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“A little insecurity is good for a guy like him. I’m sure girls throw themselves at him all day, every day.”
“No doubt.”
I sigh. “I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve this manna from heaven, but I’ll take it.”
Tatiana giggles. “Have fun, love. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
We hang up and I swipe into my texts again, and much to my glee, I’ve got a new one waiting for me from Ben.
Soooo did my photo help refresh your memory?
I decide to keep him waiting for few minutes longer, just to prolong his anticipation. I hop on to Instagram to kill some time. Do some online banking. Check out a celebrity website I follow. Return a couple texts. And finally, deign to return his text.
Hey, sorry about the delay. Got distracted with something. No, I’m sorry to report, your photo doesn’t ring a bell. You could be any number of Aussies I’ve devirginized during camping trips in Coconino seven years ago. There was this ONE particular Aussie from seven years ago you KIND of remind me of. That Aussie and I stayed up all night together, having amazing sex three times, making out, talking, laughing, gazing longingly into each other’s eyes. It was a magical night. A night I’ve never forgotten and probably never will. But you couldn’t possibly be THAT guy. He was hot, yes. But not nearly as hot as you. That Aussie was a boy-man, but you’re all MAN. Plus, that Aussie was super shy so I can’t imagine he would have had the balls to text me and ask me to drinks in the first place. So, no, I can’t really say your photo is ringing any bells. So sorry.
I press Send, a smirk on my face, and wait with bated breath for Ben’s reply. I don’t have to wait long. Indeed, Ben replies instantly—because, apparently, the utterly delicious Ben Watson goes straight after what he wants without a moment’s delay, unlike the shy boy I met seven years ago.
Forget that wanker from seven years ago, baby. Trust me, I’ve got waaaaaaaay more skills than that pathetic excuse for a boy-man had. Meet me for drinks tonight and, with a little luck, at some point in the near future, you’ll give me the chance to show you exactly what I mean by that.
Oh, for the love of fuck, this is getting good. I tap out a reply, my heart racing.
The Misfit in Santa Monica. 7:00.
I’ll be there. How about you send me a recent photo? Not fair you know what I look like nowadays and I have no idea about you.
I roll my eyes to myself. He honestly expects me to believe he asked me to drinks without the faintest idea of what I look like now?
I’m surprised you haven’t seen a recent photo of me on my brother’s Instagram or something? In fact, I find that awfully hard to believe, Ben.
Busted!
You saw one of the yoga shots Carter posted, didn’t you? From when we were on vacation and I made my family do yoga with me overlooking the beach?
There’s more than one yoga shot? How did I miss that?
Pretty sure there are several.
Shit! Well, I know what I’ll be doing moments from now: scouring Carter’s IG for more photos of you.
LOL. Which photo did you see?
One of you and Carter holding beers. Another one where you were doing a handstand on a yoga mat. And I didn’t just SEE that yoga photo. I bloody perved at it so flaming long my eyes nearly popped out of my sockets.
LOL. I had a similar reaction when I saw a certain gym photo of a hot Aussie I used to know.
Thrilled to know the perving is mutual. Fuck me dead, that yoga shot was a jaw-dropper.
Yes, the perving is definitely mutual, Ben. See you at seven, Shy Boy.
Not shy anymore.
Clearly. Damn.
See you tonight, Yoga Girl. Can’t wait. xx
Same. xo
He sends me a smiley face emoji and I send him a blowing-kiss one in return.
With a huge smile on my face, I swipe into my contacts and place a call.
“Santa Monica Wax Salon,” a female voice says. “How may I help you?”
“Hi there. I’ve got a bit of a waxing emergency. I’m praying you can squeeze me in today for a full Brazilian.”
“Today? Oh, no, I’m sorry. We’re booked solid. We’ve got several openings tomorrow, however. How does eleven sound?”
“Tomorrow won’t work, unfortunately. It’s got to be today. I wouldn’t normally ask for an accommodation, but like I said, it’s a waxing emergency. I just got a text from this hot Australian I met on a camping trip in college seven years ago. I was twenty. He was eighteen and just this big, adorable puppy kind of guy. I invited him to my tent and wound up devirginizing him.”
