“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” I’m hoping she’ll take the bait while my program opens and I type in what I need. A damn hard concept when we’re being attacked, but this time, it’s me not being proactive.
“You go first.” I type in her username within the game we’re on and am able to look at her profile to figure out a few other things to input before having to give up the deeds.
“Got no problem with that. The name’s Jude. Yours?”
“Veronica, but I go by Ronnie.” My app pulls up her profile as she says her name. I’m given every single detail of the woman who I thought was some teenage boy. I couldn’t have been more wrong. She’s fucking beautiful, and my cock goes hard at the thought of being around her. “Well, Jude, I hate to cut this short, you know, since you basically gave me shit then turned quiet, but I’ve got to get some sleep before work.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her a million and one questions. The answers I’m after sadly aren’t on theInternet, and I’m inclined to do just that, until she lets out a tired yawn.
“Nice to meet you, Ronnie. Sorry for being a dick. Get some rest. I’ll be around later tonight, if you’re on.” At least now that she’s done with the game, I can quit trying to multi-task and go back to looking through every piece of information available about Veronica ‘Ronnie’ Navarro.
“For sure. Same to you, Jude. And don’t worry about it. We all have our bad days. At least you won’t keep calling medude.”
“Appreciate it. Hey, Ronnie,” I grab her attention, being a dick when she’s clearly tired and needs to get some sleep. Fuck, I should try to do the same.
“Yeah, Jude?” I press the palm of my hand to my dick, pushing the damn thing down while looking at the pictures I have pulled up on my phone.
“Nice meeting you.”
“You too.” Then she’s gone. Her username goes to dark, and I’m left looking forward to a better day than I thought possible.
1
JUDE
“Come on, Ronnie.” I’m sitting on the couch, my foot bouncing up and down, tapping, and it’s not to the beat of any music. A new nervous tick I’ve seemed to pick up, one I didn’t fucking need. I’ve already had my allotted number of smokes I give myself for the day, ate more candy than normal, and had a session with my tattoo artist, and it hasn’t done dick. All of this to keep myself busy until Ronnie’s username appears on the screen.
It's been eight minutes, four hundred and eighty seconds to be exact. I called her this morning while Ronnie was on her way to work. It was easier for her to discuss the time we’d be meeting for our game. I’ve got the controller in my hand, thumb moving the joystick around to keep me from doing something stupid like grab my keys and pull up the app on my phone, the same one I use for all of my friends. The same one I’m tempted to use on Ronnie. My hackerskills could have me in and out of her phone with her being none the wiser.
There’s one little thing that’s holding me back—my fucking conscience.
I’m ready to crawl out of my skin. Sitting around and waiting is doing nothing to calm my shit. My mind won’t stop. Too many scenarios are playing through my head, and every single one of them is out of my control. I stand up from the couch, my feet move, and now I’m pacing. “Fuck’s sake, man, get ahold of yourself.”
My phone takes that moment to chirp, and I’m grabbling with the couch, yanking cushions, a blanket, and any wrong damn thing in my haste to climb the fucking thing. All of this could have been avoided had I not taken up walking the length of the house in order to keep from checking my phone every twenty seconds. And yes, I fucking counted. After a few moments of wrestling with everything that seems to get in my way, I finally wrap my hands around the black metal device. My muscles unclench, my jaw is no longer locked tight, and my heartrate is slowing down to a normal rhythm.
Foxy: I’m so sorry, Jude. My shift ran late, and I’m just now walking to my car. I’ll be on in thirty minutes. I have to hop in the shower before I do anything else.
Mother fuck. There’s a reason Veronica, or Ronnie, as she goes by, is in my phone asFoxy.The woman is gorgeous, bite your fist, balls drawing tight, and has you dropping to your knees to pay homage to every surface of her body. She’snot the only one who needs a shower. I look from my phone down to my pants. A noticeable bulge presses against the zipper, causing my dick to only get harder. The sensation is enough to have my knees locking. My spine starts to tingle, and my eyes close as I think about having her naked and dripping wet.
Me: Want help?
I delete the two words. We’re not there yet. While we talk on the phone daily, play online just as much, and send each other texts back and forth throughout the day, I’m pretty sure she’d kick me in the nuts for offering to help her shower the first time we meet.
Me: Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re ready.
And because I have not one single ounce of grace, I follow it up with something that gets my point across while not being a total douchebag.
Me: Also, can’t lie. The mental image you just gave me might just kill me. I’ll try to survive until you’re on. Maybe.
I wait to see what how Ronnie will respond. The bubbles appear then disappear. I’m about ready to give up when she finally responds. The first time we started really talking, when she finally turned her mic on, I did my own kind of reconnaissance. I pulled up every damn picture I could find, then, as the days went by, we exchanged numbers, and shesent me a couple of pictures, mainly of her making a funny face and very rarely with her completely in the frame.
This time, it’s a different picture entirely, one I’m not prepared for, and it has me salivating. Ronnie is fully in the image, with not a single obstruction, nothing to hide her beautiful fucking body. I’m definitely going to need a shower myself.
She’s standing outside of a building. From my digging, I can tell it’s her place of employment. A dual business of sorts—on one side, there’s a bar, and on the other a tattoo shop. I’ve yet to be any more of a stalker or creeper by doing a drive-by, plus I’ve got my own tattoo artist, and making an appearance there could raise some questions.
Ronnie’s long dark hair is down, pulled over one shoulder, and loose with tousled waves. Her blue eyes are bright and vivid, surrounded by dark eyelashes similar to the color of her hair. Full lips are painted a deep red, a slight flush coats her cheeks, and I’m locked on every inch of her image. I lick my lips. Her tan complexion is on display, patches of skin here and there, making Ronnie that much more alluring.
She’s in a black cropped tank top that has a band logo on the front and is wearing black fish nets beneath her jeans. The light wash is ripped on her upper thigh on one leg and similar on the other side, except at her knee. A black choker-style necklace is wrapped around her delicate neck, and a stack of bracelets adorns her wrist that isn’t holding the phone out in front of her. That’s not even getting into the tattoos she has here and there, tattoos I’d give my left arm to drag my tongue across. The only part of Ronnie I’m missingis getting a view from behind, and damn, do I want that visual more than anything.
Foxy: Maybe this will hold you over ;)
