Page 83 of Mr. Romantic (Mister 2)

I read the stipulations again.

Do I want this?

My fingers dip down between my legs and find the pool of wetness.

I think that answers my question.

I quickly put a checkbox next to each line and then sign the bottom of the card, put it back inside the envelope, and seal it up.

When I open my front door a man inside an expensive-looking silver car gets out and walks towards me. I hand him the card. He nods his head, wordlessly, and then I go back inside.

I said yes.

My heart is beating so fast.

Not only did I say yes, I didn’t even think twice.

I’m sick.

I don’t care.

I’ve thought a lot about what he said last weekend. A lot. How he explained it. How he drew it all out. And it didn’t really look that bad. In fact, when I break each picture down in my head, it’s not that weird. Lots of people like rough sex. I Googled it. Lots of women fantasize about being held down. Forced. Lots of men want to be the aggressor. And a rape fantasy is a way to do that in a safe way.

Safe. I say the word in my head. Nolan laid out everything in the letter and the card. Every little detail. How to make him stop. What he will do. There will be no surprises.

Well, maybe one. When will he come pick me up? Soon? It’s already four thirty. I imagine a date starts at seven? Eight? Just enough time for me to say yes and get ready, I realize. Just enough time to be excited but not enough time to change my mind. Nolan has to be on his way. Unless he’s already here?

I bite my lip and smile.

I have no idea how I will feel at the end of the night, but hopefully I’ll have a smile on my face. And just picturing him doing those things he drew last weekend makes me want to masturbate.

But I don’t have time.

I don’t have time to do anything but prepare myself for my fantasy date with Mr. Romantic.

Chapter Thirty-Three - Nolan

When I land at Boston Logan I find my driver and head over to the municipal airport to make the last leg of my journey before picking up Ivy.

The entire ride to Providence my head is filled with visions of tonight. What she’ll look like in that dress. How long it’ll take her to say the first no. How many times I’ll make her come before we’re done.

When we land in Providence, I thank the pilot and get in the waiting Panamera—what can I say, I have a thing for Porsches—and enjoy the drive over to Ivy’s side of town.

College Hill is way too close to Brown for my comfort level and the only good things about being back in this neighborhood are Ivy and the amazing Colonial architecture. I’ve missed the East Coast. I like the west. I was born there. And I like the South because it reminds me of my mother. But I spent most of my years up here in New England. It was home during all my formative years.

And they chased me away.

Ivy’s house is a stately light gray colonial townhouse with authentic white trim. I already know it isn’t hers, but belongs to her roommate. Ivy might’ve come from privilege but she doesn’t come from money.

I like that, I think, as I pull in front and take a deep breath to calm my nerves.

What if she says stop? What if I set all this up and she says stop?

What if I get to the door and she’s changed her mind?

I will sulk away like a chastised dog. I will probably never try this again with anyone.

“You won’t know until you get your sorry ass out of the car, Romantic.” I say the words, but in my head it’s Mac talking. He was always the calm one. The rational one. The logical one. Mr. Perfect comes by his name honestly.