by Lexi Ryan
ItsyBitsy123: Hey, handsome. Sorry I didn’t reply this morning. I overslept and had to hustle out the door. So, to answer your question, I slept great—too great, apparently. What about you?
GoodHands69: Like the dead . . . well, maybe not the dead. I had dreams about Jessica Rabbit last night. Which was . . . different. I hope you’re proud of yourself.
ItsyBitsy123: Jessica Rabbit, huh? And was she animated in the dream? Did you play PATTY-CAKE? (Omg, I can’t even type that without laughing. That movie is too much.)
GoodHands69: I guess you could call it that. Ahem . . .
“Who is she?”
My head snaps up, and Dean and Smithy are both staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. “What?”
Dean waves to my phone. “Dude, you’re grinning like Selena Gomez just sauntered in front of you buck naked. Who are you talking to?”
I close the app and shove my phone back into my pocket. “Just . . . someone I met on Random.”
Dean smiles bigger than I’ve seen him smile in weeks. “Fucking seriously?” He smacks my arm. “Good for you, man. It’s about time. What’s her name?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
He chuckles. “Kinky. She hot? When did you hook up with her, and why didn’t you tell your best friend?”
“I don’t know, and I haven’t hooked up with anyone,” I say, then cringe, because that’s only half true. I’m not sure if what happened in Stella’s room or this pool house counts as a hookup, but they weren’t nothing.
Dean scrunches his brows together in confusion. “I’m sorry. What?”
“We’re just talking.” I shrug. “I’ve waited this long to move on. No need to rush it now.”
“Okaaaaay.” Smithy holds out a hand. “Lemme see her. I’ve gotten good at spotting the crazies.”
Dean snorts. “Sure you have.”
“No, man, I mean it. You can see it in their eyes.” Smithy circles a finger at his temple.
“Well, this girl has a picture of Jessica Rabbit as her avatar, so save your superpowers for another time.”
“Ooh,” Dean says. He pulls a face and rocks back on his heels. “Shit, man. My condolences.”
He and Smithy share a look, then Smithy nods and says, “Right?”
“What? Why?”
Laughing, Smithy drops the broom he was holding then bends at the waist as he laughs harder.
Dean points to him and nods. “He gets it.”
“Gets what? What are you idiots talking about?”
Smithy straightens and shakes his head. “She’s . . .” He gasps before he belly laughs. “She’s ugly.”
“What the fuck? Why would you assume that?”
Smithy looks to Dean, who just shakes his head. When Smithy turns to me, he swallows back his laughter and holds up a hand. “Listen, maybe she’s hot. It’s possible.”
“Totally possible,” Dean says, but then he ruins it by grunting out another laugh. “But Random is a hookup app. People aren’t on there because they want to find their soul mate. They’re on there for some—”
“Random,” Smithy says. “It’s about attraction and . . .” He curls his hands into fists and draws them back as he thrusts his hips a few times. “I guarantee she’d post a picture of herself if she was hot.”
“Attraction can be about more than appearance.” I grab a bag of trash in each hand and head out into the summer heat to the dumpster. The guys do the same. “I’d rather be turned on by a woman’s mind than her cup size.”
“Kace,” Dean calls, following behind me, “we’re not saying personality doesn’t factor into chemistry, but have you ever tried to have sex with someone you don’t find physically attractive?”
That’s a fucking stupid question, so I don’t dignify it with a response. “I’m saying physical attraction can grow from intellectual attraction. And anyway, maybe she uses that avatar because she looks like Jessica Rabbit.” I hoist the bags into the dumpster with a little too much aggression. Are my friends really this shallow?
Smithy tosses his in then wipes his hands on his jeans. “Is Jessica Rabbit even hot?”
“Fuck yes, she is.” The words are out of my mouth before I even think it through, and then I wish I could snatch them back. Maybe she looks like Jessica Rabbit. I direct all my attention to the bags in Dean’s hands, taking them from him and tossing them into the dumpster.
