Pulling his pants up, he stepped away when he heard the doorbell ring, leaving his phone on the bed. The mood had to be broken, which irritated him for a moment until he remembered it was the food delivery he’d ordered earlier—he hadn’t felt like cooking tonight. After paying for it, he carried the bag to the kitchen island before jogging back to his room to grab his phone. A smirk spread across his face when the screen lit up with a new notification.

But as he walked back out, that smirk faltered. The notification wasn’t from the girl he’d been texting all evening; it was from you. Not that he minded—it wasn’t like he hated you. You’d been one of his best friends since freshman year of college. Still, he’d been expecting a response to the picture he’d sent her just moments ago.

He sighed as he opened your chat, only to stop dead in his tracks midway through the living room. The blood drained from his face as he realized his mistake. The picture he’d just taken in his bedroom—the one meant for her—wasn’t sent to her chat. He’d accidentally sent it to you.

Shit.

It was an honest mistake, of course. It wasn’t his fault that he was so used to clicking on your profile whenever he wanted to share something. Your chat was always the first to pop up.

He scrambled to delete the photo, but it was too late. The dreaded blue checkmark stared back at him. You’d already viewed it. And then, to make matters worse, a reply from you appeared on the screen.