Text Wars: May the Text be With You ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 3) Read online

  Text Wars

  An Accidentally in Love Story Book 3

  Whitney Dineen

  Melanie Summers

  Copyright © 2021 by Whitney Dineen and Gretz Corp.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by 33 Partners Publishing and Indigo Group

  First edition

  E-Book ASIN: B08ZGP6FCF

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-988891-38-5

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the authors’ overactive imaginations or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. And we don’t mean maybe.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, scanned, photographed, or distributed in print or electronic form without express permission of the authors. But let’s face it, if you love it, they’ll probably let you share small portions. You still have to contact them first.

  Made in the United States.

  May 2021

  * * *

  Cover by: Becky Monson

  The Accidentally in Love Stories

  By Whitney Dineen & Melanie Summers

  Text Me on Tuesday

  The Text God

  Text Wars

  Text in Show (coming June 2021)

  Mistle Text (coming Fall 2021)

  Also by Whitney Dineen

  Romantic Comedies

  Love is a Battlefield

  Ain't She Sweet

  It's My Party

  The Event

  The Move

  The Plan

  The Dream

  Relatively Normal

  Relatively Sane

  Relatively Happy

  The Reinvention of Mimi Finnegan

  Mimi Plus Two

  Kindred Spirits

  She Sins at Midnight

  Going Up?

  Non-Fiction Humor

  Motherhood, Martyrdom & Costco Runs

  Conspiracy Thriller

  See No More

  Middle Reader Fiction

  Wilhelmina and the Willamette Wig Factory

  Who the Heck is Harvey Stingle?

  Children’s Books

  The Friendship Bench

  Also by Melanie Summers

  ROMANTIC COMEDIES

  The Crown Jewels Series

  The Royal Treatment

  The Royal Wedding

  The Royal Delivery

  * * *

  Paradise Bay Series

  The Honeymooner

  Whisked Away

  The Suite Life

  Resting Beach Face (Coming Soon)

  * * *

  Crazy Royal Love Series

  Royally Crushed

  Royally Wild

  Royally Tied

  WOMEN’S FICTION

  The After Wife

  The Deep End (Coming Soon)

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to space geeks of all kinds.

  Your curiosity makes you cool,

  W & M

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Epilogue

  Coming Really Freaking Soon…

  Afterword

  About the Authors

  One

  Serafina

  As a Libra, I’m “all about the balance.” I’ve recently begun to sing my astrological motto to the tune of Meghan Trainor’s song “All About That Bass” because — why not? Every morning I stand on one foot with my eyes closed and both arms outstretched like I’m trying to touch the opposite walls in my airy SoHo loft. I do this for five minutes on each foot and like to keep myself entertained in the process.

  The problem with being the scale of the zodiac — our symbol really is a scale — is that other star signs often have a hard time grasping a Libra’s need for equilibrium. While we all have our quirks, this fundamental necessity for balance can be a real bear. Especially when others don’t play along, which is a lot of the time. Since I started making my living with my Live for Your Star Sign app, I’ve butted up against all sorts of people who couldn't care less about harmony. But harmony is the secret to my success. That, and sweet treats to keep my creative juices flowing all day long (and sometimes into the night).

  Understanding trends and knowing how to position your app as the one with the answers to life’s biggest problems (all for the bargain price of $4.99/month) is a full-time gig, and I’ve sunk so much time and money into this business, I need it to succeed, no matter what I have to do to make that happen.

  As I get to the part of the song where I belt out how I’m bringing booty back, my front door slams open and the best assistant/programmer/neighbor to ever inhabit the body of a fifteen-year-old girl charges into my inner domain, upsetting the tranquility of my early morning routine. I lose my balance and tip sideways, landing on the bean bag chair to my right with an unceremonious thump.

  “Sera!!! You won’t believe it!” Charley yells while waving a piece of paper in the air and hopping around like her shredded jeans are on fire. “I got into Yale!”

  “Are you serious?!” I ask, scrambling to get up, but somehow managing to get caught in the zipper of the faux fur cover.

  Charley gives me a look of concern. “You okay?”

  “I’m good.” Miraculously, I manage to free myself and stand up. “Commence celebrating.”

  We jump up and down and squeal before I ask the all-important question, “What did your parents say? Will they let you go?” I hold my breath while working to contain my excitement. I’m worried they’re going to say no, as their daughter is only fifteen.

