Secret Texts

Cody POV

I wake up with the sun stabbing my eyes through the cracked blinds of my tiny apartment. My head’s fuzzy, like I dreamed last night, but my hand proves it was real. Ryan’s number stares up at me, smudged black ink on my palm. I grin, still buzzing from that kiss on the balcony. My heart’s doing a little dance, and I can’t sit still. I grab my phone off the floor—battery’s low, screen’s scratched—and flop onto my lumpy couch. Should I text him? He said “if you want more,” and man, I do. But he’s Ryan Maddox, and I’m just me.

I chew my lip, thumb hovering over the keys. What do I even say? “Hey, it’s Cody, that dancer you kissed”? Lame. I type, delete, type again. Finally, I settle on something simple: “Hey, it’s Cody. Still thinking about last night.” My stomach twists as I hit send. What if he doesn’t reply? What if he was just drunk and messing around? I toss the phone on the cushion and pace, sneakers scuffing the worn carpet.

Minutes drag. I check my phone—nothing. Maybe he’s busy being a big star. I groan, flopping back down, staring at the ceiling. Then it buzzes. I snatch it up so fast I almost drop it. Ryan’s name lights the screen: “Hey, dancer. Me too. You free today?” My grin’s so wide it hurts. He remembers me. I type back quick, “Yeah, free all day. You?” My hands are shaky, but I’m stoked.

He replies fast: “Good. Busy morning, but let’s hang later. You like tacos?” I laugh out loud—tacos? So normal for a guy like him. “Love ‘em,” I send back. He says, “Cool. Meet me at this spot—Raul’s Taco Truck, 5 p.m. Low-key, no paps.” I know the place—it’s a beat-up truck in a parking lot, nowhere fancy. Perfect. “See you there,” I type, adding a winky face before I can overthink it. He sends a thumbs-up, and I’m bouncing.

The day crawls. I shower, dig out my least-wrinkled shirt—black, tight enough to show off my dancer arms—and mess with my blond hair ‘til it looks decent. My phone’s dying, so I plug it in, pacing while it charges. I keep replaying last night—his grin, his hands, that kiss. It’s crazy he wants to see me again. I’m nobody, crashing parties, while he’s got fans screaming his name. What’s he see in me? I shake it off. Don’t psych yourself out, Cody.

Five rolls around, and I’m at Raul’s, the smell of grilled meat hitting me as I hop off the bus. The truck’s parked in a dusty lot, string lights dangling, a few plastic tables scattered around. It’s chill, no crowds, just some locals grabbing food. I spot Ryan before he sees me—he’s leaning on the truck, hood up, sunglasses on, trying to blend in. My heart skips. Even dressed down, he’s got that star thing, all easy and cool.

“Hey,” I say, walking up, hands stuffed in my pockets so I don’t fidget.

He turns, pulls the sunglasses down, and smiles. “Hey, dancer. You made it.” His voice is warm, no slur this time, and it settles my nerves.

“Wouldn’t miss tacos with a big shot,” I tease, and he laughs.

“Not a big shot here,” he says, nodding at the truck. “Just a guy who likes good food. What’s your order?”

“Carne asada, extra salsa,” I say. He orders the same, plus a couple sodas, and we grab a table in the corner, away from the street. The sun’s dipping low, painting everything orange, and it feels like a bubble—just us.

We dig in, and it’s quiet for a bit, just chewing and sipping. The tacos are messy, grease dripping, but I don’t care. He wipes his mouth, smirking. “You’re good at this,” he says.

“Eating?” I say, raising a brow. “Years of practice.”

He chuckles. “Nah, just… being real. Last night, too. Everyone at that party was fake—smiling for pics, kissing up. You weren’t.”

I shrug, cheeks warm. “Didn’t have a reason to be. I wasn’t supposed to be there.”

“Glad you were,” he says, and his eyes hold mine. My stomach flips again.

“So, what’s it like?” I ask, leaning in. “Being you. Famous and all.”

He sighs, pushing his soda can around. “It’s a lot. Fun sometimes—money, travel, seeing my face on posters. But the cameras… they’re everywhere. I’m always pretending, you know? Smiling when I don’t want to, dating girls I don’t like. It’s exhausting.”

I nod, chewing slow. “Sounds rough. Why keep doing it?”

“’Cause I’m good at it,” he says, smirking a little. “And it’s all I know. But sometimes I just want to… stop. Be me.”

“Who’s that?” I ask, curious.

He looks at me, quiet for a sec. “Still figuring it out. Maybe a guy who kisses dancers on balconies.”

I laugh, loud, and he grins. “Smooth,” I say. “Real smooth.”

“Worked, didn’t it?” he shoots back, and I can’t argue.

We finish eating, wrappers piled up, and it’s easy now—joking, talking about dumb stuff like favorite movies and worst dance moves. He’s not just a star here; he’s Ryan, funny and chill. But I feel it—the gap. He’s got a mansion, a career. I’ve got a couch and a dream. It nags at me, but his laugh pushes it away.

“So,” he says, leaning back, “you’re a dancer. What’s the big plan?”

“Make it,” I say, simple. “Get a gig, a real one. Tour with some singer, maybe. Or a movie. Just… not be broke forever.”

“You will,” he says, like it’s a fact. “You’ve got that fire. I saw it last night.”

“Thanks,” I say, smiling small. “Means a lot, coming from you.”

He shrugs, but his eyes stay soft. The lot’s emptying out, just us and the hum of the truck. I don’t want to leave, but I’m scared to push too far. He’s famous. This could be nothing to him.

“Hey,” he says, breaking my thoughts. “You busy tonight?”

I blink. “Nah, just… chilling. Why?”

“Come over,” he says, voice low, a little flirty. “My place. Movie night. No paps, no fakes. Just us.”

My throat’s tight. His place? That’s big. I picture his mansion—fancy, private, him and me alone. My mind races, and I hesitate. What if I mess this up? But his smile’s tugging at me, and that spark from last night’s still burning. I can’t say no.

“Okay,” I say, grinning. “Movie night sounds dope.”

“Cool,” he says, standing up. “I’ll text you the address. Bring your moves.”

“Only if you bring yours,” I tease, and he laughs, loud and free.

He pulls his hood tighter, gives me a nod, and heads off. I watch him go, heart pounding. I’m in deep already, and I know it.