You don't get out of the shower until twenty minutes later, and you're lazy and take your time putting a t-shirt and some old, comfy jeans on. You brush your hair for several minutes, and then dry it and brush it again, before you exit the bathroom and go grab your wallet to go get some breakfast. You leave your phone on the bed where you threw it before you went to shower, and head straight out the door, down the street towards a small coffee shop that sells both sandwiches and croissants and scones - your favorite - along with a billion other things. They make good coffee, and you like to go there because it's nice and small and not crowded with noisy people. As you reach the shop after just a few minutes, you walk right up and order two scones and a cup of black coffee, and then you bring it to a table by the window, and eat while watching people walk by on a beautiful Saturday morning. The sky is clear and blue, and the air is warm, and you have a feeling it's gonna be a good day. When you're done eating, you walk out on the street again, and stroll around for no particular reason, and after maybe half an hour, you go back to your apartment and throw yourself on the couch and turn on the television. You flip through the channels for a while, until you find some random animal show, and when commercials come on, you go to your bedroom and pick up your phone to check your mail. You go back to the couch and lie down, before you press the "home"-button, and the screen lights up, only to make you almost drop the phone in surprise. A text message from an already somewhat familiar number shows up, and as you look at the time next to it, you see that you received it at 9:01 am. It's such a short message that you don't even have to open it to see what it says, because it's all there in the notification.
- shit
He wrote shit. He saw your message. He saw it and he wrote back. He actually answered you. You consider it for a moment, wondering what's going on. Should you write something back? Should you leave it be? What should you do?
I'm actually texting with Adam Levine, you remind yourself. It seems so simple when you just look at that plain number, but it's not, cause he's famous, and - wait... Why does that matter? You're just texting. Or... Arh, it's confusing. Also, it's private, and you're not sure whether you should be involved in this in any way. It was a message meant for someone else, and you shouldn't have had anything to do with it. But him answering back... Was that an encouragement? Did that mean that he... Or did he just say it to let you know he received your message? "Oh, dear," you say out loud and stare at the keyboard. Hesitantly, you type something.
- I'm sorry.
You press send before you can regret. It's neutral, simple, and doesn't require an answer from him. You take a deep breath, not quite believing your own guts, and put the phone on your coffee table - but not before you've made sure that the sound is turned up, so you can hear if you get a message. You try to turn your attention back to the television, but your eyes keep glancing at the phone, and your heart nearly stops beating in your chest, when an unmistakable bling-sound echoes in your living room. You stare at the phone, barely breathing, and then pick it up.
- Hey, you free tomorrow night?
You sigh. It's from your coworker, Olivia, whom you sometimes go out for dinner or coffee with. She's the one you consider your closest friend. - Sure, what time and where? you reply. Then you put the phone down again.
For some reason, you wished harder than you should that the text had been from Adam.
