Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Sure. Let’s trade.
Okay, I typed. You go first.
A few seconds later a picture popped on the screen, and I almost swallowed my tongue. This man was gorgeous. He had dark hair, chiseled cheekbones, green eyes, and a beautiful smile. His face was turned slightly, so it wasn’t a perfectly clear shot…just enough to insinuate that I was chatting via social media with an extraordinarily handsome man.
Who wanted to have sexual relations with me.
I wondered if I was being punked. Maybe this was old, or maybe it was a pic of a friend or family member…or a movie star. He looked vaguely familiar, too. And the only way that was possible was if I’d seen him on television or in a film. He said he was straight but curious in his profile, so it was certainly possible.
Of course, I’d never know until I met him in person. If I was still interested. And, yes, I was. Except now I was intimidated. I wasn’t a troll by any means, but I wasn’t sexy. I was an ordinary guy who passed for cute.
Well, here goes nothing.
I attached my photo and held my breath.
You’re hot, he commented.
Me? Really?
Thanks. You are too. I winced. That was an understatement of gargantuan proportions.
Want to come over?
I’m interested, but I have a couple of questions.
He sent a thumbs-up emoji. Such as?
Are you married or currently attached?
His response was immediate. No. Are you?
No. Second question…what exactly are you looking for?
Sex.
I sent an eye-roll emoji. Understood. What specifically? A BJ, a hand job, or something penetrative?
Laughing emoji. Penetrative? Yes, definitely. I was thinking my dick in your ass. Still interested?
A tingle of desire swept through me. I was beyond interested. I was desperate. Yes.
Any other questions? he asked.
I furrowed my brow. That was a tricky one. The honest answer was yes. However, I was afraid my line of inquiry would dissuade him and at the end of the day, I didn’t want to know him. I wasn’t interested in a relationship or striking up a friendship. All I wanted was sex. But I had no desire to become an unfortunate statistic.
Yes. Will you please confirm that you are not a serial killer?
Five laughing emojis. I’m not a murderer. I promise I’m not into blood.
Poison?
Or poison. You’re funny.
I deleted a wordy response assuring him that I wasn’t kidding. But his no-poison promise meant close to nothing. I didn’t know him. If I went through with this, I was essentially agreeing to trust a stranger. So I settled on a simple, Thanks?
Are you coming over?
Yes. Where do you live? Do you have any roommates or animals?
No roommates or pets. I live on DeLacey. My apartment faces the street.
I noted the address and glanced at the time. Okay. I can be there in fifteen minutes.
Cool. See you soon. One request…wear your glasses, please.
That was easy. I couldn’t see without them. But maybe that was his idea of a calling card. I should ask for one too.
What color shirt will you be wearing?
He didn’t reply. And it didn’t take me long to realize that he wasn’t going to.
He might have walked away from his cell. Maybe he was taking a shower or changing his sheets. God, I hoped so. The idea of having sex with a stranger on dirty sheets was abhorrent. I should ask him now. No, I should wait. It might come across as an offensive inquiry, and there were plenty of other surfaces to engage in sexual activity.
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek in uncertainty.
Should I do this?
Probably not, but…that didn’t stop me from hopping out of bed and changing into khakis and a snug-fitted plain red T-shirt. I pulled on a pair of socks and laced my tennis shoes before grabbing my wallet and keys.
Now for the tricky part. I opened my bedroom door slowly and listened for any telltale noises or movement. I could not under any circumstances run into one of my roommates. They’d ask where I was going at ten p.m. on a Thursday night and rightly so. I rarely stayed out past nine during the week, let alone left the house after that. And it wasn’t like me to deviate from my routine.
If they asked any questions, I’d probably cave, and I wasn’t ready to admit that I’d even thought about having sex with a stranger. No, I had no intention of telling anyone.
Ever.
I closed my door, listened again, then tiptoed to the landing, slowly making my way downstairs and outside. I dropped my keys three times before I managed to unlock my Prius. Once I felt like I could breathe without hyperventilating, I put his address into my navigation system and headed east toward Old Town Pasadena.
Ten minutes later, I parked in front of a modern apartment complex and walked with purpose to the one marked 1C. Sure, this was just a booty call, but I hated to be late. I was cutting it close with just a minute to spare, so I wiped my sweaty palms on my khakis, knocked on the door, and sent up a quick prayer as I turned to face the street.