Texting (The Complete Series

by Teagan Hunter

  He returns with two full bags of stuff, and the store lights dim as he approaches the car.

  “Boom. Made it.” Shep tosses his bags into the back then climbs back behind the wheel.

  “What’d you get?”

  “Ice cream.”

  “What kind of ice cream?”

  “Our favorite.”

  Our.

  Even though he’s just talking about ice cream, the word makes my heart skip a beat.

  I like the way it sounds. I like the way Shep and I sound together.

  I wasn’t lying when I told him I was still mad at him, but Delia was right: I can be mad at him and want to be with him all in the same breath, and that’s okay.

  Shep pulls out of the parking lot and takes a left then another left two stops up.

  I laugh when he pulls into a fast food joint, because I know just what he’s up to.

  He steers the truck to the drive-thru and rolls his window down.

  Pointing at me, he says, “Don’t you dare try to order any of that fancy stuff. Dollar menu only for you.”

  “I want two orders of spicy chicken nuggets, a large fry, and a vanilla milkshake.”

  “I already got us ice cream.”

  “Oh, the milkshake is for you. It’s cute that you think I’m sharing that ice cream.”

  Smirking, he shakes his head and places my order for me, adding on a double cheeseburger and large fry for himself.

  When we get through the line, Shep parks in the lot and motions for me to get out.

  I grab Steve and his bed from the back then make my way to the bed of the truck, where Shep is already laying out a blanket for us to sit on.

  We climb on up, our feet dangling comfortably off the back just like after the first gala we attended, and we dig into our food.

  There’s no conversation as we eat, because we don’t need it.

  We’re content.

  After we finish nearly all the greasy goodness, Shep busts out the pints of ice cream, lining up all our favorite flavors.

  “They only had one spoon,” he says, holding it out to me.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Uh huh. How convenient.”

  “Guess we’re just gonna have to…share.”

  “If I didn’t have your cooties already, I’d complain.” I snatch the lone utensil from his hand and scoop out a bite of mint chocolate chip. “But I guess since you bought me all this deliciousness, I’m gonna let it slide.”

  “You? Don’t you mean us?”

  There it is again, that skip.

  “I like that thought…us,” I admit quietly before shoving the spoon in my mouth to stop myself from saying anything else.

  “I do too.” Shep sighs heavily. “I meant everything I said in those ads, Den.”

  “You already said that.”

  “I know, but I really need you to know I meant everything. You have no idea how sorry I am. You were right—I do hold on to the past. I don’t think, I just react, and I make excuses for that. I shouldn’t do that. It’s not fair.”

  “It’s really not,” I tell him. “Especially when you hurt so many people in the process.”

  “I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

  “Then don’t be.”

  “Is it really that easy?”

  “Yes,” I say emphatically. “You know, Delia told me she thinks I make you a better person.”

  “You do.”

  “I don’t agree,” I argue. “I think you’re always a good person. You’re just afraid to let people see that side of you, because you’re scared they’ll like you…and then leave you. So, you push them away before they can like you, because you’re scared of heartbreak.”

  “Aren’t we all?” he questions.

  “Sure, but some of us are ballsy enough to face it anyway.”

  He chuckles. “Always gotta bring my balls into it, huh?”

  “Well, if you’d actually use ’em once in a while…”

  He shakes his head, trying hard not to laugh, because he knows I’m right.

  He hops down from the truck bed and moves toward me, pushing himself between my legs. Cupping my face, he draws all my attention to him.

  “Look, Den,” he says, his soft hazel eyes holding my own. There’s such sincerity in them that I can’t imagine ever looking away. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about what I did to Delia. That wasn’t cool of me to hide it. I should have been straightforward with you and honest about the mistakes of my past.”

  “Anything else hiding in that closet of yours?”

  “No. That was it. Clean slate from here on out.”

  “Here on out, huh? You say that like we have a future.”

  For the first time ever, Shep looks sheepish, and a blush creeps up his cheeks.

  I lied before.

  This is my favorite version of Shep—humble, vulnerable.

  “I’d like us to, Den.” He whispers the words, so quietly I can barely hear him, but I do.

  My heart skips another beat, or that final thin layer of protection around it shatters—I can’t tell which.

  All I know is I’m ready.

  To say yes. For a future. For us.

  “I’d like us to, too.”

  His face lights up. “Yeah?”

  “Yes.”

  He closes his eyes, resting his forehead on mine and letting out a relieved sigh. “I’m going to do so much better this time. I’m going to be worthy of you.”

  “You already are worthy of me, Shep.” I put my hands on his face, holding him to me. “You already are.”

  “I’m not, Den.” He shakes his head. “You know I’m not, but I’m going to change that. I love you.”

  My lips curl into a smile at his words.

  “Say that again.”

  “I love you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His lips capture mine in the softest kiss he’s ever given me.

  I feel hopeful. I feel good. I feel like we’re going to make it this time.

  He pulls away and I look up at him. He’s smiling down at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and I know whatever he’s about to say, it’s going to make me love him even more.

  “Yes, Bucky, about 9% sure.”

  Laughing, I say, “I’ll take those odds with you.”

