Chloe slid onto the barstool next to me, her thigh pressing flush against mine. She was wearing a black dress that ended mid-thigh and started too low. My hoodie—the one she’d stolen—was tied around her waist like a trophy.
“You’ve been texting my sister.”
I could practically hear her laugh—that low, throaty hum that Derek swore was just her “weird vocal fry.” I knew better. It was a weapon. Phatassedangel69 - Best Friend-s Obsessive Sister
But the night of the hoodie changed things. Derek’s band was playing a show at a grimy venue downtown. I was there for support, nursing a warm PBR and pretending to enjoy the feedback screech of his guitar. The crowd was thin, mostly girlfriends and guys who’d wandered in for the cheap bar. Chloe slid onto the barstool next to me,
Derek found the texts. All of them. The late-night “accidental” photos she’d sent—a flash of collarbone, the curve of her hip in my hoodie, a caption reading Wish you were here to take this off. He’d borrowed her laptop to order band merch, and her iMessage was still synced. “You’ve been texting my sister
My blood went cold. I hadn’t deleted anything. But I knew who had.