Boom. His text bubble appears.
Yes.
And the kissing.
Yes.
It’s working for you?
Don’t just say yes
Yes. Why do you ask?
Rule-bending freak. I smile, pushing away the feelings. This is just fun. I’m having fun. He is, too.
I assume two mature business partners would also discuss their physical intimacy during such times
And the current parameters of agreements, e.g., do you want to continue kissing me
secretly
You don’t have to
I won’t be like
Yes.
Offended
Oh sorry
He’d interrupted me. Over text.
I’m fluttering. My stomach, my chest, my pulse. What is it about him that does this to me? I’d ask him, if he were here, so I could hearhis deep voice eloquently and succinctly summarize everything he understands about me that feels, alas, right out of my own grasp.
But he isn’t here.
And I sit up straighter, staring at the screen.
Faustisn’there.
He doesn’t want to date me, I understand this. And I’ve always had my rules against that myself. But it had been ano boyfriendsrule. We could do things that many, many people like to do, freely, and seemingly don’t die after doing. I’m almost thirty, he’s sworn to secrecy, he just said he likes what I do, and—I don’t know. It’s selfish. I just want it.
I ignore hisIt’s okaytext, incredibly thankful that he’d suggested texting this.
I think I’ve changed my mind
My heartbeat drums in my neck, sending wave after wave of sweaty heat over my face as I watch my text bubble stand bravely on my screen. A lone soldier.
Faust’s bubble joins mine.
About?
This jerk. Critical, insufferable jerk. He knows what I’m implying.
The heat drifts lower in my body, to my stomach. Lower. He knows, and he’s pushing me. And isn’t this what I’m asking for?
Sex.
