Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 147136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 736(@200wpm)___ 589(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 736(@200wpm)___ 589(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
I was staring at her response when another message came through.
It’s a really scary feeling.
Something pitted in my chest. I remembered a part of our conversation last night. The echo of pain shining through when she whispered she hated me, or the man she thought I was. There was more to her besides the anger coating her mouth, clinging to the hatred she was spewing.
And here it was again.
I forced my fingers to type the first thought that popped into my head, even though my brain was screaming, screaming at me to type anything else.
Focus right here.
Awesome. I was losing my mind. Or I had already lost it when I’d sent her that first message. There was no other explanation for my behavior.
She took a whole fucking minute to respond.
I’m Sydney, by the way. Hi.
I smiled. Relief warmed my blood.
Hey.
Hey …you. No name? That’s not really fair. What am I supposed to program you in my phone as? Dildo sucker? Don’t lie …you’ve considered it.;)
I dropped my head with a laugh.
Damn, she was delightful.
And she wanted to program me into her phone. She wanted to know who I was.
That felt good.
Telling her my name wasn’t a huge issue. Not my first name anyway.
Brian. And fuck no. Still not into anything involving dildos. You?
Desire bloomed with a warm ache in my groin.
Teetering on inappropriate? Yes. However, she opened the dildo discussion. I was simply continuing it.
Hi Brian.
Wild. Asked you a question.
SMH.
I didn’t think she was going to give me an answer. Then a few seconds later she leveled me with one.
Dildos can be very useful when your husband stops wanting to have sex with you. I gotta run. My friend is waiting for me.
I stared, mouth hanging open, rereading the same sentence repeatedly until I was certain I wasn’t imagining things.
Husband. The fuck? I had no fucking idea how to take that. I didn’t believe she was married. The way she spoke last night, defending her friend with such conviction, there was no way she’d be going behind her husband’s back to text me. Even if this was purely innocent, which I honestly wasn’t sure if it was, what married woman would actively engage in a conversation about dildos with a man who wasn’t her husband?
Maybe she was married? Isn’t anymore? How fucking old is this chick?
The door chimed and Cole walked into the shop, carrying two bags of food. I quickly typed the only response I could think of without digging for answers.
Later.
I shoved my phone away and looked up as Cole dropped the bags on the counter. Jamie was right behind him.
“Dude, fucking finally. How did you screw up the order?” Jamie asked.
He began digging into one of the bags, pulling out containers and chopsticks and passing them out.
Cole slowly looked over at him and glowered.
“I didn’t screw it up. I asked for chicken and broccoli, hold the broccoli, which by the way is the dumbest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever heard. I could’ve just said chicken.”
“Then I would’ve gotten plain chicken. I want it with the sauce, brother, and I don’t like trees in my food.” Jamie popped off the lid of his order. “What was the problem?”
“They put trees in your food. You’re lucky I checked.”
I watched the three girls exit the shop.
“Underage?” I asked as Jamie turned his head at the sound of the chime.
“Yep.”
Cole laughed. “I’m surprised that stopped you.”
“I like untapped pussy, not underage pussy, dick,” Jamie said, shoving a piece of chicken into his mouth. “I have some fuckin’ standards. Cut me some slack.”
“For your one standard?” Cole asked.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
I dropped my chopsticks, then my unopened container of noodles hit the counter so I could reach for the device, wondering if it was Sydney again.
“Jesus, Dash.” Jamie laughed.
Jamie always called me Dash.
I ignored him and stared at the screen:
Be here in twenty. I have someone requesting you.
“Fuck,” I whispered, shoving my phone away and digging out my keys.
I wasn’t angry about the text. I needed that fucking text, and that’s where my anger stemmed from. My dependence on it. I couldn’t say no.
This was my life. My fucked-up life. And the only person I could hate for it was myself.
I glanced up. Jamie and Cole both gave me a look, the look, full of sympathy and a hint of sadness, because they knew what I was about to do and felt sorry for me, given the reason behind why I was doing it.
They were the only two people who knew about my other source of income.
No, not income. Income was something you acquired and kept. I’ve never banked a dime of this money and I never would.
I rounded the counter.
“I’ll be back in a few hours. When that order arrives, make sure it’s right before you let them leave. It was a pain in the ass last time getting them to ship out the correct shit ’cause of their own fuckup.”