Page 30 of Josephine and Clay

Josie: Yes.

Clay: That’s a shame.

My fingers hover over the screen.

“You’re not doing this,” I murmur to myself.

I’m absolutely doing this.

Josie: Oh yeah?

Clay: Well, if I was with you, we could be having fun once more.

I wander toward the couch, continuing to text back.

Josie: What would you be doing to me then?

Clay: Kissing you. Taking off whatever you’re wearing...

Heat flushes through my chest. My grip on the phone goes tight. I can almost feel the shadow of his hands on me.

I crash onto the couch.

Clay: By the way, what are you wearing now?

I shouldn’t. But my cottage’s empty and my heart is pounding wildly. I type, then erase, then type again:

Josie: Nothing yet. Just a towel. Was in the shower.

Clay: Christ.

Clay: Are you cold?

Josie: No. Not really.

Clay: Let me warm you up.

The little dot blinks, and I can see him at some rodeo grounds, or maybe at a hotel bar, hunched over his phone with that hungry look that makes my neck prickle.

I trace the towel higher on my chest, tuck it under my arm. Watch the steam crawl lazily from my skin. I want him very suddenly and terribly close, in a way that’s both old and unfamiliar.

Clay: Would you let me?

Josie: Yes. If you were here.

Clay: I’d start slow. You like that, right?

No one talks to me this way, and I’m sure he knows it.

The cursor waits for me, impatient. A part of me, the naughty part, wants to see how far he’ll go… and how far I’ll let him.

Josie: I might want fast.

Clay: I know you would.

Clay: I’d make you wait. Put your hands behind your head.

A tiny, involuntary pulse shudders down the backs of my thighs, electric and slick, wrecking me. It’s just words, just a man somewhere impossibly far away, and yet I tilt my neck back into the angle of the couch, imagining the press of his knee against the cushions, the weight of him, of his mouth, sliding up my leg.