupid cactus lamp.
And now I know she’s sick. Miserable. Probably curled in a nest of blankets with a bucket and no appetite.
The worst part? I didn’t know.
I pull out my phone again and stare at our message thread.
Still nothing from her.
Me: Nova told Luca you’re sick. Are you okay? Want me to bring you anything? I’m good at soup delivery. Great at not making it weird.
I stare at the blinking cursor for a beat before hitting send.
Three dots appear.
Then vanish.
Then reappear.
Then vanish again.
Jesus Christ. I’ve never wanted to throw my phone and projectile vomit at the same fucking time.
I swallow hard, pressing the heel of my palm to my sternum like I can shove the ache back down where it belongs.
Still nothing.
I check again.
And then, finally—
Poppy: I’m okay. Just gross and exhausted. Thanks for checking. I don’t need anything.
It’s polite. Distant. All the warmth I remember, scrubbed out of her words as if we were only roommates and not something more.
Well shit.
This can’t be good.
Seriously though, what the hell was I expecting? More emotion? A longer message? A voice memo of her coughing followed by, “Please bring soup and maybe if I’m feeling better, we and fuck for old times’ sake?”
I rub a hand over my face and exhale.
She’s setting a boundary.
I start typing a response. Delete it.
Type again. Delete that one, too.
Eventually, I settle on: Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.
I hit send.
Stare at my screen.
“—and then she tells me I’m being distant.” Luca’s voice cuts in to my thoughts. “Like that’s even a thing. Me, distant? I cried during Crazy Rich Asians, Skaggs.”
I blink. “What?”
Oh my god, why is he still talking?
“But she was just messing around. Things are actually really good. Great, actually. We’re synced up on everything—groceries, chores. I unload the dishwasher, she folds laundry. We’ve had sex on every surface in her apartment.”
Awesome.
“We’ve been talking about kids a lot lately, now that she has a niece and a nephew, her ovaries are like—exploding. Her words, not mine.” He goes quiet a few moments. “And obviously raising kids in an apartment is not ideal. I mean, Nova likes my house but it’s not her house—it’s mine. So…”