Elijah: No kinky party. Yet. Just drinks to test the waters. I'll pick you up at a quarter toten?
I hate committing. Hate it. I bite my lip while staring at the text. I know he sees I've read it—damn read receipts. The little bubbles start to tick across thescreen.
Elijah: Stopavoiding.
“Such an ass,” I mumble, then type:Sure.I could back out if I wantedto.
Elijah: Try not to sound soexcited.
My fingers freeze over the keys.Well, I can't SOUND any way over text, but how about: Can't wait. And I insert that little jazz handemoji.
More bubbles pop up, followed by an eye rollemoji.
This man isimpossible.
Elijah: I keep thinking about how your cheeks blush when you come. I also keep fantasizing about how sexy it would be to shove you face down on the hood of my car and fuck you frombehind.
I swallow. It's just words—typed words—so I shouldn’t be sitting here in my NSYNC shirt, soaking my Hanes while fanning myself and clenching my thighs. Because I've never done this, that's why. And I realize I'mfucked.
Elijah: Don't make me wait until Friday to see youblush.
Oh God. I think this is the prelude to sexting. I type letters that don't make up full words. I'm that flustered; then there's another ping from myphone.
Elijah: Before you go to bed tonight, I want you to touch yourself and pretend it's my fingers, my lips, my tongue. And after you've come, send me a picture of your cheeks flushed and pink. Tell me how good itwas.
Sexting wasn't even a thing when I was dating. The one time I took the advice I so often give my clients and tried to spice things up with Harold via a naughty picture, Harold texted back, scolding me for sending “vulgar” photos to him while he was atwork.
I stare at Elijah's message, my heart pounding, my body fully reacting to his invitation. And then I panic. I am at a loss as to how to respond. Anything I type is going to sound stupid. Shit! Chewing on my lip, I decided to cash in on my “phone a friend” and dial Steph's number, because she's a Grade-Aperv.
“The hangover didn't kill me. If you'reconcerned.”
“I need help!” I blurt, still staring at histext.
“Yes, as your best friend, I'maware.”
“Steph! Seriously, Elijah just texted me—sexted me—whatever you call itand—”
Dirty excitement fills her voice. “Oh, read it tome.”
I place the call on speaker and swipe back to the message thread, reading over it in ahurry.
“So…do it,” she says, like it's a no-brainer. “But send him a dirty picture, and not one of just your face. Go a little past what he's asking. But not too dirty. Just a peek, youknow?”
“No!” I huff. “I don't know. I'm in a pair of Hanes and an NSYNC tanktop.”
“For fuck's sake. Don't send him a picture inthat!”
Elijah: Toomuch?
“Oh, God. Tell me what to say back; it's been three minutes. He's going to think I'm aprude.”
She laughs. “You kind of are aprude.”
“Steph, I swear toGod…”
“Okay, okay. Tell him…oh. Oh!” I hear her fingers snap over the line. “Tell him only if hebegs.”
I quickly type out the response and press send without much thought. “Of course you would suggest something likethat.”