  Having said that, Charley is a certifiable genius who took the GED and graduated from high school in the middle of her sophomore year … during her fourth suspension. She has a penchant for repeatedly breaking into the school’s computer system and renaming the students according to her personal thoughts about them. For instance, her arch nemesis, Madison Parker, most recently became Butt-Face McGee. Her crush Jacob Fein was awarded the moniker, Hunky Pants McHottiestein.

  I know I shouldn’t find it funny. I am, after all, an adult, but at twenty-eight it’s pretty easy for me to slip back into teenage Serafina and want to stick it to all the mean kids. While Charley and I found the monikers highly entertaining (not to mention justified
), Principal Fox didn’t share our enjoyment.

  “My mom says I can’t go anywhere until I prove I’m mature enough to handle myself,” Charley groans while collapsing on my overstuffed butter-colored sofa. Her mother, Martha Jenkins, is an esteemed heart surgeon with a limited sense of humor. In fact, now that I think about it, I can’t actually recall the sound of her laugh, which is pretty shocking since they’ve been my neighbors for three years.

  “What does your dad say?”

  Lorne Jenkins is a play-by-the-rules circuit court judge who is always at odds with his fiery daughter. As her advanced calculus teacher Mr. Banks pointed out on multiple occasions, “A bored Charley is a bad Charley.” Not a particularly kind thing to say about a teenager, but then again, Charley had just hacked into the school’s computer system and renamed said teacher Bad Breath Banks.

  As much as Lorne and Martha love their offspring (and they really do), they don’t “get” her, which is probably why she started hanging out with me in the first place.

  Charley’s eyes twinkle. “Dad says that if I can keep my job with you and stay out of trouble, he’ll let me start next year when I’m sixteen.” She looks up at me hopefully and asks, “Can you keep me employed for that long? Please say yes, because if you don’t, I will probably accidentally hack into the government’s computer system and rename all of the senators or something.”

  I sit down next to her and reply, “I’m pretty sure my Live for Your Star Sign app will keep us both busy for at least that long.” In addition to Dress for Your Star Sign, Eat for Your Star Sign, Work for Your Star Sign, and Decorate for Your Star Sign, we’re in the process of adding a Date for Your Star Sign feature. I tell Charley excitedly, “We’ve had over a hundred local test subjects sign up for our trial dating feature, can you believe it?”

  “Of course I can!” she says enthusiastically — I love this girl’s raw excitement about life. “When will we know if it works?”

  “As soon as you upload everyone’s info, we’ll set the algorithm loose and see what happens.”

  Looking around at my silvery grey walls with sharp pops of colorful artwork, Charley replies, “I’ll do it today. I hope you’re going to fill out a questionnaire too. God knows you have no social life.”

  “I am. I figure it would be irresponsible of me not to participate.”

  “Plus, you’ll finally get to go on some dates.” My young friend always tries to push me into the dating world, which, frankly, has not been on my radar at all. When you’re busy launching the most comprehensive lifestyle app to ever hit the market, other aspects of your life suffer. My social life, for instance, is practically non-existent.

  Charley pulls at a handful of micro-braids that frame her gorgeous brown face. “I think your letter of recommendation is what got me into Yale. You were such a superstar when you were there.”

  “My endorsement only got you so far, my friend. I’m pretty sure your near-perfect SAT and ACT scores are the basis of your admission. Yale is big on prodigies.” Before I can comment further, my phone rings. Not recognizing the number, I pick it up and say, “May your stars be in alignment today. This is Serafina.” I know, that’s a little out there, but trust me, this stuff works.

  “Um, hi,” comes the hesitant voice on the line. “My name is Waltraut Hemper. I’m a producer at Wake Up America! here in New York.”

  First of all, Waltraut? I know it’s a German name, but in my esteemed opinion, it’s an unfortunate one as it brings to mind one of those singing stuffed fish that people used to hang on their walls. “Hi, Waltraut. What can I do for you?”

  I put her on speaker phone so Charley can hear what’s being said.

  “We’re looking to do a ‘Shoot for the Stars’ episode here at Wake Up America! We came across your app and thought it might be fun if you came on and hosted a segment on dressing for your star sign.”