If anyone could be the real-life Jessica Rabbit, it’d be Stella Jacob, and I don’t exactly need her brother knowing how hot I think she is, especially since we’re messing around. Double especially since she’s moving in here.
“Sorry, man,” Dean says, “but I think your wishful thinking has gone a little too far.”
I risk turning back to my friends, but there’s no sign either one is thinking about Stella. Dean’s got that amused smirk on his face, and Smithy’s fucking around on his phone.
“I haven’t seen that movie since I was, like, six,” Smithy says, tapping on the screen. “Is that the one with the human-size duck?”
“I think that’s Howard the Duck,” Dean says.
Smithy grins. “Right. Howard. Watched that after eating some of my mom’s special brownies once, and damn, it was a trip.” He giggles. Yes, giggles. “Why does ‘Mom’s special brownies’ sound like a euphemism for some seriously hardcore kink?”
Dean cringes. “Because you’re messed up.”
“Oh, hell,” Smithy says, nodding at his screen. “Jessica is fine. I’d plow that. Think animated pussy is softer?”
“You’re disgusting,” I mutter, but I really don’t care if Smithy’s busting out the locker-room talk about a childhood animated favorite. Really, I’m just relieved Dean isn’t giving me the protective big-brother glare I probably deserve.
“So, when are you going to meet up with your Jessica Rabbit?” Dean asks.
I shrug. “Like I said, I’m not in a hurry.” Honestly, I’d rather wait until Stella and I have worked whatever we have going on out of our systems. Tuesday’s little taste of “dating other people” transparency was more than enough for me.
Dean sighs and shakes his head.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” I use the hem of my shirt to wipe the sweat from my forehead. The heat is making me fucking irritable today. “Tell me.”
“No name, no real-life picture, and, let me guess, no personal details?” Dean asks.
I shrug. “I mean, we’ve been talking. She hasn’t been hiding anything.”
“How do you know you’re not being catfished?”
“What?” I snap. Why do they assume that’s what’s happening here? But hell. Honestly, I’m embarrassed. I should’ve known a cartoon avatar was a red flag, but I’m so fucking bad at this dating thing that it didn’t cross my mind.
Smithy shoves his phone back into his pocket. “Catfished. It’s when you fall in love with a gorgeous chick online but it actually turns out to be a middle-aged sociopath who lives in his mom’s basement and sells Canadian pharmaceuticals on the dark web.”
Dean narrows his eyes at Smithy. “Weirdly specific example, as always.”
“That happened to Tom Brady once—before Giselle. He fell hard for this chick online, talked about her constantly, sent her extravagant gifts. Turns out it was his great-aunt trying to swindle him.”
“That didn’t fucking happen,” Dean says. “You never even played with Brady.”
“Fuck you. I was on their practice team one season, and I watched the guy have a total meltdown when he found out he’d been sexting his aunt.”
Dean shakes his head. “Didn’t happen.”
Smithy frowns. “Or maybe it was the backup QB?”
My phone buzzes again, and I really want to look, but I’m not interested in sharing my conversation with these idiots, either.
I wait until the guys have left for lunch and I’m alone on my porch before I read the latest message from Itsy.
> ItsyBitsy123: Well, now I’m jealous.
Thanks to the disappearing messages feature, it takes me a minute to figure out what she’s talking about, but then I remember we were talking about “patty-cake” and laugh.
GoodHands69: Don’t be jealous. She was you. You were her.
ItsyBitsy123: I guess dreams are weird like that. But . . . if she was me, I think I need details.
I stare at the screen for a long time, trying to think of some hot but not embarrassing detail to give her, but honestly, I shouldn’t be having this conversation at all. I didn’t lie. I did dream about Jessica Rabbit, but at some point in the dream, she became Stella. It feels wrong to feed one woman dirty details of a dream that also involved a different woman.
GoodHands69: Nope. Can’t do it. I’m not a sexting kind of guy, I guess. But maybe one day I’ll show you. If you want . . .
