Me: You’re very confident.
Ethan: I don’t guess.
My phone buzzes again.
Ethan: Describe what you’re wearing.
My heart stutters.
Me: No.
Ethan: Then describe what you wish you weren’t.
I swallow.
Me: You’re pushing.
Ethan: I’m testing.
My fingers tremble.
Me: I’m in my work clothes.
Ethan: That wasn’t the question.
Heat creeps up my neck.
Me: I wish I wasn’t wearing my bra.
The response is immediate.
Ethan: Why?
Me: Because it feels restrictive.
Ethan: Everything about you is the opposite of restrictive.
My breath leaves me in a shaky rush.
Me: You shouldn’t say things like that.
Ethan: You shouldn’t send pictures like that.
A beat.
Ethan: Yet here we are.
I press my phone to my chest for a second, then pull it back.
Me: What happens tomorrow?
Ethan: Tomorrow you’ll walk into my office and pretend this didn’t happen.
My chest tightens.
Me: And you?
Ethan: I’ll remember every word.
