Текст книги "Things Liars Say "
Автор книги: Sara Ney
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 7 страниц)
Greyson
I cannot believe this is happening.
The guy standing in front of me is so freaking angry, a shocking myriad of expressions dancing across his face: Perturbed. Confused. Stunned. Pissed off.
He looks like he came to beat the crap out of someone and is disappointed he isn’t going to have the opportunity.
I study the planes of his hard face as he walks beside me, a fresh bruise discoloring the rise of his high cheekbone just beneath his left eye, but oddly made less severe by his deep tan. I conclude that he must spend an excessive amount of time outdoors if the sun-kissed tips of the sandy blonde hair curling up from under the lid of his ball cap are any indication.
I take in his eyes: dark pools of cobalt blue made harsh and unforgiving by the severe slashes of dense eyebrows above them. Square jaw with a day’s growth of beard surrounding a full, downturned mouth.
Black stitches mend the gash marring his busted-up lower lip.
Tall—maybe six foot one—with lean hips, I can’t resist letting my eyes wander down the length of him. They take in the broad, sculpted chest, straining against a tight gray Ivy League t-shirt—a shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination, as evidenced by the defined pec muscles outlined by the sheer threadbare fabric.
If Cal’s shoulders are a thing of beauty, then his arms are a thing of art, dense and firm and ripped. A large, intricate tattoo snakes up the tendons of his tricep, twisting up his bicep and disappearing under the sleeve of his shirt. Tan, powerful biceps any girl would want to curl her fingers around with a contented, dreamy sigh.
They’re arms a girl would blissfully want wrapped around her in a crowded bar. Out in public. Or, let’s be honest, a tangle of sheets.
I can’t decide if he’s handsome or good-looking or not—not by today’s definition of classically handsome, anyway. He’s too severe. His nose has been broken too many times, his skin has too many scars, but there is something about him that I find ruggedly appealing. I just can’t put my finger on what that something could be.
However, decision made: I like what I see.
A lot.
“Hmmm.” I must have muttered this out loud, because he looks over at me and catches me horn dogging him. I open my mouth to say something then clamp it shut. Take a deep breath, Greyson. Just take a deep breath and spit it out.
He deserves an explanation.
“Alright. When I tell you how I ended up faking a boyfriend, I hope you don’t…” I wave a hand through the air, listlessly. Nervously. “Judge me too harshly. Please.”
We continue walking, reaching the dead end. Cal nods towards the opposite side of the deserted road, and together, we step off the curb and cross to the other side, continuing our meander back in the direction from which we came.
I take a deep breath and exhale.
“To start with, I’m the philanthropy chair of my sorority.” He snorts, and I roll my eyes, quite used to non-Greek students mocking my sorority membership. “A philanthropy is a charitable organization we support through fundraising and donations.”
I take another deep, shallow breath. “Anyway, this year we’re throwing a big gala. The largest one we’ve put on, with the most number of attendees. It’s been… really stressful. I have a committee, but you know how it is. Not everyone is committed. Not everyone pulls their weight. And with everything else we have to juggle…”
Cal listens silently as I continue, my explanation rapidly becoming a vent session.
“…school, grades, jobs, athletics. I don’t expect you to care, but… you get the picture. Anyway, with all that being said, a few of them are, for lack of better words, boy crazy.” I give him a sidelong glance, but he stoically faces forward. “All they want to talk about during the meetings are their dates for the gala, and they won’t stop hounding me about who I’m bringing. So, yada, yada, yada, Cal Thompson.”
As if that explained everything.
“Wait. Did you just use yada, yada, yada as your justification? Who does that?” Cal sputters a little, and stops short on the sidewalk, trying not to laugh but failing, emitting a short, deep bark.
“You don’t like yada, yada, yada?” I shoot him a coy smile. “What’s wrong with it?”
“You sound kind of crazy,” he teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. “I guess the bigger picture is, how the hell did you end up using my name? How did you hear about me? We’re not even in the same stratosphere.”
