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“Preaching to the choir, sister!” We both lie down now in bed and continue to chat.
That’s what I love about Zara, there is nothing off limits, and our conversations jump all over the place.
Just as we’re about to wind up the call, another call comes through on my phone.
“Oh, shit!” My heart drops into the pit of my stomach.
“What, who’s calling?”
It’s still buzzing in my hand, and I haven’t replied to her or moved.
“Crap, it’s him, isn’t it? Answer it, Nat. Bye, call me!” She squeals and her face disappears, and I’m still staring at my phone buzzing.
Deep breath.
I swipe the screen.
“Hi, Jordan,” I manage to get out and sound half normal while in my head I’m screaming at myself how stupid I am for answering a FaceTime call from him.
I’m in bed, in my damn pajamas, and not the sort that I should be showing him.
His face fills the screen. “Natalie.”
That voice.
The deep, panty-melting voice.
Being this late, I hope like hell he’s at least fully clothed.
Otherwise, I’m screwed.
Oh fuck, bare chest!
JORDAN
Why do I punish myself?
Her face fills the screen, and my cock is instantly hard.
Those dark brown eyes get me every time, but tonight, it’s extra torture. Her hair’s up on her head in a messy bun, the type that a woman does when they just scoop it up and wrap the elastic around a few times, not really caring how it looks. But the few strands that are hanging down on the side of her face just frame the perfect oval shape. Her skin is so smooth and creamy, and I wonder how much she can tell I want to reach out and run my hand down her cheekbone. No make-up on her face shows her in all her natural glory. That’s how I want to see her.
I’m so used to seeing Sasha all made up with so much crap on her face that I miss just seeing the relaxed look that you get when women aren’t worrying about how the world is judging them.
I try not to let my eyes drop too far because there is a lot of bare shoulder there with a very thin strap. I know that means no bra, and I don’t think my cock can handle that right now.
I need to stop ogling and start talking.
“Sorry, did I call too late?”
“No, no, it’s fine. I was just, um, talking to Zara.”
“In bed?” I can’t help but ask.
“Um, yeah, it’s not that late really, and we often catch up at night like this.” Her cheeks are little flushed, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s from seeing me in bed too.
“Oh, a virtual slumber party, is that the new thing?” Again, I’m picturing things a man of my age should not be thinking about.
“Seriously I’m not sixteen anymore. And why are you asking when you’re in bed too? Where’s your wife?” The pink on her cheeks is gone instantly and the feisty Nat is coming out.
