A. Harper:
Maybe add a “send nudes” text while you’re at it.
The corner of my mouth pulled at his teasing. It didn’t get to me like it used to, because lately I was coming to know that he wasn’t teasing because he didn’t take me seriously like I previously thought. But what about in this context? Was it to deflect from something?
I know a booty call when I see it.
I frowned. Of course he did. Girls probably called him left and right. He was attractive, and mostly nice and obviously good at… things. Oh, what was I being shy for, I was alone. He obviously knew how to make a girl come.
Was I stupid for thinking he was alone on a Friday night? Was I stupid for not thinking far ahead enough to wonder who he spent time with when he wasn’t with me?
Was I stupid to care?
I laid my phone face down on my chest.
Me:
I was just wondering if you were sleeping, that’s all.
I had to be stupid. Of course he wasn’t sleeping. I was having a conversation with him. And of course he wasn’t thinking about me in his free time. I was just some deal he worked out. I wasn’t like a girlfriend or even a real hookup. I was actually pretty pathetic, clinging onto him like this.
I should just turn over, go to sleep, and let the poor guy get on with his weekend. I should have never messaged him.
The phone buzzed.
My heart pounded. I didn’t want to look at it. Yet,allI wanted to do was look at it.
A. Harper:
I’m up, sweetheart.
If someone could explain why my heart was beating so fast, so hard, so wild in my chest, I’d appreciate it.
My explanation came in the form of another message lighting up my screen, a little map with a clickable link expanding in the chat and another message following quickly behind it.
A. Harper:
Come be up with me.
I contemplated getting dressed before driving over to his place. I contemplated doing my hair, putting on makeup, or taking a shower, even though I’d taken one before bed only a few hours ago.
Instead, I opted to pull on the pants portion to my white loungeset, put on those cozy boots with the fur on the inside and stash an extra pair of underwear in my tote purse in case the ones I was wearing became…unwearable.
Invitation or not, what I said before was still true. I wasn’t Harper’s girlfriend, I wasn’t even his midnight booty call. I was just some girl he knew that he offered a hand to.
Oh, that sounded vulgar.
Who he offered hishelpto. And when this was all over, I would let myself feel stupid and desperate about it then. But while it was still fun—while my heart still fluttered when he sent simple text messages and my body still ached to be touched by him every second of the day—I would just let it be fun.
And “just fun” didn’t obsess over how they looked when he’d basically already invited me to his bed. So I didn’t change or do my make up or shower again. I didn’t do anything.
Well, maybe I did one small thing.
Harper’s home was surprisingly magnificent. It wasn’t one I was familiar with, as the Ferguson’s controlled a lot of the land and real estate close to the boardwalk. The townhome was built straight up over a small overhang that overlooked the water. Under it, I knew a secluded part of the boardwalk stretched. The location was far enough from town to offer privacy but near enough to be very close to the tattoo shop.And to be very, very expensive.
Clues the size of army tanks were starting to reveal the truth that Gus Harper might have left some things out in the ‘tell me about yourself’ arena. I assumed the shop did well, I never imagined it did this well, and I still wasn’t quite convinced.
I also didn’t care.