“Whoa, buddy, it’s not like you’re famous. Let’s not get too full of ourselves.” I hand him back the driver’s license and student ID I’ve been holding and give a little shiver when our fingers touch.
“Trust me, I had no idea who you were. I pulled your name out of thin air. In fact, you could say I was inspired. There’s a sign hanging in the dining hall for Farm Fresh California milk. California—Cal. See? So then my friends want a last name, and I’m scouring the room, I see this girl from my econ class, Brianna—”
“Thompson,” we both say at the same time.
“Yes. Brianna Thompson.” I laugh. “So, there you have it, the day Cal Thompson was born. Or in this case, invented.”
“What about the tweets?”
“Well, my friend Jemma is a public relations major and is all about social media. She’s Theta’s PR and Marketing Chairwoman and the one who insisted on the live tweeting. Thinks it’s more ‘relevant.’” Yes, I use air quotes. “Jemma literally makes us Tweet during our meeting to get people excited, which is great! Good for her. I mean, I love her to death, but now it’s getting obnoxious.”
“Jemma is my roommate Mason’s cousin—he follows her on Twitter.”
“Ah. All the puzzle pieces come together.” I keep walking and notice Cal checking out my legs. I pretend not to notice; my steps become jaunty. “What does Mason think of all this?"
He peels his eyes away and looks up, down the street towards my yard. “Mason and Aaron are dipshits and get a rise out of seeing me pissed off. They came today expecting a fight.”
I ball my fists up and put up my dukes, bouncing on the heels of my four-inch wedges. “It’s not too late!”
His dark blue eyes rake me up and down again appraisingly, but not in a creepy, pervy way. “Okay, Mayweather, cool it with your bad self.” Cal considers me then, scratching his five o’clock shadow. “You know, I never thought I’d have my own personal stalker.”
I laugh, relieved that he’s making light of the situation. “Oh, please. If I were stalking you, you would know it. I’d have done a much better job creeping you out than a few measly tweets.” I nudge him with my elbow conspiratorially, startled to realize I’m enjoying our banter and warming to the topic. “Maybe driven past your house… found a few of your classes… crafted myself a tiny Cal doll to cuddle at night…” I cross my arms and hug myself, pretending to squeeze a stuffed animal. “Um, yeah. That part might have sounded crazy.”
“That. Sounded. Terrifying.” He shivers. “Well, the weird thing is– it was actually a total fluke that anyone saw my name in your Tweets because Cal Thompson isn’t even the name I use on any social media online. I haven't used that since high school.”
“It isn’t? Don’t leave me in suspense. What’s your real tag?”
He laughs. “Tighthead Thompson. Tighthead is a rugby thing.”
That explains the gashes, scratches, and bruises.
“Ah. Rugby, huh? We don’t have that on our campus.”
“I’m sure there’s an intramural league here somewhere. Most schools offer at least that. It’s typically only played competitively at smaller schools, and some Ivy League schools.”
“How long have you been playing?” I ask, feeling at ease with him and sincerely wanting to know more.
“Three years by accident.” Cal stops on the sidewalk when we’re standing across the street from my rental but makes no move to cross the street. “I played football for years and just got sick of it. I had a scholarship to a D1 school, but…” His sentence trails off with a shrug. “I just didn’t want that kind of pressure.”
I raise my eyebrows. “What did your parents say about you giving up a scholarship?”
“They’re supportive; they want me to be happy.”
“Wow, they sound great.”
“The best,” he agrees with a small grin, nodding towards my shoddy little house. “Okay, so… I guess this is you, then.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, and we step down into the street to cross.
“I guess. And again, I’m so sorry. It was such a stupid, careless thing to do.”
“Yes, but…” he concedes. “No harm done.”
