Kiss Me Through the Phone

Chapter One

Emerson sat with one leg crossed over the other beneath the desk, her textbook open in front of her and a pencil turning slowly between her fingers.

At the front of the room, Mr. Jeon leaned against the edge of his desk, one hand tucked loosely into the pocket of his trousers while the other held a whiteboard marker.

"For your next essay," he began, glancing over the class through the thin frames of his glasses, "I want you to choose a position and defend it. I'm not interested in a safe answer, and I'm definitely not interested in thirty versions of the same argument."

A few students shifted in their seats.

Emerson looked up.

That got her attention.

Mr. Jeon turned toward the board and wrote the question in clean, deliberate handwriting.

How has hookup culture changed expectations around intimacy and commitment?

A murmur moved through the room.

Someone near the back laughed under their breath.

Mr. Jeon capped the marker.

"Yes, I'm aware some of you have suddenly developed an interest in academic writing."

More laughter followed.

Even Emerson smiled.

"But," he continued, "this isn't an excuse to write three thousand words about your dating history. I want research. Social expectations. Gender differences. Dating apps. Emotional attachment. Whether casual intimacy has genuinely changed how people view commitment, or whether we've simply become more honest about behaviour that has always existed."

Emerson stared at the question.

Hookup culture.

When was the last time she'd even had a hookup?

Her pencil slowed between her fingers.

Chase.

Technically, Chase hadn't been a hookup. He had been her boyfriend. Almost two years of being tangled together in every possible sense before things eventually fell apart.

She hadn't seen him in over a year.

Hadn't spoken to him either.

Still, annoyingly, her body seemed to remember him better than her brain wanted to.

His hands sliding over her waist.

The warmth of his mouth against her neck.

The way he used to pull her closer without asking because he already knew she would let him.

Emerson absentmindedly brought the end of her pencil between her teeth.

A slow warmth curled low in her stomach.

God.

That was pathetic.

A year later and apparently her imagination still had no loyalty whatsoever.

"Miss Collins."

She didn't hear him.

Her mind had moved somewhere considerably less academic.

"Miss Collins."

A pause.

Then—

"Earth to Miss Collins."

Emerson blinked.

The classroom came rushing back all at once.

Mr. Jeon stood at the front with the marker still in his hand, one eyebrow raised above the frame of his glasses.