Something Reckless(60)

“I don’t want to tell Sam,” I say. “It would only hurt him, and there’s no reason to tell him when nothing is going to happen between us.”

“You don’t know that,” Hanna says. “I still believe he really likes you.” When I give her a look, she says, “Likes you for more than sex.”

“To be fair,” Maggie says, “whether or not you have a future with Sam, you need to figure out who this guy is.”

“He still wants to meet me,” I say. “I could agree to that.”

Hanna shakes her head. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that. Why can’t he tell you who he is then you can meet?”

“He doesn’t know who I am either,” I say. “God, I’m glad I accidentally sent that picture of me to Sam through text when I meant to send it to River through Something Real Chat.”

Nix frowns at me. “What are you talking about? You can’t send pictures through Something Real.”

“Sure you can,” I say. “I sent River pictures before.”

“You did?” the girls screech in unison.

“Not of me, exactly,” I say. “I was only bending the rules, not breaking them. I’d send pictures of tiny parts of me. My hip, my toes . . .” My cheeks heat. “You know . . .”

Nix folds her arms. “That’s so weird. There’s no way to send pictures from my account.”

We all turn to her. “You have an account with Something Real?” I ask.

She looks away. “You made it sound pretty cool, so I thought it was worth a try. But trust me, there’s no picture sending.” She pulls her phone from her pocket and messes with it for a minute before showing it to me.

She has the chat application pulled up and, sure enough, there’s no option to send pictures.

“I guess I thought it was pretty trusting of them to let us have that when we were supposed to be anonymous,” I admit. “But it’s in beta testing, so maybe it’s just a glitch.”

“Back to River not knowing who you are,” Maggie says. “Why does that matter?”

I shrug. “I could end it. I could just delete my account and the program and never talk to him again. It’s gotta be someone who lives in the area, so it’s better that we don’t know each other, right?”

“But you liked him,” Hanna says. “That’s gotta mean something. Why not find out who he is and then see if you can make it work?”

Maggie shakes her head. “But that’s gonna be all sorts of complicated if it’s someone connected to the Bradshaws.”

“Or if it’s one of the actual Bradshaws,” Nix says. “It is their family cabin.”

“It’s the Bradshaw family cabin,” I repeat, but I’m starting to get hysterical again and it comes out in a squeak. “Sam even told me last night that Connor uses it a lot to give Della space when she’s in her moods. Connor.” I lift my hand to my mouth. I feel sick again. “Oh my God.”

“Liz?” Hanna says. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I draw in a ragged breath, but it’s hard. My lungs are too horrified to accept air. “What if I’ve been having this online relationship with Connor?” I shake my head. “No. He wouldn’t. He’s married now, and regardless of what you guys think about what happened last summer, he’s a really good guy.”

The girls all exchange a look, then study their nails, the counter, their drinks, anything but my face.

Cally’s the first to speak. “Did River say why he didn’t show up last night, Liz?”

“He said he had a family matter come up and he couldn’t get away.” I shake my head. “Connor’s a good guy. I’m a bitch for even thinking for a second it could be him. It’s not. He wouldn’t do that.”

Hanna meets my eyes and grimaces. “According to the New Hope Tattler, Connor’s wife gave birth to their daughter last night.”

“The birth of a child would definitely keep him from meeting with his online mistress,” Nix says.

“No,” I whisper. It makes sense. Too much sense. But I’m more miserable than ever.





Chapter Fifteen





Sam



So completely fuckable. And she needs to be mine.

Since Liz started working here, I’ve been to campaign headquarters more than ever before. I used to hate this place, but now when I walk in the door, I actually smile. Because it means I’m going to see Liz.

Liz is standing on the sidewalk in front of campaign headquarters, staring at the door as if she’s trying to work up the courage to walk through it. Her hair’s pinned into a knot at the top of her head, and she’s wearing black tights, boots that come up to her knees, and a pink polka-dot coat that ties at her waist and makes her look like one of those glamorous women with pinup curves from the forties.