“Except the part where you came all this way to kick my ass,” I point out gamely.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Except the part where I drove all this way to kick your ass.” He gives me an expression full of longing, clearing his throat once his gaze hits my breasts and lingers there. He blushes and looks away. “I’m actually really disappointed I didn’t get the chance.”
“Well, thank you, then—for not whooping my butt. I’m sure I deserved it.” I run a hand over my long blonde braid, and Cal’s bright, fascinated eyes follow the motion, sending tingles up my spine. I want to do it again just to see his reaction. “And thank you for not being a total jerk.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I was really pissed.”
“I’ll bet…” I tap my chin, and his gaze hits my mouth. “But on the bright side, it was only an hour drive, and you gave your friends something to talk about, probably for years. Ugh. Years.”
“A few years at least. But just look at how happy they are.” Our friends are still gathered on the porch, watching us walk back into the yard, chatting happily yet eyeing Cal and me with avid curiosity.
“They’re like little puppy dogs.”
I giggle. “I can’t even begin to imagine what they’re going to say when they finally get you alone.”
Cal laughs. “Your ears will be ringing, that’s for sure.”
“For years,” I remind him.
“Okay, you little sneak. Who. Was. That?” My roommate Melody ambushes me as soon as the screen door closes and the guys pull away in Cal’s big red pickup truck. I give him a jaunty little wave from behind the screen before stepping into Melody’s eager web of inquisition.
“That was… Well, Mel. That was Cal Thompson.”
“That was Cal Thompson? Seriously! Where the hell have you been hiding him?” She pauses, the truth setting in. “Wait. I’m confused. If that was your boyfriend, why was he acting like he didn’t know who you were?”
“Because… he… Ugh. God, Mel, I’m an idiot. That’s why.” How do I explain this without sounding like a mental person?
“Grey. Just tell me the truth.” Melody puts her hand on my shoulder. “I won’t judge you, promise.”
So I do.
I tell her everything.
Cal
As soon as the truck door slams shut, Aaron is half out of his seat, punching me in the arm. “Holy shit, Thompson, your stalker is fucking hot. Did you get her number?”
My hands white knuckle the steering wheel. “No.” But I wanted to. God, how I wanted to.
Aaron looks at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind. “Why the hell not?”
“Uh, because she’s a fucking stalker,” Mason responds.
“So?”
They’re still bickering when I enter the off-ramp for the highway, and they’re bickering forty minutes later when we pull up to our off-campus housing.
“Her roommate was smokin’ hot too, and funny as shit. They’re in a sorority, man. Sexy as hell.”
Yeah, it is.
Aaron considers this information. “Way out of your league, bro.”
“Don’t kick a man when he’s down,” Mason chastises as we climb out of my truck.
@Grey_VKeller @tightheadthompson remember what I said about live tweeting during our meetings? It’s happening. Right. Now.
@tightheadthompson @grey_vkeller So is this a pity tweet for the sake of your charade? #ouch #feelings
@Grey_VKeller @tightheadthompson Shhhhhh. No talking about the charade in public! #partnersincrime
@tightheadthompson @grey_vkeller people can read, you know #notsubtle #publicforum
@Grey_VKeller @tightheadthompson valid point
@tightheadthompson @grey_vkeller I’m usually always right, but I’ll let this one slide because you’re #cute
@Grey_VKeller @tightheadthompson are you flirting with me, Cal Thompson? #causethatwouldbeawesome
@JemmaGemini @tightheadthompson whoever you are, could you STOP Tweeting @grey_vkeller? We’re trying to be PRODUCTIVE #distraction #meeting #focus
@Grey_VKeller @tightheadthompson I’m getting scolded #momsaysicantplay
@tightheadthompson @grey_vkeller speaking of charades, maybe I should just get your personal info—just to spare you from further public embarrassment #gentleman
@Grey_VKeller @tightheadthompson have your people contact my people @JemmaGemini #giveMasonmyinfo
From: [email protected]
Subject: Circling back
Greyson. Hey. Just wanted to make sure you’re not beating yourself up over the whole lying, stalking thing. Because I’m over it and feel much safer knowing I could definitely take you out in a fight. I don’t know why your friend would only give Mason your email address and not your cell phone number. – Cal
From: [email protected]
Subject: Can’t even say how sorry I am…
Calvin,
Your concern fills me with warm fuzzies. I’m taking it day-by-day, each day getting easier and easier to look myself in the mirror. That was sarcasm, by the way. I’m guessing the reason Jemma wouldn’t give your roommate my cell is because you look ten kinds of crazy. You’re big and scary, black eye and tattoos. Thank you for the email, though, and for not holding a grudge against my stupidity. I guess this means I owe you a favor.