ItsyBitsy123: I’m going to hold you to that. Unless you’re going to ask me to suck you off behind the Dairy Queen . . . while your dad watches.
I bark out a laugh and shake my head. The guys are totally wrong about this girl. She’s legit. I can feel it in my bones.
GoodHands69: Please tell me that didn’t really happen.
ItsyBitsy123: Oh. It did. And then I had to block him because he wouldn’t stop messaging me dick pics. And they were DEFINITELY not all the same dick. *shudder* I try not to think too much about that . . .
GoodHands69: Jesus. I’m sorry.
ItsyBitsy123: I’ve had so many bad experiences with guys lately that I’m afraid I’d punch the first one to approach me. With my luck, he’d turn out to be one of the good guys—like a pediatrician who has a great relationship with his mom, loves to read, and gets off on giving orgasms.
I laugh again. I really want to meet this girl.
GoodHands69: I’m not a pediatrician, but I just so happen to tick a few of those other boxes.
I debate some sort of corny emoji at the end of that for so long that by the time I hit send—no emoji—her next message is already coming through.
ItsyBitsy123: Does that last part make me sound sex-obsessed? Because I’m not . . .well, maybe I am in some people’s views. It’s all relative. I consider sex a healthy part of life, and I want it in a romantic relationship, but I also want mutual respect, understanding, and emotional connection. Am I asking too much?
ItsyBitsy123: Don’t answer that. I splurged on a therapist once, and she said I need to work on RAISING my expectations, not lowering them. This probably doesn’t surprise you at all, but that doesn’t come naturally.
I grin down at my phone. From my dreams, to wanting a guy who gets off on giving orgasms, to talk about her therapist. This girl’s all over the place. She makes my head spin and . . . I like it. I haven’t had someone I could talk to so freely in a long time.
It’s ironic, really. The whole point of this app is to match people up so they can have no-strings sex. In all likelihood, the messaging function is meant for coordinating meetup spots, not heart-to-heart conversations.
ItsyBitsy123: Not all guys are good like you. In fact, some days it seems like you’re the only good one left. And don’t freak out on me. I know you’re not ready for anything serious and you’re seeing someone else. I just really enjoy talking like this.
I swallow hard. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here, but I’m not ready to give up talking to this girl or touching Stella. And I don’t know where that leaves me.
GoodHands69: Don’t you dare lower your expectations. You deserve everything you want and more.
Chapter Thirteen
Stella
When I get home from my shift at The Orchid Thursday night, I’ve spent so much time clutching my phone to my chest that I’ve practically become one with it.
Don’t you dare lower your expectations. You deserve everything you want and more.
Yes, I’m pretty much floating on cloud nine after a few sweet messages from Kace. Maybe Savvy’s right, and this thing with Kace can become something more. I want to believe it.
Either way, if I didn’t know tonight was one of his nights with Hope, I would’ve surprised him at his house after work. But since part of what makes him so irresistible is that he’s a good dad before all else, I drove home. It’s for the best. I need to spend every moment until bed studying for tomorrow’s chemistry exam—because apparently, when you only have six weeks of class, your first exam comes during week one.
“Stella, baby, come in here, please?” Mom calls as I walk in the door.
I cringe at her tone. That’s her you’ve-been-keeping-secrets tone. The one she’d use when she caught me sneaking out at sixteen.
I drop my purse onto the entryway table and kick off my shoes before plodding to the kitchen.
Mom’s sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. I get my brew addiction from her, but I can’t drink caffeine at all hours of the day like she can. I like my sleep too much, whereas Mom can mainline it twenty-four seven and sleep like a baby. I suppose I’m not just like her yet. “Hey, Mama. How was your day?”
She wraps her hands around her mug and studies me. Mom has an easy smile. Only when it’s missing am I reminded just how much it hides the sadness in her eyes. Is this what I’ll look like in twenty-five years? Sad and lonely from years of falling for the wrong guy and beating myself up about it? “Your brother told me you’ve been apartment hunting.” She sighs. “And even though he denies it, I’m guessing you made that choice so I can move?”
