CYAN
The selfie on my screen was ridiculously close, mostly because my arm wasn't long enough to capture both my face and the sheer, unbothered hostility of the plushie at the same time.
I stayed in the back of the town car, keeping the screen tilted just out of view of the rearview mirror, watching the little chat bubble that remained entirely one-sided.
Nick hadn't replied.
I looked at my own face in the image... the messy pink roots growing out into brown, the tongue piercing catching the screen's light, the exact expression I used when I knew I was being completely insufferable and wanted to make sure the other person felt every bit of it.
The silence from his end didn't irritate me; it did something odder, a light prickle against my skin that made me want to poke at him until he broke that tidy, serious voice of his.
I smiled a small, private thing to myself, not caring to figure out why a quiet phone mattered this much today.
"We've arrived, sir," the driver said.
