Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
She fished out her phone–a silly little bejeweled case with one of those popper things to hold on the back. I flicked my thumb up and saw she had no password. “You don’t have a password on your phone?” I asked. “What if somebody gets it and finds your nudes?”
Her eyes went a little wider. “Uh, I don’t keep nudes on there.”
“Oh, smart.” I tapped the side of my temple. “You keep them somewhere safer. I like that.”
She didn’t reply as I navigated to her contacts and saved myself in her phone as “Sweet Cheeks”. I fired off a quick text to myself and wrote “Thinking of you” with a few heart emojis and a kissy face. I handed it back to her and she looked down at the phone and read, cheeks flushing again. “Really?” she asked.
“Hey, it’s just pretend, right?”
Pearl nodded, gave a little wave, and walked off toward one of the cubicle offices on the main floor. I watched her go and saw a woman rush up and start talking to her quickly. Pearl smiled, said something, and split off from the woman to disappear behind a fuzzy, carpeted partition.
I scratched my head. Just pretend. As in, I just had to pretend a very real part of me didn’t wish I’d sworn off women, because I was tempted as hell to give that particular one a shot.
And look at me making good decisions. I didn’t chase after her. I didn’t secretly make plans to seduce her now that I had her number in my phone. All I planned to do was put my cock on lockdown like it was 2019 all over again, go upstairs to meet with Pollard Marketing’s CEO in my exercise clothes, and get to work.
Except I pulled out my phone in the elevator and stared at the text I’d sent to myself from her phone. I grinned, then typed out a quick response. After all, wouldn’t it look weird if her “boyfriend” didn’t respond when she texted something so sweet?
I snapped a quick selfie of myself winking and smiling, then typed out my message below it. I grinned as I reread it and thought maybe I shouldn’t, but hey, how many good decisions was a guy expected to be able to make in one day?
4
PEARL
I rubbed my eyes, which still felt thick and dry. My computer screen stared back at me, almost accusingly. Why aren’t you working harder, Pearl? Why isn’t your assignment finished yet, Pearl? Don’t you want that promotion, Pearl?
I wanted to argue with that voice, but arguing with your own internal voices was not healthy behavior. At least that’s what I’d been told.
Of course I wanted the promotion, but my brain felt like a gas station burrito that just did a thirty second tour in a grease-splattered microwave. Molten hot on the outside, but ice cold on the inside. I was all over the place. Yesterday, I stumbled upon what I was now referring to in my own head as “The Crackening, 2022.” I hoped it wouldn’t ever be necessary to clarify to myself which crackening I was referring to, but you could never be too careful.
Anyway, The Crackening, 2022 struck yesterday. Eric was fired, Anabelle was fired, and “Em” who turned out to be “Emilia” from the 11th floor in HR, was fired. Three casualties, two wounded–although Dean, too freaking hot to describe, Slater hadn’t looked particularly down on himself.
I sighed and rubbed my eyes again, even though it wasn’t doing any good. I was supposed to finish this stupid idea from Jonas before I left the office, and my heart wasn’t in it. That was part of the appeal in the promotion thing. One more step up the ladder, and I’d be deciding which direction we went for marketing material and design. No more working on the dumb ideas of my bosses. Instead, I could be the one floating the dumb ideas, as it should be.
Yesterday, I could’ve made things easier on myself by getting it closer to finished, but all I’d really done was sit at my desk and stare into space.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. A few minutes after my interaction with Dean, he texted me a picture of himself winking and smiling. That alone had been enough to make me wish I’d bought those flame resistant panties I saw as a gag gift once and considered getting for my little sister. But the caption took things to another level. He’d written, “Thinking of you, too. I know we can’t see each other for a while so I’ll be thinking about you a lot tonight. Especially in the shower.” He followed that with a winky face and several water drop emojis.
I interpreted that to mean he was going to please himself to the thought of me in the shower. And of course, I had no way of knowing if he was only sending something so dirty because he wanted to have evidence on his phone that we were legit, or if he really meant it. Either way, the possibility that Dean Slater had seriously touched himself while thinking of me that night pretty much fried my brain, my panties, and then the battery to my trusty vibrator.