I look up just in time for Andie to grab my phone and hand it over to Brett. Oh God. I cover my eyes, but peek as I watch Brett scroll through the messages. His lips twitch as he reads. A few seconds pass and an eyebrow goes up. I groan into my hands as his manly chuckle fills the air. “Your guy get off on you?” He grins, waiting for an answer. I refuse to take my face out of my hands. “He’s got some sweet ink, though. Buff dude.”
I lift my face, knowing I have to face the music sooner or later. Brett is smiling at me, while Sylvia is now looking at my phone.
“I think they’re pretty,” I agree.
A loud chuckle startles me as Brett grabs his chest laughing. “Babe, don’t ever tell a man his tattoos are pretty. That shit will never get you what you want.”
“Well, what do you say then? I dig your zig-zags? And what exactly is it you think I want?”
Another laugh. “You mean his tribal art? Yeah, you say you dig it. You like it. Just leave off the word pretty.” He hands me back my phone and I look closer at Ram’s tattoos. I notice an arrowhead on his pectoral muscle. “Plus, you want the dick pic. Important to see what the dude’s packin’ before you commit.”
This conversation cannot get any more embarrassing. I certainly don’t want to see his stuff. I offer Brett a how-dare-he-assume look and turn to Andie, who is weirdly nodding.
“What? I do not!”
“Bull,” she says with a chuckle. “And if you don’t, I sure as hell do. That chest. Those tattoos. It has to come with a package any girl wants to bob on.”
Ugh…
“So!” Andie claps her hands together, while I drain my whole glass of wine. “Tonight’s mission is get a picture of Ram’s cock.”
UGH!
“Andie, no. I don’t want—”
“We do,” Sylvia and Andie reply in unison.
I groan. Then sigh. Then tap on my wine glass for a refill. “Fine.”
It seems like everyone was already on board for the dick pic. Even Brett looked excited. I allow Andie to take the reins on this one because I can’t say I know how to request a dick pic from a guy I barely know. Andie was more than delighted to take my phone and started typing off a quick message.
Me: I wish you would show me a dick pic.
“Andie, are you kidding me!? He’s going to think I’m some sick weirdo!” I take my wine that Brett just refilled and chug a huge gulp. Before she even responds, we hear the ding, and all four of us lean in to see the phone. The message shows
“Oh my God, I can’t look.” I cover my eyes, but still peek a little.
“I can,” Sylvia says, leaning over me to get a better gander. Andie opens it, and even though I’m too embarrassed to look, I sneak a glance through my fingers.
Ram: Like this?
And attached is a photo of a car taking up two parking spots.
“What the fuck!” Andie types away.
Me: No! What the fuck is this?
Ram: A dick. He took up two spaces. I had to park eons away from my loft.
I smile at his response. I am becoming a sucker for his quirky humor.
Andie types another response.
Me: No, I mean your junk in your damn trunk.
We all stare at the phone as we see those three darn dots moving. Before we know it, another message with
Ram: I’m not really sure what’s in it though. I broke the key in the lock ages ago.
I begin to laugh, along with Sylvia, who’s also enjoying my guy, while Andie gets more annoyed.
“Seriously what’s wrong with this dude? How does he not know what a dick is? He has one, right?” she grumbles.
“I’d assume he does since he jerked it off earlier,” Brett says, putting his two cents in. That causes me to giggle, remembering our earlier text-versation.
Andie is next to me typing something like rapid fire.
Me: Let me put it in simple terms. Send me a picture of some cock.
“If he doesn’t get that then you need to cut your losses like now with this dude.”
We all stare at the phone and wait for Ram’s reply. When we don’t even get the three dots, I begin to worry we’ve offended him. I take another large gulp of my wine, worried that he got turned off by the aggressiveness of Andie’s messages. I knew I shouldn’t have let her do the texting.
Five more minutes, and then ten more pass and still no reply. My nerves are going berserk with the anxiety that I just ruined what we were starting. I finish my second glass of wine, and then my third, when my phone finally dings. We all throw ourselves closer to the phone as Andie opens the newest
“Be a cock, be a cock,” Andie chants out loud as she swipes and then, “Oh fucking come on!”
