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Besides, he could also be a raging alcoholic.
Or he could hate cats.
Or love NASCAR, like my cousins do.
Or he could be into absolutely nothing I have any interest in.
Or he could just be an asshole.
My phone pings and my heart jumps. I take a breath as I pick it up.
No dancing for me tonight either.
And then there’s the photo.
And…
Oh. My. God.
The shot is down his body. From mid-thigh to his feet.
It’s mostly white. Because he’s covered by a pristine white bedsheet. One foot and the bottom portion of his left leg are showing, the sheet tangled around his muscular calf. The rest of the sheet clearly molds to his thigh and his other leg.
He’s in bed.
I suck in a breath.
He’s. In. Bed.
And holy crap, I wish he’d taken that shot from a little higher. I’d love to see the rest of what that sheet is clinging to.
That’s all I can think of.
My face feels hot again. The rest of me gets melty. Yeah…that was a good text.
I don’t know what to send back. Except…
Good.
I don’t like the idea of him dancing with anyone else, either.
Which is, admittedly, problematic.
If I don’t want him dancing with anyone else, how am I going to feel when he’s engaged to someone else? Marries someone else? That will probably hit the news here. I’ll probably have to see photos of that.
My stomach churns a little.
Yeah, I won’t like that.
I shouldn’t be flirt-texting with this guy.
You’ve ruined me for dipping anyone else.
I stare at the words, as warmth spreads through me. And yes, it’s heat from the innuendo but it’s also a softer feeling in my chest that feels more like just…happiness.
Well…crap.
I don’t want him dancing with other women and I really like the idea that I’m on his mind and that he doesn’t want to dance with—or “dip”—anyone else.
