Not His Replacement

“We’ve slept together.” As Ethan said it, he made a show of staking his claim. He slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me against him. My face froze. I forced an awkward smile that looked more like a grimace. I’d never imagined that something this ridiculous could happen to me: the guy I’d fallen for online was my ex-boyfriend’s cousin. I lay in bed, tossing and turning, with dark circles under my eyes. It was the eighth day since the breakup, and insomnia had apparently become my new normal. The doctor said it was nervous exhaustion and told me to get plenty of rest. Fuck. How was I supposed to rest if I couldn’t sleep? At this rate, I’d soon fit in an urn. I pulled my phone from under my pillow. The screen lit up, its white glare making my eyes sting. The lock screen read 11:38. Late at night was the perfect time to spiral, so, against my better judgment, I opened my ex’s Instagram. His latest post was a group photo from a gathering with his coworkers. Ryan wore a black shirt and gold-rimmed glasses. He looked like a gentleman who would ruin your life. He sat in the center of the photo, with a sweetly smiling girl pressed close beside him. They looked like a couple. She was the reason Ryan and I had broken up. Last Wednesday, I’d flown to New York to surprise him at his office. Instead, I’d caught them kissing. After I got home, I broke up with him. Now, staring at that photo, I felt an ache I couldn’t quite put into words. People said time and someone new were the best cures for heartbreak. I couldn’t wait for either. I needed something fast-acting to save my life. So I opened an app I hadn’t touched in ages. My best friend, Lily Morgan, had recommended it to me. Sure enough, she was online, hosting a party room. When she saw me enter, she sent me a private message. HandsOffMyStrawberryCake: “Chlo! What are you doing here?” CinnamonBun: “Can’t sleep. Looking for someone to stay on a call with me.” HandsOffMyStrawberryCake: “On it!” A string of messages immediately appeared in the room’s public chat. HandsOffMyStrawberryCake: “@CinnamonBun This is my friend IRL. She’s GORGEOUS!!” HandsOffMyStrawberryCake: “Looking for a sweet guy to talk her to sleep.” HandsOffMyStrawberryCake: “Come on, boys! Let’s hear those voices!” Thanks to Lily’s matchmaking, I acquired my very own soothing bedtime companion. He followed me, then immediately called. “Hey. Can you hear me?” His voice was gentle, young, and just a little lazy. God, it sounded good. Every syllable hit me right where it hurt. I got so excited I forgot to speak. When he asked again, I hurried to answer. “Uh… y-yeah. I’m here.” He laughed. “Do you always stutter, or is that just for me?” His name was Ethan Hayes. He was my age, a college sophomore too. He reached out every day. We’d exchange a few messages or share songs during the day, then stay on a voice call while we fell asleep at night. My sleep improved dramatically. I secretly congratulated myself on finding a miracle cure. One night, when he called again, he suddenly asked, “You never told me what year you were born.” Remembering how he’d teased me, I decided to mess with him. “I’m four years older than you. Show your elders some respect.” “No way.”“Why? Don’t I look it?” I kept my tone casual, then dug through my photos and sent him a few where I looked more mature. He went quiet, as if trying to decide whether I was telling the truth. Determined to commit to the bit, I continued, “When was the last time one of your bedtime calls got a little dirty?” “I don’t do that.” “Not even with me?” Ethan hung up and sent me three question marks. Well, well. A cocky boy with an innocent streak. CinnamonBun: “I’m kidding.” CinnamonBun: “Can’t you take a little teasing?” The next day, Ethan didn’t contact me at all. Apparently, he knew how to hold a grudge. I stared at our chat and sighed. Was I in for another sleepless night? At eleven, my fear of insomnia finally won. I tentatively called him. To my surprise, he answered. “You’re the one who hung up on me last night,” I said, deciding to strike first to salvage my pride. “Be sweet and say, ‘Yes, ma’am,’ and maybe I’ll forgive you.” Ethan: “…” There were a few seconds of silence. Then his low, rich voice came through. “Yes, ma’am.” My entire body went numb. How was anyone supposed to survive that? “Say it again.” “Chloe. Bennett. Don’t. Push. It.” He ground out every word through his teeth. “Okay, okay. No need to be so mean,” I muttered. Somehow, Ethan really seemed to believe I was four years older than him. Usually, he called me Bun or Chlo. Occasionally, when he was in a good mood, he’d humor me with a teasing “ma’am.” Naturally, I never got tired of abusing my imaginary seniority. We talked more and more often, and Ethan gradually took on several jobs: ranked-game carry, substitute player, personal jukebox, iced-coffee sponsor. His main responsibility, of course, was still talking me to sleep. Then, during one of our conversations, I discovered he lived in the next city over, only half an hour away by express train. After that, he kept threatening to come find me in person. Not to be outdone, I told him that if he dared show up, I’d drag him into bed and make sure he never escaped. Talking a big game wasn’t illegal. It wasn’t as if he’d actually come. So I happily maintained my online persona: a heartless player who wanted bodies, not feelings. We’d made plans to play ranked doubles that weekend. I asked him, “What’s your major? How are you this good at games?” It wasn’t that I had no standards. Ethan played practically every popular game, and I’d seen what he could do on a PC. He could easily have become a gaming streamer. “Computer science.” “What a coincidence. My ex studied that too.”