Grey
From: [email protected]
Subject: Don’t worry about it.
Greyson, no one has ever called me big and scary. Or ten kinds of crazy—at least not to my face. What does that even mean? And yeah, you owe me. Hell yeah you do. And don’t call me Calvin. – Cal
From: [email protected]
Subject: I’m stressed out and not thinking clearly?
Calvin,
Sorry for the delay. Speaking of ten kinds of crazy, things are REALLY crazy here. Only a few more weeks until our Gala, and I’m really trying to hold it together. We have one hundred and five tickets sold! I can hardly believe it. Confession: although it’s a fundraiser, I kind of hope we don’t sell any more! That’s a ton of people! I want to go to the event and have SOME fun. Anyway, don’t let me get started on all that… Tell me, what does a guy like you do in his free time? Grey
From: [email protected]
Subject: What is this free time you speak of?
Grey, a guy like me? First of all, every time I see your name in this email, I still cannot believe you’re a girl. LOL. My roommates haven’t shut up about it, and I think Mason has a crush on your roomie. He can’t stop talking about how smart and funny she is.
What do I do in my “free time”? My free time is probably spent a lot like yours: homework, studying, hanging with the guys. We like parties. And, as you know, we play Rugby. I’ve been Captain since last year, as a sophomore. What about you? What does Greyson “not a guy” Keller do in her free time? – Cal
From: [email protected]
Subject: LAE (long-ass email)
Calvin (sorry, I can’t seem to help myself),
Wow, Captain?! Impressive. I don’t know much about Rugby except that the players are big, and they get black eyes and banged up a lot. And they drive big trucks. Other than that, I’m pretty clueless. In my “free time”—if you can call it that—I spend a lot of time with my sorority sisters. Home is a 5-hour drive away, so I stay on campus most of the time and don’t go home often. My sorority sisters are my family. I like to read and dabble in writing (tweets haha). I don’t mind hitting the bar scene every once in a while, but… guys are pretty grabby, and I can’t stand that. Grey
PS: I also want to add that other than inventing the occasional fake boyfriend, I’m usually always very honest.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Fake boyfriends are underrated
Grey, speaking of being very honest, I can honestly say I’m never intentionally been grabby with a woman. Although I don’t mind a consensual handful of ass cheek. Was that TOO honest for you? Just testing the waters. – Cal
From: [email protected]
Subject: No date is better than a blind date
Cal,
Is there such a thing as too honest? I’ll ponder that… As far as ass grabbing goes, I guess I wouldn’t mind it if the grabber was my date. Or my fake date. And since we’re being honest, the only person who knows you don’t exist—I mean, who knows you aren’t really my boyfriend—is my roommate Melody. I do feel terrible lying, but we can’t sit and talk about guys during our committee meetings. We get nothing done when we do. It drives my friends nuts that I’m single, and I do not want to be set up. Blind dates are the worst. Wouldn’t you agree? Grey
From: [email protected]
Subject: Use me up then spit me out.