I can’t hold in my laughter as we all look at a photo of a rooster.
Ram: You really are pushy. Fine here’s a cock. Now you have to tell me what you plan on doing with it. Pet it? Rub it? I want every single dirty detail.
“This guy is ridiculous.” Andie pouts, slamming her drink.
I smile at the photo. “I think he’s charming.”
She rolls her eyes at me, and I simply shrug. I think about how much I enjoy our text exchanges and how I want more. So much more. I climb off my stool, swaying a little from how fast I drank the three glasses of wine. I tell everyone that I have to go to the bathroom but find a quiet hallway.
I’m going to do it. I’m going to make a bold move and call him. I go to his contact info and my thumb hovers over the send button. “Don’t be a scared-sally, Dani,” I coach myself. I take in a deep breath, the feeling of the booze warming me from the inside out. It’s giving me the liquid courage I need to just do it, and I do.
I press send.
And I hold my breath and close my eyes.
One ring. Two rings. On the third ring, I get his voicemail. I let out the huge breath I was holding, feeling a bit disappointed. Why wouldn’t he answer? Maybe he didn’t want to talk to me.
“Ram. You know what to do.” And the beep sounds in my ear.
“Um… Hi, it’s me. I mean it’s Da—Carrie. The one you’ve been texting. I mean, I think you probably know who I am. I, uh, I just wanted to tell you I liked your cock.” I grin at his joke, but then realize how horrible that sounds. “Oh God! I didn’t mean your cock. Oh crap, this is not going as I planned. I was hoping to talk, and we could get to know each other on a better level. I mean… not that I’m not enjoying us now. I like you. I mean! Oh my God! That sounds overboard since I don’t even know you. Or you me. But I like our texts. Annnd, this was also maybe a bad idea.” I huff in frustration. “Let’s just pretend this never happened. Mmmkay? This is the wine calling. Don’t worry about calling her back.” I snort at my lame joke. Am I really this goofy? Apparently, I am. A huge groan comes from me. “Oh God!” And I hang up because I’m not sure I could fit any more awkwardness into one phone call.
Talk about first impressions.
Mine was impressionable, all right…
What Do We Have to Lose, Buttercup?
ONE MISSED CALL.
Goddammit! I took a shower after my brother barfed all over us in the elevator and ended up missing her call. But the voicemail was worth it. Her voice was so unsure and she kept stumbling over her words. It was fucking adorable.
Me: Loved your message. I’m glad you liked my cock. Did you like my dick?
Her response is immediate.
Buttercup: Are you this brave just because we’re texting?
Me: Why don’t you call me again and find out?
I have to wait a minute before she responds back.
Buttercup: I have an audience here at the bar. I’ll call when I get back home. Deal?
Grinning, I type out a reply.
Me: I can’t wait to hear your voice, Carrie.
She doesn’t reply for what feels like hours. While I wait, I check on my passed out brother and straighten up the house. Th
en, when she still hasn’t responded, I work on sending out more messages to potential clients. When it’s nearly two in the morning, I get a call. The name Buttercup flashes on the screen. I’ve saved her thumbs up as her profile picture. I pick up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
It’s quiet on her end. I can hear soft breathing.
“Carrie?”
A sigh into the phone. “I like when you call me Buttercup.” There’s a twinge of guilt in her tone.
“I like when you send me pictures of yourself, Buttercup,” I say, indulging her. She giggles, and I swear to God, it’s the sweetest sound ever. I turn off the lights in the house and lock up while I await her response. Eventually, she does.
“Umm,” she breathes. “I’m not really good at this.”
I chuckle. “What? Talking to people? You’re a bartender. Isn’t that part of the job requirement?”
Another soft sigh. Her sighs are cute. “What I mean is…I’m not normally a risk taker. I do everything traditionally and by the book. Texting with some random stranger. Talking about sex with him. Sending and receiving pictures with him. It’s all so…”
“Risky?” I quip.
