Hiya! 6-sentence-weekend for Chris trying to get revenge by snooping on Sam’s phone and just coming across shippy texts/voicemails about the two them from her mom. Lol.
“All right, little miss Snoopy McSnooperton,” he muttered to himself as, inch by inch and tooth by tooth, he eased the zipper of her backpack open, “let’s see what juicy secrets you’re hiding, since, y’know, apparently this trip is a ‘touching everyone else’s stuff’ free-for-all.”
His best work? No, not by a long shot, but he’d be lying if he said finding Sam scrolling through his phone down at the station hadn’t sent him into an all-out tailspin; there was stuff he didn’t need her finding on there, thanks very much, and though the ride up the mountain and the walk to the lodge had been uneventful, it was possible – possible! – that his adrenaline was still going full-tilt.
Her mistake, of course, had been leaving her bag where any-old-body could get at it while she soaked in the Washington’s (ridiculous) master bath – he, after all, was any-old-body, and one on a mission, at that.
Or so he thought, until her phone lit up in his hand, opening to a conversation with her mom he simply had not been prepared for: ‘Get there safely,’ he could deal with, and ‘Love you lots,’ he’d expected, but ‘Tell Chris hi for me ;)’ and ‘I’m sure the mountains are very ROMANTIC this time of year,’ and ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…’ he could not and had not.
“If someone’s out there, you better not be messing with my stuff!” Sam called from the bathroom, and though her voice was muffled through the door, Chris jumped about a mile into the air before gingerly placing her phone back where he’d found it, his face burning as though he’d been the one sitting in a steamy tub.
