Ethan's POV
I dragged myself through my penthouse door, tossing my backpack somewhere in the general direction of the couch. It missed. Story of my life.
The evening sun painted orange streaks across my living room walls as I collapsed onto the couch, fishing my phone from my pocket. My thumb hovered over Stella's contact for what felt like hours.
"Just do it, you chicken," I muttered to myself.
My fingers typed and deleted about seventeen different messages before I settled on: "Are you Free tomorrow evening? Do you want to grab dinner or something?"
I stared at my phone like it might explode. The three dots appeared, disappeared, and appeared again. My heart did a weird little dance.
The three dots vanished again. I fought the urge to throw my phone across the room. Why did texting