So, what you’re saying is, you still plan on using me so your friends don’t try and set you up on a blind date? And yeah, I agree that those are the worst, although I’ve never been on one. Speaking of dating: I think it’s rude you haven’t asked my permission to use me. – Cal
From: [email protected]
Subject: Request document submitted
Calvin, do I have your permission to use you as my fake boyfriend? Grey
From: [email protected]
Subject: Request document received
Greyson, to answer that, I should probably have your cell phone number. – Cal
697-555-5155: Grey, this is Cal. Thought it would be easier to text rather than email. What was your question again?
Grey: Calvin, took you long enough to ask for my phone number.
Cal: For the sake of convenience, it had to be done.
Grey: That’s the story you’re sticking with?
Cal: Yup, pretty much.
Grey: I guess I’ll jump right to the negotiations then. Calvin, do I have your permission to use you as my fake boyfriend?
Cal: Let me think about it. This all seems so sudden… are you sure we’re not rushing into things?
Grey: You’re wittier than you look, Cal Thompson
Cal: THANKS! Shit. That felt like an insult. Or was it a compliment? Dammit.
Grey: LOL
Cal: LOL? Fucking rude is what you are. You’re lucky you’re an hour away.
Grey: Or you’d WHAT? Come kick my ass or something?
Cal: Or something.
Grey: So, do I have your permission?
Cal: Yes. But when I start feeling dirty and violated, I’m breaking up with you. Also, please don’t tell anyone I “put out” on the first date.
Grey: I never kiss and tell…
From: [email protected]
Subject: Gray skies and stormy weather.
Grey. This shitty, gray overcast day reminded me of you—but not in a bad way. How’s it going over there at State? Had a rugby match this weekend, and I’ve been icing some seriously sore muscles for the past few days. It sucks. Can hardly move. I also have a cracked lip and another black eye—one that matches the shiner you saw last week. But it looks badass, so who am I to complain? I never did ask what your major is. Mine is business. Yawn. Boring, right? My dad owns a commercial construction company, and after working in the field a few years, I plan to take over when he retires. – Cal
From: [email protected]
Subject: Grey the Procrastinator
Calvin,
Yes, I’m sticking with that moniker. For some reason, it pleases me knowing that you don’t like it… Business is also my major, except I’m not sure which direction I want to take it. Unlike most of my friends, I don’t really know what to do with a business degree. Choosing a major was one of the toughest decisions I’ve ever had to make. I actually waited to declare until I absolutely had to. I have passion for a lot of things. Like event planning and team building. Is that weird? Grey
From: [email protected]
Subject: The Family Business
Greyson, is that weird? Not at all. Isn’t diversity a good thing? My dad always says that having diverse interests gives you a leg up in business, so you’re already one step ahead of the game. My mom works in the accounts payable department of his office, and my sister is his Field Manager. She never wanted to work for the family but got roped into it two years ago when Dad had a stroke. Sis is Tabitha, and she’s pretty fucking cool. A ballbuster, but cool. Do you have any siblings, or are you a lonely only? – Calvin
From: [email protected]
Subject: Farm Fresh California Milk
Calvin,
Did you think I wouldn’t notice you signed that email as Calvin? Cute, cute, cute. Now you’re stuck with it Do I have any siblings? Yes, I have an older brother (Collin, 29) and a younger sister (Reagan, 18). Reagan is a freshman at State with me this year and sometimes stalks me on campus for a free coffee. I work at the Starbucks on campus part-part-time. Don’t even ask why they keep me employed, since I’m hardly available to work. Must be my sparkling wit and personality? So, did you at least score any TRYS during your game? Grey
From: [email protected]
Subject: A few more cuts and bruises…
Grey. Holy shit, did you actually google rugby jargon and use TRY in a sentence? Wow, Grey, I have gotta say, I’m actually impressed. And to answer your question—of course I scored a try. They’re worth 5 points, and that’s where the busted lip came from. Those boys from Ohio are brutes. Changing the subject for a second. So what you’re saying is YOUR SISTER STALKS YOU????? At the risk of sounding—oh, I don’t know—unsympathetic, can I please point out the fact that perhaps this stalking problem RUNS IN YOUR FAMILY???? – Calvin
Grey: I’m sorry, but I can’t stop laughing. You can’t say funny crap like that during the day. I just choked back a laugh in this class I’m in right now, and the guy in front of me gave me a dirty look.
