Texting With the Enemy (Digital Dating #1) - Marika Ray Page 0,8

be right there.” I glanced around, taking in a deep breath and then starting across the lawn to help Mom.

El was a smart girl. There was no way she’d be interested in a guy like Chad. And that meant there was very little chance I’d have to worry about what to say if she called or texted. She wouldn’t.

***

It was almost eleven when I finally managed to convince myself to shut off the television and head to bed. As I rose from the couch, I had a fleeting thought that Dalton was right. Maybe I wasn’t old, but sometimes I felt like I’d taken on Dad’s life when he died, stepping right into the shoes of a sixty-year-old man whose first priority was his business. Of course Dad had done it right—he’d found the woman he loved, started a family, and then poured himself into work. At twenty-eight, I’d skipped all the good stuff and gone straight into the part where I worked myself into an early grave. Or at least the part where I worked so much it ensured I spent my spare time here in my quiet condo. Alone.

I switched off all the lights, stopping for a brief moment to enjoy the view out the back wall of windows in the living room—the moon was high enough that I could just make out the water at the bottom of Solano Creek, which twisted and turned through the green valley where I lived. Alone.

I sighed, heading to bed.

Sleep was so close I could practically taste it when my phone buzzed on my nightstand. I didn’t switch it to silent anymore after everything with Dad. Bad news, I knew, came late at night. And I wasn’t going to sleep through another emergency. I reached for the phone, pulling it to my face so I didn’t have to actually raise my head to see whatever it was.

A text.

From a number I didn’t recognize.

I had a good time today. Thanks.

I sat up, staring at the message, when the dots began dancing. Could it be El? I waited.

PS. This is El. I got your number, but didn’t give you mine. Now you have it.

I couldn’t leave her hanging. Except, she thought I was Chad. And I was pretty sure Chad would have no problem leaving her hanging.

But El deserved better. She at least deserved to go to sleep believing the guy who’d danced with her today, who’d held her body close to his and given her “his” number was kind enough to say goodnight.

Boston: I had fun too. Good night, El.

I stared at my phone a little while longer, but nothing more came in. Finally, I gave El’s number a name—Beautiful Accountant—and went to sleep.

4

Isabel

The front door slammed behind me and caught part of the cloth shopping bag I had in my hands to take to Mom’s house. I tried to pull it free, but it was lodged pretty good. With a sigh, I grabbed my keys out of my purse to open my place back up, but then I fumbled the keys and almost spilled my travel mug of coffee.

“Careful there, El,” came the voice I tried to avoid when I was running low on time or patience.

Frank. My duplex neighbor.

I gave him a weak smile, which froze in place when I saw him standing in his bathrobe and boxers, scratching his considerable beer belly. He had one of his female mannequins sitting in the single chair he could squeeze in on his tiny front porch. Usually, he kept those ladies inside the house, which was creepy enough. No need to bring them outside and remind us he had a few screws loose.

“Off to your mom’s?” he called across our adjoining decks, then took a huge slurp of coffee before offering the cup to his inanimate friend.

My routine was highly predictable and after five years living next to each other, it was easy to see why Frank knew my schedule, but it still made me wonder if I should change things up a bit. Frank was harmless—weird, sure—but totally harmless. Just lonely, I thought.

I lifted my newly freed shopping bag in the air. “Yep. Better get to it or I’ll be late.”

It didn’t take me long to drive across Solano Creek to the poorer side of the river. The double-wide trailer Mom lived in was a nicer version of the one I’d grown up in with her. What Mom lacked in money she made up for in charm. Okay, not really. Charming