“Ma’am, that line is seriously outdated,” Ethan drawled. I shot back, “Let me guess. Scorpio? That would explain the vicious mouth.” “Wrong.” “Virgo, then.” “Wrong.” “Fuck! Capricorn.” “Wrong.” “Go die.” I snapped. “Aren’t women supposed to have a sixth sense? Yours is terrible.” He laughed without restraint, grinding my dignity into the dirt. “What sign are you, then?” I demanded. “Aries through and through.” I froze for a few seconds. My head buzzed. Ethan asked why I’d gone quiet. I swallowed and said evenly, “Ethan, my ex’s birthday is March twenty-fifth too.” Ethan: “…” It was honestly hard to believe coincidences like this existed. When I learned that Ethan had been in three relationships, two of them online, I teased him. “Are you so ugly you can only date people who haven’t seen you?” Instead of explaining, he sent three photos. The guy in them had handsome features, fair skin, and bright eyes beneath subtly creased lids. His gaze held a careless, almost defiant edge. A tiny mole beneath his right eye added to his distant air. He was incredibly good-looking. His eyes and brows also looked a little like Ryan’s. Once again, I found myself saying, “Ethan, you even look like my ex.” “If you like me, just say so. You don’t need such a lame excuse. I promise I won’t laugh at you,” he said lazily. I could practically picture his smug expression. Even now, Ethan thought I was flirting. Fine. If he didn’t believe me, that was his problem. I changed the subject. “With a face like that, you must get plenty of attention in real life. Why bother dating online?” “I’m used to being alone. I’ve never felt a desperate need to date anyone. I don’t talk much around people I don’t know in person. Those two online relationships just sort of happened. Neither lasted long.” Translation: In real life, I’m a cold, cocky guy with a permanent do-not-approach sign. The online dating was an accident. “So you come online to let your inner slut run wild,” I said. “Chloe Bennett!” For a while after that, I was insanely busy. I practically lived in the lab and barely had time to answer messages. Sometimes I worked through the night, which meant I didn’t need Ethan on the phone to help me sleep. On Monday, after lab, Lily and I went out for fondue. She got straight to the point. “You and Ryan were together for two years. Isn’t breaking up now kind of a waste?” “He cheated,” I said.“Ryan told me everything,” Lily said. “That girl was the one chasing him. Nothing happened between them. Besides, he treats you so well. Why would he cheat?” To be fair, everyone considered Ryan the perfect boyfriend. Gentle, romantic, thoughtful, generous. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have stayed with him so long. But our relationship only looked beautiful from the outside. Underneath, it had been rotten for ages. I didn’t want to explain, and I wouldn’t have known where to begin. So I joked around until Lily agreed to stay out of it. When we left the restaurant, I got a message from Ethan. He’d sent the address of a café and said he’d be there soon. CinnamonBun: “What is happening??” “Coming to catch you.” Then I remembered. During a game, Ethan had kept asking where I worked, and I’d randomly named a café near campus. Oh, God. My mind went blank. I said a hurried goodbye to Lily and took off. I jogged all the way there and burst into the café, breathless. Then my foot slipped. I hit the floor, spilling the contents of my backpack. I clutched my knee, my face twisting in pain. “Westbridge University. Biomedical Sciences. Section Two. Chloe Bennett.” At the sound of his voice, I looked up. Ethan was studying my student ID. “Ohhh. An older woman, huh?” His mouth curled into an amused smile. “Ha. Ha.” I forced a painfully stiff grin. “Wishing you a long and healthy life. See you never.” I gathered my things and tried to escape. Unfortunately, my escape failed. The heartless bastard caught me by the back of my collar and took me to an upscale Japanese restaurant. He sat beside me and very gentlemanly began serving food onto my plate. When it was nearly overflowing, I stopped him and pleaded, “I just had fondue. I seriously can’t eat another bite.” Ethan set down his fork and suddenly leaned closer, trapping me in the corner. My heart raced. I had no idea what to do with myself. “Chloe, are you nervous?”