Page 8 of Sexting the Pakhan

“I can talk to people without dying.”

“You can talk to old women looking for murder mysteries without dying.”

“That is a skill.”

“It is. Sadly, it’s not the skill we’re testing.”

The server comes by, and I order a glass of red wine because I can feel this situation slipping beyond my control. Karina orders something sparkling and obnoxious and then goes right back to ruining my evening.

She turns her phone toward me. “Pick one.”

On the screen is a list of random phone numbers.

I just stare. “This cannot be legal.”

“It’s legal enough.”

“That’s not a phrase.”

“It is tonight.”

I press my fingertips to my forehead. “Why are you like this?”

“Because God knew your life would be boring without me.”

That, unfortunately, is not completely untrue.

I take a long breath and look at the numbers. None of them mean anything. They’re just digits. Someone out there belongs to each one, obviously, but to me they’re blank. Unattached. Safe in the weirdest possible way.

Karina must see the shift in my expression, because she pounces immediately.

“There,” she says. “You’re considering it.”

“I’m considering whether friendship is worth this level of abuse.”

“It is.”

“Debatable.”

She grabs my phone out of my hand before I can stop her.

“Karina.”

“Relax.”

“That word has never relaxed anyone.”

She inputs one of the numbers, saves nothing, just leaves it there in a blank message thread, and drops the phone in front of me like she’s setting down a loaded weapon.

I look at it.

Unknown number.

Empty screen.

Cursor blinking.

My stomach tightens. “This is so humiliating.”