“Yeah.”
I lie down on my bed in my darkened room and rest a palm on my bare stomach. “Isn’t risk all about the potential of losing something you once had? Like certain investments are risky because you chance losing money. What do we have to lose, Buttercup?”
She’s silent for a moment. “I’m embarrassed.”
“About having fun? About talking to someone who really wants to talk to you? Tell me why that embarrasses you.”
“Well…” she trails off. A small, non-humorous laugh escapes her. “It’s kind of weird. Like…ummm…gah.”
“I like you, too.” I scrub at my face in the darkness and let out a sigh of my own. “Look,” I tell her. “I haven’t exactly been happy for several months now. It wasn’t until your wrong text that I began to laugh again. It may sound stupid, but I felt like you kind of dropped into my life at exactly the right moment.”
She doesn’t respond right away. Then, I hear her shuffling around. “What exactly are we doing? Are we trying to be friends?” Her words are breathy like she’s doing stuff.
“We already are friends,” I tell her, a smile curving my lips up. “We’re trying to be more.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet. I don’t do relationships that often. Especially with people I don’t know,” she clips out.
I try not to sigh in frustration. “You keep saying you don’t know me. Let’s get to know each other. We’ll make it fun.”
“Okay.” She’s hesitant, but I’d do anything to keep her soft, breathy voice on the line.
“Tell me ten of your favorite things. Just real quick. I’ll go first so you know what I mean. Ready?” I ask.
Silence and then, “Ready.”
“Football. Photoshop. Mushroom pizza. Thunderstorms. Coffee. Muscle cars. Game of Thrones. Cats. Rollercoasters. And The Princess Bride. There, ten things. Your turn.”
She giggles, and my cock twitches in response. My mind imagines the brunette from the bar earlier but with Carrie’s voice. I know what I’ll be thinking of later when my fist is gripping my dick.
“Okay, so um, let me think.” She pauses for nearly a minute, clearly having to think hard about this. “Oh! I know! I love cats, too. I have a cat named Marilyn Manson—”
“Wait, what?” I interrupt, a chuckle vibrating my chest. “You named your cat after Marilyn Manson?”
She scoffs. “My cat, Manson for short, has white eyes and black fur. He’s a little on the creepy side to outsiders, but I think he’s quite handsome. Also, whenever I play Marilyn Manson, he sits in front of the iPod dock and stares. His tail flicks back and forth eagerly. He’s done this ever since he was a bitty kitty, so it seemed fitting. Anyway,” she huffs, “as I was saying. I also love saltwater taffy. Like, oh my God, it’s the best ever. My parents used to take us to Silver Dollar City in Branson every Christmas and I was the proverbial kid in a candy shop. I’d sit there for hours watching them make the taffy. They had big machines they’d use to stretch it out. It was fascinating to watch. Then, once my parents got tired of that, they’d let me pick out a bagful of the stuff to take back home with us. All was well until I got my first cavity.”
Chuckling, I absently run my fingers along the lines of my abs. “I like that your ten things all have a story behind them. Go on. What’s the third thing?”
“Um, three. My best friend, Andie. She’s a godsend. We’re joined at the hip and my life would be boring without her. Andie pushes me to be brave when I’m afraid. She encourages me when I feel down. She makes me dress like a ho sometimes when we go dancing because she says every woman has to go through their ho stage so they’ll be ready to settle down when the time comes.” She pauses and groans. “Oh my God. I just ramble, don’t I? You just rattled your ten things off and I’m giving you TMI about each of mine. I’m sorry.”
At this, I growl. “Don’t ever apologize for being you. I happen to really like you. If I weren’t talking to you right now, I’d be staring up at my ceiling in the dark, obsessing over my life. I’d replay my past in different ways, wondering how I could change things. I’d also worry over my future. And then, when the sun peeked through my windows in the morning, I’d shower and start my day, only to end it in the exact same way.” This time, it’s me who gives away too much information.
“When do you sleep?” she questions, her voice but a whisper.
