I had to sit for a minute and get my bearings, but when I heard another buzz, along with the words of Ricky Nelson’s “Baby I’m Sorry,” which I had programmed at an accidental brilliant moment. The song sounded different because I got the phone to sing it in an Australian accent. Genius, I tell you.

Without looking, I knew who the texts were from, and then I was wishing for the fly instead.

That song played every time Lucas texted, which meant he… I had no clue what it meant, actually. I hadn’t heard a word from him since Newt broke the news to me and I’d left the next day with Trent.

I did the math, which was hard, and we were at the forty-eight-hour mark. So either Lucas just found out or the next girl had already dumped him.

I considered for a second, and my money was on the girl. I rolled over and picked up the phone.

Lucas: Why aren’t you answering my texts?

Lucas: Where are you?

Lucas: Gramps said you came by. I missed you.

Lucas: I miss you now.

Lucas: You’re still not answering—

He was covering his ass. There were twenty other texts from him, and I deleted all of them—without blinking, without a second thought, without reading. One by one, I wiped them clear, and once the screen was blank, a satisfied smile came to my face.

I lie back down, closing my eyes. I could get another twenty minutes of shut-eye.

BUZZ.

It was louder now that I was awake.

Groaning, I flipped the phone on and hit call. I was ready for him, expecting him to answer.

It rang, and rang, and then, “This is the Luc-machine. Say your piece and I might listen…”

He didn’t answer and he’d literally just texted.

After the beep, I said, “Dude. You were fucking another girl. Your grandpa told me. We’re done, and save your drool. You were the guy to help me get over someone ten times better than you. I used you, so whatever. We’re through. You’re not worth the time it took to call you.” I started to hang up, but brought the phone back to my mouth. “Do not call, text, send smoke signals, think about me, or jerk off to me. Done, Luc-you-bet-your-ass-you’re-an-ass. BYE, Felicia.”

There.

I hung up, then wiped him from the phone and his number too.

Then I realized the last text hadn’t been from him.

Trent: Hey. Call me later. Want to make sure you’re okay.

Well… I sat and stared at it, and groaned. Shit on me.

Me: Sorry I flaked last night. I’m fine. How was your flight?

I studied my phone after that, looking at the history, and saw that Lucas had texted all day yesterday. They just all came flooding in at the same time because reception was iffy on this island.