"Oh, he is shameless!" I mutter, gaping at his message. I might be smiling too. Jesus. This is bad.
I set my phone down, determined not to message him back.
And then another message comes through.
Kingston: I see you read my last message. And you haven't blocked me yet. I'm taking that as a positive sign.
"It's not," I growl, glaring at my phone.
Kingston: I listened to your album last night. Not afraid to admit I listened again this morning. Jesus Christ, princess! I'm in awe. Did your dad teach you to sing like that?
I don't know why I pick up my phone to answer him. Really, I don't. But my fingers fly across the screen.
Me: No. I learned in church like every other good little southern girl.
I hit send, then realize he's probably going to think that gave him an opening.
Me: You can stop messaging me now.
I don't even have to wait five seconds for his response.
Kingston: You responded.
Kingston: You went to church? I bet you were adorable in your little church dresses, singing in the choir.
Me: Pretty much everyone in Tennessee goes to church, Kingston. Why are you in my DMs?
Kingston: Because I've been thinking about you nonstop since I saw you in the locker room yesterday. I want to see you again.
My heart flutters before I remind myself that he's probably like this with everyone. I quickly flip my phone around and snap a photo of myself before sending it to him.
It's not a good one. I'm in sweats, no makeup, with my hair in a messy bun. Basically, the way I look most days. Hopefully, he'll see it, decide that I'm not what he's looking for, and move on quickly.
That thought doesn't sting. Not even a little bit.
I'm also a dirty liar.
Me: There. Now you've seen me again and can move on with your life.
Kingston: Goddamn, you're beautiful, baby. I could get lost in those eyes and not regret a second of it.
Oh, jeez. He really is shameless, isn't he?
Kingston: And just so we're clear, there will be no moving on. I'm already planning our future.
Me: Rufus will be thrilled to hear that.
Kingston: Rufus is adorable. He's a boxer, right? Why'd you lie about being married?
"Dammit," I groan. Of course he figured that out already. I glance across the kitchen at Rufus, who is passed out in his bed like usual. I really need to stop sharing so many photos of him. How am I supposed to use him as cover if the whole world has already seen him?
Me: Who says I lied?
Kingston: You don't like me much, do you?
Me: Do you want the truth?
Kingston: Absolutely.