Deadwave (Conspiracy Chronicles Book 1) by Michael Evans

Author:Michael Evans [Evans, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boundless Press
Published: 2019-10-02T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

I made a mistake.

At least, I think I did. It was another one of those moments where I am overthinking, my fingers fumbling pathetically as I type on the holographic keyboard. I try asking Riva if she wants to hang out, which really means typing “are you around sometime over the next few days” several times. Each time I type it, I delete it, deciding my text isn’t good enough, only to type the exact same text again. Frustrated with myself, I finally cave in and press send.

After witnessing a man get stabbed to death with her our first time together, and then preceding to not respond to her text that said she would always be there for me, it’s safe to say that things could be going better between us.

Despite my fears, I send the text. That feat alone sends a rush of adrenaline through me and makes me feel the tiniest bit proud in myself. I can still remember the excited thoughts racing through my mind. Yes, I did it. I want to pump my fist in the air, a sign of victory, until I realize how sad that would be. What have I become? I’m now celebrating about successfully texting a girl without peeing my pants. It’s not like I had to actually ask her in person after all this crap… now that would truly be a feat.

The true excitement doesn’t come until she texts me back, minutes later. To make a long, boring conversation short, both of us joked with each other over our favorite movies, only to decide we weren’t going to watch a movie anyway. We are going to make our time together “business” related by doing a joint Deadwave live stream. After all, she says she doesn’t have any time for too many distractions (gotta admit, being labeled a distraction wasn’t the best thing for my ego) and that she wants to have a normal, friendly conversation with someone. I was ready to jump off my couch and head to her the moment she said it.

So, that’s exactly what I do. And two hours later, by the power of a self-driving convertible that I hailed to cruise up Interstate 5, I am in Huntington Beach, where Riva had moved to a few months ago. Now, I didn’t leave right away or have a slight fluttering in my chest for any particular reason. It’s not that I’m desperate or anything—I promise I’m not—just part of me feels like I have something to prove. I feel like I have to be better than my best because I’m not good enough for her. With most people I wouldn’t feel that way, but with her, everything is different. She is the top Deadwave player in the world and drop-dead gorgeous. I am neither of those things.

“I know it’s not the nicest here, but it’s all I need.” Riva comes over from the kitchen, where she insisted on pouring us glasses of water. We are both that

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