Right

by Jana Aston

  I want you.

  Like yesterday’s note—I like you—this is all that is written on the card. Short. Effective, I’ll admit, because it causes me to suck in my breath as desire winds its way through my body. I smile and stuff the card back into the envelope, then tap the card on the countertop.

  Sawyer Camden, what in the hell am I going to do about you?

  Twenty

  I’m in class on Thursday when I receive a message from Chloe. You have another delivery, it reads.

  He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. I peer over my open laptop at the professor, droning on. She’s yet to say one thing worthy of notating. I’ve majored in Communications. Why? Because I have not one clue what I want to do with my life. Other than Economics—I know I don’t want anything to do with that. I like people. I like communicating with them. And I can use a communications degree a lot of different ways. Maybe something in public relations. I do enjoy strategizing. Or event planning. Or social media management. I’d be great at that.

  Is it a shoe box? I type back.

  Definitely not a shoe box! Chloe’s reply is quick.

  Evasive much, Chloe?

  All I receive in reply to that is a smiley face emoticon. I tap my fingers on the desk. She’s not going to tell me what it is. I eye Professor Richland and contemplate ditching the rest of this class. But no. I’m not that interested in what Sawyer has sent. I’m not.

  I close the message box and focus on the lecture. I eye the door, but this professor specializes in calling students out for arriving late or leaving early. I settle in and wait it out, sketching pictures in my notebook to pass the time.

  By the time I get back to Stroh Hall Chloe has left for her next class. It gives me some satisfaction that she’s not there to watch me open whatever this is, since she wouldn’t give me any clues via message. I shut the door behind me and look at my bed, expecting to see a package. Nada. I glance around the room. Then I see it on my desk. A tiny fish tank. Steve’s bowl is gone and in its place is a fish tank, already set up and running.

  I sink down onto my desk chair and take it in. He’s sent a fish tank for Steve. And… a friend, I note, seeing a second fish in the tank. This one’s got some white on its fins, which will be helpful in telling them apart. I tap on the side of the glass and Steve waves his little fish fin at me while blowing bubble kisses. No, not really. He’s a fish, and they do absolutely nothing. I unscrew the lid to the goldfish and drop a few flakes in. That gets their attention.

  In any case, Steve must be pleased with his new home and I have to admit it’s nice. It’s not a large tank, not taking up much more room than the bowl, but it looks pretty fancy for being so small. There’s a light and a little rock formation they can swim through. The pamphlet lying on my desk next to it proclaims it to be a self-cleaning system. Nice. There’s a card, of course, propped up next to the tank.

  Her name is Stella, it reads.

  I laugh then. This guy, he’s… I don’t know. He’s not what I expected. I wonder if he puts this much effort into all his conquests. And then I wonder what that might be like, being with Sawyer. His attention to detail, putting this much effort into seducing me, makes me suspect he’d be just as attentive in the bedroom. Or hallway. Car. Whatever. But he’s clearly done this before. Maybe not a fish, or boots specifically. But he’s got twelve years on me. It makes me wonder. And not in a ‘how many women has he slept with’ kind of way. But in a ‘how many women have mattered’ kind of way. Is this status quo seducing for Sawyer Camden? I want to punch myself in the face for being so cliché, but am I special? Or am I a challenge? Maybe he’s just doing Finn a favor by taking me off his hands. Not that Finn ever had his hands on me.

  But yet I know that’s not true. There is something between us, something more than desire. Sawyer challenges me, in a sort of terrifying way. In the car, he laughed at all of those crazy stories, and he always seems to be two steps ahead of me. It’s exhilarating. Usually people are trying to rein me in, not encourage me, but I don’t think Sawyer would. I think instead of wanting me to tone it down, he’d look forward to what I’d throw at him next.

  Twenty-One

  I wake on Friday more confused than ever. I slept fitfully, having had a strange dream about Sawyer. And Finn. Even my childhood sweetheart Tim Stuart made an appearance. He was full grown in the dream, but still sporting the haircut I gave him when we were six.