  “You know you’re stuck with me now, right?”

  “I know, but I’m only in it for the pugs.”

  “Until the end of the line?”

  “The very end.”

  Acknowledgments

  For those who don’t know, I never set out for Let’s Get Textual to turn into anything other than a standalone romantic comedy for my newsletter. But once I started writing Zach and Delia, I couldn’t stop…and I had to share them with just more than my newsletter readers. I was scared, nervous as hell because although I enjoyed writing books with a little more heart to them, I always wanted to write romcoms because I love to laugh. I wanted to be that author who made readers laugh. But I never felt like I could. I didn’t think you would “get” my sense of humor. That I wouldn’t be funny or good enough for you.

  But you…you proved me wrong.

  Not only did you devour and recommend and make Let’s Get Textual into something I never thought It would be, you wanted more. More from these characters and their friends. You embraced them. Every single one—flaws and all. You did this. You made this series what it is. And you let me become the author I always wanted to be.

  I can never, ever repay you for that.

  So, thank you. Thank for taking a chance on Zach and Delia and Marshy. For allowing me to bring you into this new and kind of crazy world with this funky cast of characters.

  Thank you for allowing me to make my dream a reality.

  With love and unwavering gratitude,

  Teagan

  Textin’ Up My Heart

  My readers,

  Thank you for loving Zach and Delia so much.

  This one is for you.

&n
bsp; 1

  Zach: Are you awake?

  I roll over to face the adorable, albeit idiotic, guy lying next to me.

  Back pressed against the headboard, leg bent, phone in hand, he shoots me the grin I’ve loved since the moment I met him. “Good morning.”

  I quirk a brow. “Did you just text me to ask if I’m awake when I am right next to you?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not weird.” He lifts a shoulder and shakes his phone at me. “Texting is our thing.”

  “Our thing or not, it’s weird.”

  His grin widens, his panty-dropping dimples poking through. “You love it, and me.”

  “You’re not wrong.” I push myself up, brushing back my unruly, long brown hair. “Why are you up so early?”

  “I’m bored. There’s nothing to do.”

  “This might sound crazy, but you could try, I dunno, sleeping. Especially since it’s only”—I glance at the clock Zach keeps on the bedside table for “nostalgia”—“7:30…on a Saturday.”

  “It’s 7:30? Crap! I slept in!” Tossing his phone down onto the bed, he launches up onto his feet, clapping his hands together excitedly. “Let’s do this!”

  My eyes fall to slits at his unexpected enthusiasm. If there’s one thing Zach loves, it’s sleep. He’s never up before nine on the weekends.

  “What’s wrong with you? What’s going on? Are you sick?” I gasp. “Do you have cancer? Because we aren’t married and I’m not on your life insurance.”

  “I’m not sick, and I’ll add you to my life insurance if you want.”

  “You will?”

  “Yes.” His voice is steady and sure, unwavering as he drops his hands to his hips and stands there in nothing but his Deadpool boxer briefs, the morning sunlight glowing around him like a halo. My man might be the biggest nerd I’ve ever met—building apps in his basement, devouring comic books whenever he’s not busy, and buying the most expensive tickets to whatever nerdy convention is in town—but damn does he know how to take care of his body. His dark brows furrow as he continues, “Why the hell wouldn’t I? You’re my girl, Delia.”

  “Your girl?”

  “Yeah, you know…my love. My boo. My old lady. My bae.”

  “Don’t ever call me your bae.”

  “Fine, bae. I won’t, bae.”

  I glare at him. “I will murder you. I’m not scared of prison. Prison should be scared of me.”

  “That’s a fair assessment.” He waves a hand. “Anyway, yes, I’ll put you on my life insurance, mostly because if you do kill me, I’ll have deserved it, and I want to make sure I leave you with a little something-something to make up for being a total douche.”

  My lips curve up. “That’s actually kind of sweet. Now tell me what’s wrong with you.”

  “Nothing. I’m just really jazzed today.”

  “Jazzed? Jazzed? Nobody says jazzed, Zachary.”

  He glares at me when I use his fake full name. “Jazzed,” he whispers with faux menace.

  “Seriously, what’s going on? You’re never up this early on weekends. You said they were ‘your turn to damn the man and save the empire’…whatever that means.”

  “That record store is a national treasure!” He shakes his fist. “National treasure, Delia!”

  I sigh and roll my eyes at his antics because, much like he’s been doing for a few weeks now, he’s avoiding the question when I ask him if something is wrong.

  “Zach…”

  “Delia…” he mocks, brow raised, smirk lining his lips.

  “What’s going on?”

  The brow drops, his lips falling into a frown when he realizes I’m not playing around.

  “Nothing’s going on,” he says quickly…too quickly. I study him and his eyes dart off to the corner of the room, uncomfortable under my scrutiny. “J-Just ready for the day is all.” He claps his hands together in excitement. “What do we have planned?”

  “Well, I was hoping we could chill in bed, maybe snuggle on the couch like bums. Or bang. Feels like it’s been weeks since I’ve seen you.”

  He sighs. “You see me every night, Delia.”