  Hal and Lacey have been a staple in my morning since I was in college. It’s all I can do not to scream my excitement. A segment on Wake Up America! will launch my app into the stratosphere! I sit-dance in my spot while I say, “That sounds doable. When would you like me to be a guest?”

  “One week from today. Will that give you enough time to get your models and their wardrobes ready?”

  Charley is typing away on her laptop and turns the screen toward me to show an animated gif of a cheerleading squad jumping up and down. Then she hops off the sofa and imitates the movements herself.

  “That should be fine,” I tell the producer. “How many looks do you want for each sign?”

  “We’ll only have time for one, but we’d like you to cover everything from casual to formal depending on who will wear it best. We’ll give you a budget to pay for the models. Most stores will either give you the clothes or let you borrow them if you mention their name during the segment.”

  My body starts to vibrate in anticipation of my first-ever national television appearance. I feel all floaty, like my essence is lifting out of my form and hovering somewhere above myself. Before it can float to Brooklyn, I say, “Sounds terrific. If you send me all the details, I’ll make sure to give you the best fashion segment you’ve ever had.” I don’t know how, but I manage to keep my composure and not sound like I’m about to eat my first hot fudge sundae after successfully losing twenty pounds. Well done, me.

  “Great. And FYI, we have someone coming from NASA the same day. We thought it might be fun if you gave him some fashion tips, as well.”

  “Absolutely! If you ask me, those scientist types could use a little input on the more sensory applications of life.”

  Waltraut says, “We really want to play up the juxtaposition between the scientific and the popular culture views of space.”

  “The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” I tell her. “Just because science doesn’t give credence to astrology doesn’t mean astrology isn’t a relevant science of its own.”

  “That’s exactly the kind of thing we want you to say on air,” the producer tells me.

  Buoyed by her enthusiasm, I add, “Astrology has been practiced for over two thousand years, far longer than most scientific fields. If you think about it, two hundred years ago, people didn’t even know enough about germs and viruses to realize that washing their hands was a fundamental deterrent to illness.”

  “I’m so glad I called you. I think this is going to be a real winner of a segment.”

  “I’m sure it will.” After I hang up, Charley and I stare at each other for a full second before we both dance around the living room, screaming like fools. Once our initial burst of enthusiasm is over (there will be more), I suggest, “Celebratory donut?”

  “This calls for two,” she says.

  Oh, to have a fifteen-year-old’s metabolism. But you know what? Who cares about calories because I just got the best news in the two years since I launched my app. We hurry out of my apartment and take the elevator down to the main floor. Charley chats away about how sick this is going to be. (Apparently, sick is the new cool.)

  As I listen to her, a tiny seed of worry starts to grow in my belly. Diehard astronomers don’t generally mix well with people from my world. In fact, scientists usually disregard astrology as a parlor game. As such, there’s a very good chance that if I don’t get the upper hand with this astronomer right out of the gate, he may very well try to make me look like a moron on national television.

  Which is pretty much my worst nightmare.

  Two

  Ben

  “…And then Chewy scooted his butt across the living room rug for ten minutes straight while Don complained about how my dog was ruining his nineteenth century Aubusson carpet. As if it’s my fault the little guy’s anal glands keep getting impacted. What do you think, Ben?”

  I think I wish you would stop talking.

  Carla Jameson, our senior data analyst — and, according to the mug she carries everywhere, “World’s Best Dog Mom”— has not stopped talking since she walked into my office twelve minutes a
nd thirty-six seconds ago. I swear the woman has mastered the art of keeping up both ends of a conversation even while doing the kinds of calculations that would cause the average physics student’s head to explode. If you don’t answer her in a speedy fashion, she’ll answer for you. Her mouth moves non-stop, all day long.

  There are six of us in total on NASA’s Earth II TRAPPIST-1 Exoplanet Research Team. I was tapped to lead our little group of geeks as we analyze the habitability of the seven rocky planets in the TRAPPIST-1 solar system. Five of our team are introverts (including me) and the sixth is currently nattering on about her Labradoodle’s hind quarters like I’m thoroughly invested in the topic. Which I am not.

  While some of us occasionally lack social awareness — ahem, Carla — we are all exceptionally bright, and get along well considering most of us would rather be crunching numbers and hypothesizing about growing food on another planet than actually conversing with other humans.