  I dreamt that I married Tim. In my dream we lived in our hometown of Ridgefield, Connecticut and paid for everything with green Skittles. It was one of those awful dreams that feel as if they’re going on for hours, even though scientists will insist they last just minutes.

  We went to the local pizzeria, Venice, and while Tim was counting out green Skittles to pay the bill I looked up to see Finn. He was there with a woman. She was no one I recognized. I felt relief that it wasn’t that graduate student I detest, the one who’s been eyeing him for months, but nothing beyond that. They looked good together, happy, and I didn’t feel much but a casual curiosity to see who he ended up with.

  Then Sawyer walked in with a woman, and the dream took a decidedly different tone. His arm was resting on her lower back in an intimate way, guiding her to Finn’s table, and I felt like I got punched in the gut. Tim asked me what was wrong, so I shoved a handful of non-green Skittles into my mouth to avoid answering him, which annoyed him greatly. Apparently we used the yellow Skittles to start the car. None of it made any sense. Dreams are so stupid.

  Yet I can’t shake that it means something. It plagues me all morning. While I shower and dress. While I blow my dark hair into straight glossy perfection and paint my nails in the color A Good Man-darin is Hard to Find.

  So when I finish with my afternoon class I walk over to the Hymer building, where Finn’s office is. I need to see him. I’m not sure why I want to see Finn, or if I’m even going to speak with him, but my feet are taking me to him all the same. I need some kind of closure for a relationship that never existed. Because even while I’ve dated other guys, Finn was always there, in the back of my mind, as this idealized forever guy. For most of my life I’ve planned on Finn. So sure. Confident in my direction. Until this week. This uncertain girl stuff is not me, and I’m over it. I’m letting go of this idea I have of Finn. Because Sawyer is real.

  The door to Finn’s office is open and the light is on when I get to his corridor of the building. For once, by luck, not because I’ve strategized bumping into him. He’s alone, and he beams when he sees me. Positively lights up. Which is weird. It makes me feel nothing but curiosity, which is I guess what I came here to confirm. That my childish crush has indeed ended like a ripped-off Band-Aid. Quick and efficient, with just a small bite of pain.

  “Everly!” Finn is out of his chair and around his desk hugging me before I know what’s hit me. What? I’m not familiar with unsolicited bursts of affection from Finn. Not even solicited ones, come to think of it.

  “Hey, Finn,” I murmur in return as he lets me go and steps back, then perches on the end of his desk, his hands wrapped around the edge, a smile still on his face.

  “You and Sawyer,” he says.

  Me and Sawyer what?

  “I’d never have expected the two of you,” he continues, shaking his head a little and looking as pleased as I’ve ever seen him. “But you’re exactly what he needs.”

  “What?” Seriously, what?

  “I think you’re the only girl on earth who could have wrangled him so quickly,” he continues with a laugh. “Wow, Everly Jensen and my brother. Eric’s gonna be pissed.”

  What in the hell is he talking about? My phone vibrates in my pocket, reminding me that it’s been on silent for a few hours. There was a test in my last class, all cells and laptops off, so I’ve been offline since lunch. The phone vibrates again and I slip it out of my pocket to see it lit up with notifications.

  “Anyway,” Finn continues, and I realized I’ve missed whatever he was saying. What was he insinuat
ing about Sawyer and I? Did Sawyer tell him he’s pursuing me? I guess that makes sense. Finn clearly told Sawyer about my unrequited crush and ensuing shenanigans, of course Sawyer would tell his brother.

  “Did you stop by for something?” Finn asks, pushing himself off the desk and checking his watch. “I’ve got a class in ten minutes.”

  “No, I didn’t need anything. I was just in the area and wanted to say hi.” I pause. “And apologize.” I stop and take a breath. “For being a general pain in your ass.”

  He just nods in response as he slings an arm around my shoulder and walks me to the door. “You’ve always been unpredictably entertaining,” he deadpans.

