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Sorry I Lied
Isabelle
Minka whined, sounding like a squeaky gate at five thirty in the morning, her leash held in her mouth.
My body felt like a bag of rocks, but I knew Minka wouldn’t take no for an answer. Thiswasthe job I’d signed up for, though, and I didn’t want to be a lousy dog sitter. So I clambered out of bed and stood on my feet. Immediately, the blood drained from my head and my temples began to throb, and I staggered so hard I nearly fell back into bed.
“Oof.”
Was I still a little bit drunk? What did I evendolast night? I jogged my memory: the girls came over, we had a swim, we ordered takeout and watched the hockey game, and then I—
Oh my God.
The memory of texting Rust hit me like a train. I’d actually sent him a naughty last night! Was Iinsane?
“I can’t believe I did that,” I groaned.
Minka wasn’t impressed. Her expressive face seemed to say,“Bitch, please. I told you not to.”
But had I said or done anything worse? I couldn’t quite remember. I eyed my cell phone, laying on the nightstand. All the answers I was looking for were in there.
“I can’t deal with this right now,” I muttered. I got dressed and took Minka for her morning walk instead.
By the time we got back to the house, the sun was up, and I was already feeling better—though not yet brave enough to check my phone. I put it off until after breakfast. When I went to the gym afterward, I left my phone at home.
Once I got back from my workout, I set up shop and worked on my content, posting the photo set I’d taken yesterday. I didn’t post the very bestphoto out of the entire set because that was the photo I sent to Rust. Partly because I wanted it to be special; when I sent it to him, I wantedhimto have my best photo, not anyone else. It was for his eyes only.
But there was another reason, too. I didn’t think it was wise to post something I’d sent him. Rust didn’t seem like the most tech-savvy guy in the world—butifhe happened to conduct an image search on a photo I sent him, and I’d posted it on my OnlyFans, then it could link him to my page.
Which wouldn’t be great. Because people can be judgmental about that kind of thing, and I don’t know how Rust would feel about it, and he might tell my dad which would be a whole other issue, and so on.
Around two o’clock, my energy hit a lull, and I dragged my sorry ass up to my bedroom for a cat nap.
Which brought me face-to-face with my cell phone again.
“Okay, fuck it,” I grumbled as I grabbed my phone. “Gotta rip the band-aid off sometime.”
I pulled up my text message with Rust and reacquainted myself with my cringe-ass self.
Oh God.
Yup, there it was. A string of dog photos and then, out of nowhere, my big ol’ butt in the bathroom mirror. I mean, I guess it isn’ttotallyout of the realm of possibility that someone might accidentally send a naughty picture when they were in the middle of sending a bunch of other innocent pictures. But throw in the fact that I obviouslyhad the hots for Rust and we hadjustkissed, and no one was going to extend me the benefit of the doubt.No one.
Reading our exchange afterward only confirmed how downright embarrassing and thirsty I am for my dad’s best friend:
“I’m so embarrassed!” I’d texted him.
Yeah, okay,I thought as I re-read my words.No one believes you, darling.
But Rust’s jokey reply made me giggle when I read it again:“Don’t worry. I do the same thing all the time.”
Funny. Witty.Notcreepy. Rust handled this situation like a pro. I admired him. No doubt he was used to girls throwing themselves at him, and he knew exactly how to turn them down with class and grace and no hurt feelings.
And how did I handle it on my end? By posting a bunch of emojis and writing,“Yeah, right! Prove it! Lol”
Re-reading that text now, I gasped aloud. PROVE IT? I couldn’t believe I wrote that! Was Ireallysoliciting my best friend’s dad for nudes?!
Rust, of course, didn’t reply. He merely acted like it hadn’t happened. Again: all class. Just what you’d expect from a mature older guy.
