I close my eyes and lean my head back against the couch as my chest rises and falls.
This is a bad idea.
My phone buzzes again before I can talk myself out of it.
Ethan:You sent me a picture because you wanted to be seen.
I frown at the phone screen for half a second.
Me: I sent it by accident.
Ethan:You didn’t have to take it.
He’s right, I realize, as my frown deepens. Ididwant to be admired when I took the picture, because god knows I’m tired of not being fucked by a good man who knows what he’s doing.
I’m done with lazy hookups and men who think foreplay isn’t necessary, and the idea that I’m supposed to be grateful they show up to dates given that I’m a curvy girl so the dating pool is naturally low for me. But then again, I wanted my friends to make me feel better about that. This wasn’t about him…though I’m not complaining yet.
My fingers move before my brain catches up.
Me: I didn’t think you’d be the one seeing it.
Ethan: And now that I have?
I stare at the blinking cursor and take another sip.Fuck it,I think to myself. He’s playing, so I can play too.
Me:Now I can’t stop thinking about it.
The reply comes instantly.
Ethan:Good.
That single word somehow sounds like a command.
I shift on the couch, suddenly too aware of my skin, my curves, the way my clothes cling after a long day. I take another sip of wine, even though I know it’s only making this harder.
Me: This is a mistake.
Ethan: Mistakes don’t usually feel like this.
I close my eyes again.
He’s right again.
The wine is warm in my stomach. My phone feels heavy in my hand, like it’s pulling me into something I can’t undo.
Me: You’re my boss.
Ethan: I’m aware.
Me: You shouldn’t be talking to me like this.
Ethan: And yet you’re still typing.
My throat tightens.
Me: You started it.
Ethan:No.
