Something Reckless
Page 27

Riverrat69: No. It’s okay. I’m just not sure how to answer. Don’t settle, okay? I know you're looking for a meaningful relationship and it can be frustrating, but don’t settle for someone who doesn’t make your heart race.
Sam makes my heart race. You make my heart race, I type, but then I hold down the delete key until the words disappear.
Riverrat69: Tell me about your dream guy. What’s he like?
I stare at my computer for a long time, my heart pounding. Once, I’d thought Sam was my dream guy. I wanted him for so long, and when we finally got together, it was . . . perfect. Hot and sexy, but also intense in a way I would almost describe as emotional. I have no one to blame but myself for any expectations I had after that night. Sam warned me he wasn’t interested in forever.
“I don’t do emotional strings.”
And silly, naive me. I thought he wanted me to save him, to be the one who changed that about him.
I went to his house and saw him with her. Some woman I didn’t even recognize. It wasn’t fair to be hurt by what I saw. He hadn’t made me any promises. But the way he held her. The way he was looking at her.
He hadn’t wanted me to fix him, but he was looking at her like she had. And seeing that broke my heart.
Riverrat69: Never mind. That’s stupid.
Shaking my head, I put my fingers back on my keyboard. I want to type: Is this Sam Bradshaw? But I don’t. I’m not ready to know for sure yet. More, I’m not ready for him to know who I am.
Tink24: It’s not stupid, just not an easy question to answer.
Riverrat69: Try?
Tink24: My sister’s fiancé bought her a dog. Not a puppy—they have two infants, so a puppy would just be cruel. He bought her a dog. Her name is Nana, like the dog in Peter Pan. She’s a sweet thing and she’s used to kids, but her original owner realized their child was allergic, so they needed to find a new home.
Her fiancé is a good guy, and I always liked him, but when he brought home that dog, I think I fell in love with him. What woman wouldn’t love a man who buys her a dog?
Riverrat69: So you want a man who will buy you a dog?
Tink24: I want a man who knows when I need a dog.
I frown. These obscure, personal-but-vague conversations have become the norm for us. The sad thing is, even without personal details and even while trying to protect my own identity, I feel more connected with this man than I have with any of the dates I’ve been on in the last eight months. That scares me. I’m starting to wonder if I’m doomed to be single forever.
Riverrat69: I hope you find him. I do.
Tink24: Enough about me. How was your day?
Riverrat69: That picture just about killed me this morning. Do you have any idea how hard it is to finish a business meeting when a beautiful woman sends you a picture of her ass?
Tink24: Sorrynotsorry?
Riverrat69: You’re the whole package. Brains, body, humor. You make me . . .
Tink24: What?
Riverrat69: You make me believe there could be more. You make me want something more.
Tink24: You’ve always been clear on the score.
I hesitate for a minute, and then type.
Tink24: What if we know each other? I mean, outside of Something Real.
I hold my breath as I wait for his response. Either the oxygen deprivation makes time slow to a crawl or it takes longer than usual for him to reply.
Riverrat69: New Hope is a small place. It’s possible we do.
I start to type Do you live in New Hope now? but I erase it before I can send it. The question would break our unspoken agreement to keep this anonymous. And, if I’m honest, there’s part of me that likes the anonymity. Almost as if knowing his name makes him real, and once he’s real I have to let him go to make room for the real relationship I promised myself I’d find.
I roll to my stomach and, settling the laptop in front of me, reposition the screen so the camera is aimed right at my exposed cleavage. I attach the pic to a new message and send it, my way of reminding myself exactly what this is and what it isn’t.
Riverrat69: Jesus. You’re killing me.
Tink24: I like thinking of you looking at me. Even if only one tiny piece at a time.
Riverrat69: This morning, when you sent that picture, all I could think about was taking those panties off you. My dick was so hard, I could hardly focus at my meeting.
Tink24: Tell me what you were focusing on.
Riverrat69: How I want to tie you to the bed and undress you while you watch. I want to taste every inch of you—starting at your neck and working my way down. I’d kiss your breasts and your belly, and when I finally reached your legs, I’d spread them wide so I could look at you before I pressed my face between your thighs.
Something feels off for a minute—the coldness of the black words on the white screen—but then I close my eyes and imagine Sam whispering those words in my ear, and I have to squeeze my legs together to shut out the ache there. The movement only makes it worse. This is torture. I need to stop or I need more—to meet him, to know his name, to take him up on all the suggestions he’s made over the last few weeks.
Riverrat69: Sleep well, sexy. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
I watch the little green light by his screen name change to gray and then stare dumbly at the screen for a few moments. I close my computer, bury my face into my pillow, and scream.
* * *
A girl could gain five pounds just by walking into this bakery, and I would gladly grow a gut and a couple of extra chins if it meant that I got to continue this early-morning tradition for the rest of my life.