“Please, Jesus, read it out loud,” Taters says, far too invested in this. I unlock my phone and with a shaky finger, open her text. “‘Hey, Pacey. I made it back to my place safely. Thank you for asking. And no need to apologize. We said what we said.’” “Ooh, not the response we were looking for.” Hornsby winces. “I feel like throwing up,” Posey says as he stands and starts pacing. “How do we respond to that?”
they’re killing me
