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Willy Wonka: You need a guy who can’t keep his hands, eyes and mouth off you. Not some mama’s boy who doesn’t have the balls to kiss you.
Something in my chest gives a jolt.
But it’s not my heart. It can’t be.
I won’t allow it.
I don’t understand my body’s reaction to his message, but what I understand even less… are the images invading my brain when I soak in his words.
I imagine him.
Will.
Doing all these things to me.
Kissing me, touching me, fu—
Willy Wonka: But that’s just my opinion
I nibble on my lower lip. My mind went to a seriously weird place for a second there.
Kass: Yeah, well, if you know a guy who can do all these things, hit me up. Until then I’ll keep going on my “boring” dates.
I blink at my screen, confused by my own damn self. I don’t know why I said that, why I was just goi
ng on about how much I don’t want to date anyone only to try and get a reaction out of Will a second later.
He doesn’t text back. Not in the first five minutes, not in the next. Fifteen minutes later, I grow sick of waiting and speed out of the store parking lot. As soon as I pull into my driveway, my phone lights up with his reply.
Willy Wonka: I’ll let you get back to golden boy now.
First thing I learned today:
I can’t figure out William Martins.
Second thing I learned today:
I sure as hell am going to try.
Kassidy
Groaning in annoyance, I rifle through my purse, desperate to find my keys. Stress ball, sticky notes, lipstick. No keys. I release a scoff, mocking myself for hoarding so much useless shit. I’ve never, in the five years I’ve had it, used that stress ball, but I still carry it around, just in case.
I’ve been working at the pet store for a few days now. The adjustment period wasn’t easy—processing truckloads of information in a completely new environment never is—but the silver lining is, I got to meet my long-lost gay soul mate, Ethan. We skipped the awkward, work friend moment and jumped straight into the “let’s hang out” phase.
He fed me bits and pieces of his life story, skimming over the details, but it didn’t take a PhD to figure out it had something to do with his parents disapproving of his sexuality and shipping him to Florida to live with his older sister.
Unlocking the front door, I shuffle inside my house, checking the time. It’s past 9:00. I was supposed to be out of work at 8:00, but a family of five walked in two minutes before closing. Fun.
Tonight is movie night. The girls have been blowing up my phone, whining about how late I am. I was supposed to meet them at Zoey’s an hour ago. I just need to get changed and hop in the shower. Lobbing my purse and keys on the kitchen table, I begin texting them ba—
“Stop moving, for God’s sake!”
I nearly drop my phone.
My eyes jump to the closed bathroom door. Someone’s in there.
A guy someone.