  I laugh as I leave his office and head back outside. I make it to the end of the hall before my phone vibrates again and I remember all the notifications. I make it a few more steps before I have to stop walking and focus on my phone, because what I’m seeing isn’t making sense. A voicemail from Eric and a corresponding text simply stating, CALL ME. A missed call from Sophie and a text stating, Confused? And from Chloe, a Facebook message—Players gonna play, schemers gonna scheme—followed by a bunch of emoticons that are smiling so hard they’re crying.

  I hit the notification tab and scroll back a few hours. All the usual. Likes, comments, friend requests. Wait. Most of the likes and comments seem to be on… my relationship status? I never use that feature. Like, ever. I click on one of the notifications, taking me to the post.

  Everly Jensen is in a relationship with Sawyer Camden.

  Hold on. Hold. The fuck. On.

  I’m not even friends with him. I’d know. I’m not one of those girls who just adds anyone. I always look first, and I have most definitely not added him.

  Except it appears that I did. The update on my wall prior to my newfound relationship status is:

  Everly Jensen and Sawyer Camden are friends.

  The time stamp: two hours ago. Two hours ago, when I was in class, with no internet.

  That son of a bitch hacked me.

  Twenty-Two

  “Who does that?” I’m fuming. “Who breaks into someone’s Facebook account and updates their relationship status?”

  I’m on the phone with Chloe. My tirade is met with silence, then tears. You know, the kind of tears you get when you’re laughing so hard you cry? Those. She gasps for breath while I wait.

  “Chloe, this is serious.”

  “You’re right, you’re right.” She blows out a breath while trying to compose herself. “Seriously”—she clears her throat—“it is pretty bad. Not, say, physical breaking and entering bad, but close, right?”

  I gasp. “Oh, nooooo, you did not just say that!”

  “I did!” She’s back to laughing and I hear a thump. I’m pretty sure she just laughed herself off her bed. I’ve reached the front doors of Hymer and I push through them, anxious to keep moving, even though I’ve no idea where my destination is. “It’s not as bad as, say, making a fake dating profile for your friend and sending them on a date without telling them,” she deadpans, then breaks into a fit of giggles.

  I’m never gonna live that one down, so I roll my eyes even though she’s not there to see it and then jog down the steps outside the building.

  “I’ve got to go, Chloe, I’ll call you later.” I shouldn’t have called her. It was a total violation of the first rule of proper complaining. Pick the right audience for your complaint.

  “Sawyer Camden is officially my new favorite person! I hope you’re very happy together!” she says in a singsong before I can hang up.

  I reach the bottom step and stop. I pull my jacket closed and think. I really don’t have any idea where I’m going. I need to talk to that arrogant asshole, obviously. And that’s when I realize I have no idea how to contact him. He’s not left his phone number on any of the cards that were sent. I don’t know where he lives, other than somewhere in the Philadelphia area, and the one person who could tell me, Finn, just went to teach a class.

  I groan. So that’s what Finn was going on about. He must have seen the Facebook update about Sawyer and I. Shit, my mom is going to see that Facebook status and ask me a hundred questions that I have none of the answers to. She’s probably adding Sawyer to her Christmas list right now.

  Couldn’t he have just called me? Like a normal person?

  I should Google him. I can’t believe I haven’t done it already. I am so off my game. Wait, I can use Facebook. Might as well, since he went through all the trouble of hacking my account to accept his own friend request. I tap open the app on my phone and pull up his profile. I could message him this way, or… let’s see what we have to work with here.

  Works at Clemens Corp.

  Of course he does. Clemens Corp is a technology company. They just made headlines for selling a multi-billion-dollar web browsing project to the entertainment industry. They’ve also developed apps you likely use every day. GPS apps for tracking your children or spouse, that kind of thing. It’s the hot place to work in Philadelphia. The perks are supposedly amazing, like using technology before it’s released, free on-site daycare, a free cafeteria, that kind of thing. He probably used company time and resources to break into my account. Real appropriate, Sawyer.

  But the good news is their headquarters are in Logan Square, and I know exactly where the building is.

  I Uber myself a ride and say a silent prayer of thanks when the app tells me a car will be here in three minutes. I could walk to Logan Square, it’s less than two miles, but I’m in a hurry. Plus, let’s be real. I want to look good when I arrive, so I’m not hiking over there.

