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Bella: Stop being a scaredy cat
Me: I’m not scared of nothin’
It took a full ten seconds before Bella answered.
Bella: Prove it…
The little bitch. Even with blue hair, she could get any hot male she wanted. And had. More than once. And more than one at a time as well.
Stinker.
I sent her every hateful emoji I could find before almost tossing the phone across the counter. Something stopped me from doing so.
After chewing on my lower lip for a few seconds, I rubbed my eyes.
Okay, so I craved the filthy touch of a man more than I did using my trusty vibrator, which was getting old.
A real man.
A big, tall dude made of flesh and blood.
With tattoos and arm veins.
And muscles. Lot of muscles.
He needed to have a cute smile.
Eyes every woman could easily become mesmerized by.
And to exude raw and brutal passion, a true alpha dominant.
Yeah, that’s what I needed.
I wondered if Mr. No Name had that in spades. Maybe if he did, I’d come out of hibernation. What the heck? I had nothing to lose by texting him. Right?
My foot almost slipped as I tried to grab the phone. By the time I pulled up the text messages again, I was laughing close to hysterically.
I had to search to find his number, grousing under my breath as I typed it into my contact list under Mr. Mystery Guest for fun. After gulping more wine for courage, I decided to send one hot little text. However, given he didn’t know my cellphone number until I gave it to him, the man wouldn’t have any clue. But he could call me if he wanted.
Duh.
Wasn’t that the ultimate plan?
Me: Hiya, Mr. Sexy. I heard all kinds of deliciously sinful things about you, your gorgeous, sculpted face and killer body. That got me to thinking what your hot, wet kisses would be like. And if you were good under the sheets. Interested?
I had no clue what came over me but before I had a chance to return to my senses, I hit send.
It took all of five more seconds to almost panic. Wasn’t there an unsend button for a short period of time? I fumbled. I almost dropped my wineglass. I fretted. I moaned.
And I had no idea what was wrong with me.
Panting, I know I stared at the screen for a solid ten minutes. Ten full minutes of dead air space. No three blips on the screen indicating the party on the other end was replaying. No response like, ‘Hey, stalker. I’m contacting the police.’ Just nothing.
“Oh, girl. You are out of your freaking mind.”
Which was true enough. I tossed the phone, determined to do everything I could to shove my inappropriate, repulsive actions out of my mind. I grabbed the remaining second bottle and my glass, heading to watch some ridiculous movie to get my mind off my actions.
Yet as I flicked off the light, I couldn’t help but pray the text had gone to the wrong person.