  Technically speaking, he’s right. I do see him every night, but lately it doesn’t always feel like he’s there. He’s been so into whatever’s happening on his screen lately that I’m actually starting to feel jealous of a device.

  “True, but your phone is always glued to your hand. If I didn’t know how much you value your balls, I’d say you were cheating on me.”

  “One, I do love my balls, but that’s not why I’m not cheating on you. I’m not cheating on you because I love you. Two, I’m sorry. I’ve just been…working some kinks out. It’ll be better soon, I promise. Stop being jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous.”

  He raises his eyebrows.

  “Fine, fine. You’re right. I’m just being silly, I guess.”

  “You are.” He leans forward and kisses my head again before pushing off the bed completely. “I’m gonna go make some breakfast, then we gotta get moving on the day.”

  “It’s a Saturday. Remind me why we need to get out of bed at all?”

  “Did you forget? We’re having a barbeque today.”

  “We are?”

  “Yep.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I decided. We’re doing burgers and potato salad and asparagus…all the fun, usual shit.”

  I crinkle my nose at him. “Do you even know what people eat at barbeques? Because asparagus isn’t a typical cookout menu item.”

  “It is now.”

  “I knew it—you are sick!”

  Ignoring me, he crosses the room to the dresser, and I cry a little on the inside when he pulls out a shirt, covering up his chiseled chest. He pulls our bedroom door open. “Eggs, bacon, toast, and carrots okay with you?”

  “Carrots?! Sick, sick, sick!”

  He laughs.

  “Just tell me if it’s cancer!” I yell after him. “And what color ribbon I need to wear!”

  Zach: Are you dressed yet?

  Delia: No. I went back to bed.

  Zach: DELIA DEVLIN

  Zach: YOU GET YOUR CUTE ASS OUT HERE RIGHT NOW

  Zach: Robbie and Monty will be here any minute

  Delia: OMG you were serious about the barbeque?!

  Zach: YES!

  Delia: DAMMIT ZACHARY!

  I thought he was just joking this morning, though the moment I finished the last bite of my toast, he stole my plate and disappeared to go prepare for our guests. Annoyed, I sank into the cozy king bed once the door clicked shut, and then the food coma set in. I surrendered to it, letting my eyes close for a quick nap to shut out all the thoughts running through my head.

  According to my phone, that was two hours ago.

  I spring up from the bed that’s beckoning to me, giving it a longing look as I try to rack my brain on my why Zach is so hellbent on having a damn barbeque today.

  I don’t want to people. I just want to be lazy.

  More specifically, I want to be lazy with him.

  Zach: Robbie just texted. They’re five minutes out.

  Zach: Don’t you dare fall back asleep!

  “I’m up!” I shout.

  “Good, you bum!” he retorts.

  Racing around the room, I stuff a pair of jeans and a plain top into my hands before rushing off toward the bathroom. I turn the handle on the shower and make quick work of wrangling my long tresses into a messy bun—no time to wash and dry this mess—before stripping and hopping under the hot stream of water.

  I don’t dawdle, because I know if I do, Zach will be in here wondering what the hell I’m doing, asking if I’m “flicking the bean to thoughts of him.”

  I’m washed and dried in ten minutes and pulling on my clothes just as the doorbell rings.

  “You hear that, Delia?” Zach shouts from the doorway of our bedroom as I struggle to get my bra snapped, my still-wet-and-sticky skin making it difficult to get the hooks lined up. “Our
guests are here! Put your titties away!”

  “I will do as I please with my titties!”

  His laughter trickles down the hall as the hooks finally snap into place, and I quickly pull my shirt over my head as I hear him let his best friend and his drop-dead gorgeous fiancée inside.

  A pang of envy fills my chest when I think of the lovebirds, not because I want Robbie or anything—gross, he’s like my brother—but because of that rock sitting atop Monty’s finger.

  I never thought I was the type of girl to give a shit about marriage. I didn’t fantasize about my wedding as a little girl. I’ve always firmly been in the “If it happens, it happens” camp. Even after I met Zach and decided to move in with him, I still felt that way.

  Until last month.

  The gang got together for dinner, Robbie and Monty using the opportunity to announce their upcoming nuptials. For the first time ever, I was covetous of what my friends had and I didn’t—namely, a promise for a future.

  I pushed it aside as nothing more than a fleeting moment of green…until earlier this week as I sat on the toilet, peeing on a stick because my period is over two weeks late.

  Those three minutes were agonizing, and I breathed a sigh of relief when the test came back negative.

  Then, I cried.

  I wasn’t sad because I wasn’t pregnant, but because I realized if I were pregnant, Zach and I had no solid plan for our future. We haven’t talked about babies or marriage or anything big. We’ve just been…well, together, and suddenly all these questions began rolling through my head.

  What happens if do get pregnant? Will Zach be mad? Will we have to get married? It’s been five years—how are we not married yet? Why hasn’t Zach proposed?

  Which of course spiraled into something even worse.

  What if he doesn’t love me like he once did? What if we’re at a standstill? What if we don’t last? Will we have to raise our baby in separate households? Who gets the goats?