Cal: Fuck that guy AND his dirty look. They can both kiss my ass.
Grey: He’s trembling at your harsh text.
Cal: He would be if I were in that classroom with you.
Grey: True. I mean, you with your busted lip and your black eyes and scary glaring. Ten kinds of crazy, remember?
Cal: I am pretty scary.
Grey: You don’t scare ME.
Cal: That’s because you have a touch of the crazy inside you, too.
Grey: LOL I DO NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Grey: HE’S LOOKING AT ME AGAIN. And he is not happy.
Cal: Are you wearing a skirt? Maybe he’s just trying to see your underwear? In which case, this fake boyfriend WILL come beat his ass.
Grey: Okay, now I’m less concerned with my “touch of the crazy” than with your emerging violent streak and wanting to beat people’s asses.
Cal: Oh, come on. I haven’t actually punched anyone in… hours (wink). Fine. It was at last Friday’s rugby match, and he deserved it.
Grey: Oh lord, Cal…
Grey: BTW, no, I’m not wearing a skirt. I’m wearing a dress.
Cal: Well, shit.
Grey: Is that all you have to say???
Cal: No, that’s not all I have to say. What else are you wearing?
Grey: Oh, heck no, buddy ^^^ I’m not falling for one of those creepy “What are you wearing” sexting messages that lead to no good.
Cal: Shhhhhhh. Shush. Just tell me what your dress looks like so I can close my eyes for a second and visualize you sitting in a lecture hall. In a little sundress like the one you were wearing at your house?
Grey: Did you seriously SHUSH me via text???
Cal: Lol. Shush, woman! I’m not done with my visuals yet.
Grey: Wait. You noticed what I was wearing at my house?
Cal: Of course I noticed. You’re somewhat good-looking.
Grey: Cal!!! You brat.
Cal: Just stop arguing and send me a selfie.
Cal: Please.
Grey: Sigh. Fine, here. Since you asked nice.
Cal: Shit, wow. I forgot how cute you are.
Grey: Cute? Ugh, the kiss of death. Cute is for kittens and grandmas.
Cal: Well I can’t very well say you look smoke-fucking-hot, can I? That would be weird.
Cal: See? That was weird.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Crappy night
Calvin,
Can I vent to you about my crappy night last night? I don’t want to dump on you, but… Sometimes it’s hard to talk to my friends about certain things. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one with problems—well, not really “problems,” but I don’t think I’m handling the stress of all this responsibility well. Sometimes I wish I… had someone to share it with, you know? Anyway. A group of us went out last night (Wasted Wednesday and all that) to this bar, Major Dingby’s. And even though I have a “boyfriend”—go ahead, make fun—all anyone did was try and set me up with people!!!! Pretty sure they’re not convinced you’re real? Why would they try to SET ME UP when they know—I mean THINK—I have a boyfriend??? It’s so disrespectful. How is that for ironic? There was this one guy who wouldn’t leave me alone, and all I wanted to do was leave. I also wish I hadn’t worn a skirt, because, HELLO, ASS GRABBING. It did nothing but make me feel less… less whole. Less in control. Less special. It’s not that I mind being single, but I will admit, when I see other people in happy relationships, I get… Ugh, whatever. So that was my night. And now that I wrote that all out I feel so much better, even if I am being a big baby.
Grey
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Crappy night
Grey. First of all, I hope you didn’t just stand there letting some prick cop a feel of your ass. Hearing you talk about it makes me feel shitty and like a dick, because I’ve groped an ass or two. You’re not saying it, but I can hear the frustration in the tone of your message, and on behalf of all douchebags, I apologize for the guy who made you feel violated. Is ‘violated’ even remotely accurate? – Calvin
Grey: Thank you for that email. It made me feel really, really good.
