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Travis:I’ve heard stories about what toothless women can do, so, no.
C Ya:You’re horrible. I like it. Why can’t you call in sick?
Yes, she was totally fishing for information. Stupid as that was for so many reasons.
Travis:Because I’m irreplaceable.
C Ya:Me too, it’s a burden.
To her customers and her dog, if nobody else.
Travis:If you won’t tell me your name, at least tell me what your real job is. Some crumb to tide me over while I’m bored tonight.
Calli took a minute to think. A little information, nothing too specific, couldn’t hurt. And maybe Travis would give something in return.
C Ya:Truth—I work in a romance store.
Travis:A romance store. What does it sell—flowers, lingerie, sex toys?
Pride in her business beat out her need to be secretive.
C Ya:The works. Something romantic for everyone, for every time. That’s the tagline.
Travis:So you’re perfect. A woman who likes both Scrabble and sex toys.
Perfect, her? Only in this corner of the internet.
C Ya:Such assumptions. I only said I work there, not that I like the products.
Travis:And here I thought we were the ideal couple.
“Sure, if you’re a neurotic introvert like me,” she said to the black rose on her screen. Her fingers said something entirely different.
C Ya:You tell me what kind of job you’re irreplaceable at on a Saturday night and I’ll tell you what I really think about sex toys.
Travis:I’m working at a bar. Big one, nothing fancy and no strippers, just rock music and dancing. Now spill.
This secret chat was the most excitement she’d had in…oh, her entire life. Telling intimate truths to a stranger was unbelievably liberating. She started typing, feeling her cheeks lift with a smile her mystery man would never see.
C Ya:I’ve tried a few things. All in the name of market research, you know.
For a horribly long minute, nothing new appeared in the chat window. Oh shit, too much information. Way too much. Ten more seconds, then she’d logout and never come back.
Travis:I’m going to have a hard time focusing on music tonight. Good thing we’ll be playing a lot of covers and I can hide behind my guitar.
“Oh my god, he’s a musician.” The laptop nearly slid to the floor, her legs were vibrating so much.
Honestly, nothing was sexier than a man playing a guitar. Except maybe a guitar player with kick-ass Scrabble skills and a wonderfully naughty mind who also claimed to be the dominant type. Heaven help her. Full of shit or not, Travis was officially her dream man. Even with his hairy mole and third arm.
C Ya:Name one song you’ll be playing tonight. Then, if I hear it, I’ll think of you and feel bad for your, um…preDICKament.
Travis:I’m not feeling your sympathy, C. This place is a straight-up rock-and-roll bar.November Rainis an old one, but it’s a crowd fave. Know it?
Honestly, was he reading her mind somehow? Did he have visual access to her apartment—a hidden camera that had scoped out her old CD collection on the shelf?
She shook her head while typing.
C Ya:Of course I know it. I deal in romance.