“Honestly? Not much in the past few months. I’ve been dealing with some shit. I’ll get past it. This insomnia crap became a way of life after my dad died ten years ago. It seems when I’m stressed, I can’t sleep,” I admit.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” she murmurs. This time, I don’t get on to her for apologizing. Because this time, I sense how genuine she is about the words. It makes my chest ache a little, so I change the subject.
“Tell me more of your favorite things.”
I can hear a smile in her voice. “Okay, so another favorite thing of mine is roller skating. Andie hates it when I get to choose our girls’ night out. She loves to bar hop, but I love to relive my childhood. We’re usually the oldest people at the rink, but I make her go from time to time.”
I laugh and imagine her and her friend roller-skating with a bunch of teenie boppers. It’s a cute visual. “Go on.”
“Oh!” she blurts out. “I know what else I love!”
“Tell me,” I encourage, my smile broadening.
“Christmas songs! I could listen to them all year round,” she chirps happily. “Come Thanksgiving, I’ve already started listening to them. They make me super happy!”
Her words make me think of Dad. There at the end. When the pancreatic cancer had stolen away his laughter and happiness without much of a warning. He was a shell of nothing but pain and sadness those days before his death. But one particular night, a few days before Christmas, he demanded to hear Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas.” When my mom tried to pacify him into taking a nap instead, he started throwing stuff from his nightstand. I’d saved the day with my phone. Dad watched the YouTube video over and over and over again until he fell asleep.
“You got quiet. What’s wrong? Are you going to sleep? I should let you sleep,” she rambles.
“No,” I tell her, my voice gruff with emotion. “Go on. I was just thinking about my dad is all.”
Instead of continuing, she gets quiet. “You miss him a lot. I can tell.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing him,” I admit. “He was very involved in our lives until cancer poisoned him and then stole him from us. I’ll always think about him and his obsession with Bing Crosby’s ‘White Christmas.’” My smile is back.
“He sounds lovely,” she murmurs.
I clear my throat. “Okay, what’s next?”
“Hmmm, I also love winter. It’s the best season of the
year. I love the holidays. I love the snow. I love the giving spirit of everyone around us. I love that I can wear leggings, oversized sweaters, and boots every day.” She sighs with happiness. “I just love it.”
I imagine a pretty brunette with rosy cheeks laughing as snowflakes dot her hair and cheeks. “I like winter, too,” I tell her absently.
“Also, I love ER. Do you remember that show? I have all the box sets and anytime I’m on vacation from work or bored or lonely or sad, I watch ER. Every time, I get sucked in and forget the world around me.”
“You’re cute,” I blurt out.
“Daryl didn’t think so,” she murmurs, a bitter tone in her voice. “Can you believe I gave that guy nearly a year of my life? He did me so wrong…and yet…” she trails off and huffs. “I still feel bad. Like I was the one who broke up with him. I mean, I technically did, I guess. But I feel like it’s my fault we ended. Because had I not seen him sucking face with his neighbor, we’d still be together.”
Jealousy flares in my chest, but I quickly quell it down. “Were you happy with him?”
“Not exactly,” she says sadly. “But I wasn’t lonely either.”
“You’re not alone now,” I remind her. “Three more favorite things. Spill, Buttercup.”
She laughs. “Mr. Impatient. Okay, so, um…maybe that’s it. Maybe I don’t have anymore favorite things.”
“Big liar,” I tease. “You’re one of those people who loves everything. You find something positive and good about any single thing, besides assholes like Daryl, and try to like something out of it. Am I right?”
She groans and then huffs. “Andie says I’m too nice.”
“Since when did nice become a bad thing?” I question. “You just need someone who appreciates and doesn’t take advantage of your niceness. Being nice is a good quality to have. Now tell me three more things.”
“You’re nice too, Ram,” she whispers. Her sweet voice sends tremors of need rippling through me. “I love…oh my God…I don’t even know how to say this without sounding like a total weirdo.”
I snort. “Now I need to know. And, by the way, I love how you say the words ‘oh my God’ just as dramatically as when you text them.”
Text 2 Lovers Page 5