Cal: Really? I’m beginning to wonder if maybe I should double major in counseling.
Grey: Calvin, has anyone told you you’re a very good listener?
Cal: No one—in the history of everybody—has EVER told me I’m a “very good listener.” Let’s not start any rumors to the contrary.
Grey: Well, it’s not like you have a choice but to listen when it’s just me in an email. I’m sure you would have zoned out if you were sitting across the table from me.
Cal: I seriously doubt that.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Sunday-not-so-Funday
Grey. Feeling any better? I hate weekends. I always feel so fucking restless. Itchy to do something. Just went for a jog, and I think I’m going to take my kayak down to this small lake (that’s more of a pond) nearby, blow off some steam. We don’t practice on the weekends because sometimes we have matches, so when we don’t have anything going on I tend to get cagey. “Calvin has too much energy” is what my teachers used to say. Drove my mom up a wall. I was always up at dawn, rooting through the kitchen in the dark before school, eating everything in sight before taking a run. At least once a week, my parents thought they were being robbed. My mom’s grocery bills were ridiculous when I lived at home. Costco has a plaque in my honor from all the pasta my mom used to buy there. So, yeah. On that awkward note—I’m going kayaking. Kind of a bummer that I’m going alone. It’s an awesome day out, yeah?
Just thought I’d see how your spirits were. – Calvin
From: [email protected]
Subject: The countdown continues.
Calvin,
Well, we’re less than six weeks from the gala, and tonight we have our sorority meeting. We always have them on Sunday nights. I’ll stand and give an update to the entire chapter on the Philanthropy meetings progress, yada, yada, yada… I have a test tomorrow in my Contracts Law class worth half our grade, so before our Chapter meeting—and after—I’ll be cramming for that. Spending the day outdoors sounds (long wistful sigh) divine. It’s so gorgeous outside. Perfect day, and I’m stuck inside Greyson
Cal: Here’s a pic of the lake I’m talking about. Picturesque, hey? See that little island? Sometimes I paddle over and sit on the log hanging over the water. #nofilter
Grey: That is STUNNING, Calvin! So jealous.
Cal: I’ll admit, it is gorgeous, but today for some reason I’m kind of bored. Like I’m missing something.
Grey: I wonder what that could be…
Grey: Here’s a photo of me NOT on the lake :(
Cal: Man, you’re pretty.
Grey: Here’s another one.
Cal: Shit, I have to stop texting from this kayak. I just knocked my hat in the water with my paddle because I’m distracted.
Grey: Ok. TTYL. Don’t fall in!
From: [email protected]
Subject: Flying solo this weekend definitely sucked.
Morning, Grey. Gotta say, I’m feeling a little guilty I sent you that picture from Lake Holloway yesterday, because you were trapped indoors, but it was so beautiful on the lake. Quiet. There was no one else there except this one couple—they had a tent and were camping on the peninsula of the little island you saw in the picture. Not to be a peeping Tom/creeper/stalker, but I sat and watched them for a little bit before paddling on. Just chilling and lying around in the grass next to their campfire. Looked awesome. It bummed me out though for a second, because it’s like you said in one of your emails; I don’t mind being single, but seeing that couple made me feel weird. And I’m only telling you this because you’re a chick, and I know you have no one to tell—but now I sound like a girl, all whiney and complainey. Haha. – Calvin
From: [email protected]
Subject: Lurker on the lake.
Cal,
Good morning!!!! Yes, I was jealous that you were out on the lake without me. Maybe someday we could… Um. Yeah. LOL. I actually think it’s sweet that you were creeping on those campers. It gives me hope that not all guys are commitment-phobes. YOU’RE not a commitment-phobe, are you, Calvin? Sorry, is that too personal? I don’t mean to pry, but now I’m curious. Anyway! Moving on—any big plans for the week…? Greyson
From: [email protected]