“It’s fine, Mom. I really don’t mind. I want you to move to Lakeview. It’s perfect, and you have friends there.”
“And I want to support you while you get your nursing degree.”
I force a smile. I can’t bring myself to tell her that if I can’t pass chemistry, there’ll be no nursing program for me, let alone the degree, and the accelerated pace of the six-week course means I’m far enough in after a few days to know I’m in way over my head. “You do support me. Every day. Always have.”
“You know what I mean. Can you afford this?”
I shrug. “I can afford some. Not a lot. I’m looking for a roommate rather than my own place.”
She sighs. “Better than rooming with your old mom, I’m sure.”
“Psh! Are you kidding? You’re the best roommate. You always keep the coffee pot fresh.”
She bows her head and studies her coffee, and dread swells in my chest.
“What is it?”
“I can’t afford this place anymore, sugar bean. My mower broke, so the neighbor’s been letting me use his, but I also need a new roof, and I’m a little behind on the taxes.” She rolls her eyes. “I thought it was supposed to be a good thing when the value of your home went up, but it’s not been so great for me. I was a little irresponsible and refinanced a couple of times when I needed money for this or that, and the mortgage kept creeping up along with the taxes, and . . .” She blows out a breath. “It just all feels like too much these days, but luckily, selling could solve a lot of my problems. Dean thinks he could flip it fast for me, so I’d get enough to put fifty percent down on that condo—that’s the only way the bank’s gonna give me the loan, ya know.”
I cover her hand with mine and squeeze. “Then sell. I’ll be okay. I won’t be homeless.”
“I don’t want Dean to do anything until you have a place to stay.”
I force a smile. “I already have a place.” I won’t allow her to continue struggling just because the timing is inconvenient for my love life. “Kace has that guest house he’s been wanting to rent out, and I’m planning to stay there until I can find something else.”
She lifts her head, and relief washes over her face. “Yeah?”
I nod. “It’s all good. You don’t need to worry about me.”
She grins. “Oh, I won’t worry about you if you’re with Kace Matthews.” She winks. “He’s one of the good ones.”
I swallow hard. I want to spill everything right onto the kitchen table, to tell h
er it’s supposed to be a fling, that this all started with me telling him no-strings hookups are possible, but I’m falling for him and I’m giddy and excited and afraid all at once because it feels too good to be true. I don’t tell her any of those things. It’s one thing to tell Savvy, but it feels cruel to get Mom’s hopes up. She might’ve given up on finding her knight in shining armor, but I know she still wants that for me.
“He is a good guy,” I say, “but he’s still in love with his ex-wife.”
“He’ll move on eventually.” She sips her coffee. “And if it’s not happening fast enough, you could tell him the truth about her.”
I tense. “Mom . . .” She’s the only one who knows what I saw, and on more than one occasion, she’s tried to convince me to tell Kace. But what’s the point now?
Mom shakes her head. “No, I know you don’t want to do that. You’re a better person than I am, Stella Elaine.”
“No one’s better than you, Mama.” My phone buzzes, and my stomach flips when I see it’s a message from Kace—and not a Random notification, but a text. I wonder if he just wasn’t thinking or if he’s decided we can make this “real” by texting now. “I need to go study. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”
She smiles, and I kiss both of her cheeks before grabbing my bag and heading to my bedroom.
I barely get the door closed before I’m unlocking my phone to see the message.
Kace: Tell me I’m not the only one who’s been distracted all day. All week.
I grin so big my face hurts.
Me: Definitely not. So distracted.
Kace: Can you come over before class tomorrow? I’ll be back from taking Hope to preschool at 8:15. I want to show you what the place looks like now that it’s all cleared out. New cabinets are on order.
Me: I hate that you’re doing that! What if I find somewhere else to live?
Kace: Sorry, Freckles. I’m a little rusty. Let me restate that—I want to get you alone, and I’m using my progress on the pool house as a flimsy excuse to get my hands on you. And my mouth . . . if you’re interested.