  My Uber ride arrives and we shoot over to Market Street. The driver agrees with me, by the way, about Sawyer being completely out of line with this Facebook stunt. See, know your audience. It helps that he has none of the backstory, and I’m the customer so he’s probably going to agree with me anyway, but still. It’s much more satisfying than venting to Chloe.

  We loop around City Hall Station then past JFK Plaza before hitting traffic on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. I check my Facebook app and fume some more.

  The car finally pulls up to Logan Square and I thank my new friend Tom and hop out, then head straight for the revolving doors. Once I’ve whooshed through them I realize I’ve got two problems. One, there’s security, and I can’t just grab an elevator. And two, I have no idea where to find him in this fifty-story building. Well, no matter.

  My phone dings. It’s my mom, asking if Sawyer eats red meat because she’s thinking of making a roast for Christmas. I think my nostrils actually flare as I march up to the security desk and slap my hands on the counter.

  “I need to see Sawyer Camden. Now.”

  The smile drops from the guard’s face and a bored look replaces it. “Ma’am, we don’t have an on-site customer service department. If you go to our website there’s a ‘contact us’ tab at the top of the page. You can’t miss it.” He gives me an uninterested smile. “Or I can give you a card with our 1-800 number,” he says, placing one on the countertop when I don’t move.

  “I don’t need customer service, I need to see Sawyer Camden. He works here, and I’d like to see him.” I smile tightly, trying not to take out my frustration with Sawyer on the poor guy at the desk. I wave at the phone behind the counter. “Call him or give me a guest pass or something.”

  The guard doesn’t make any moves to pick up the phone, but he does tilt his head and observe me a little closer, as if I’m being irrational and might need to be dealt with.

  “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to—”

  “Everly!”

  The guard and I both snap our gazes up. A blonde woman clicks across the lobby to reach us. “Everly Jensen?” she asks, but more as a courtesy than because she’s unsure.

  “Yes,” I agree, cautiously. She clearly belongs here, the guard murmuring a “Miss Adams,” and tipping his head to her upon her arrival. She’s wearing the cutest black jacket over a skirt, paired with a pair of heels I�
�m coveting. Her blonde hair is pulled into a low pony, the ends of it curled in what looks like a natural wave. An official building ID badge clipped to her waist completes the outfit.

  She beams and holds out a hand. “I’m Sandra, Mr. Camden’s assistant,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting you or I’d have made sure you had building clearance. I’m so sorry,” she adds, and it’s totally genuine. “Ted,” she addresses the guard, “I’ll take her up with me and send you a clearance to be held on file for her at the desk.”

  He nods with a, “Ma’am,” even though he’s old enough to be this woman’s father, and with that we’re through the turnstiles and she’s swiping her badge at the elevators.

  “He’s in a meeting. I’ll bring you up and let him know you’re here, but I’m not sure if he can step out this second,” she adds, and she says it apologetically, as if I’m the one who’s being inconvenienced.

  We’ve just stepped into an empty elevator car and I’m rapidly questioning my decision to crash his workplace unannounced. He deserves it after the stunt he pulled today, but this is too weird, even for me. “You know, I could come back at a better time,” I offer as the elevator slows to a stop.

  “No, no.” Her eyes widen in alarm at the suggestion that I should leave. “It’s no trouble at all, promise. I can’t imagine he’d be pleased if you left without saying hello,” she adds, another smile on her face.

  Uh. Okay. I can’t imagine he’s gonna be pleased when I give him a piece of my mind, but hell, I’m already here.

  The doors slide open and a man around Sawyer’s age steps on. He’s in jeans and a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled back and shoved up to the elbow, a stark contrast to Sandra’s attire. Probably a tech nerd. They always get away with casual attire in the workplace. Hot though. He’s wearing chunky nerd glasses that frame his face perfectly. Well, at least now I don’t feel so out of place in my distressed jeans tucked into a pair of boots. No, not the boots. Not that I sent them back, but I haven’t worn them. Besides, it’s supposed to snow today, which sadly requires Lands’ End, not Louboutin.