She giggled.
“Sexting,” I said. “Let’s order more shots.”
She did. A couple of Daniella’s girlfriends arrived and our table filled up. The music had gotten louder and the place was getting packed.
After I said hi to everyone, I checked my phone again.
Cary: Take off your panties and send me a pic.
Whoa.
Okay. I really, really wanted to do that. Right now.
I’d never done that for a guy before.
But Cary Clarke was totally the guy you did that for because he ordered you to.
Me: You’re so pretty and bossy.
Cary: Is that a compliment?
Me: Yes.
Cary: I’m waiting for my pic.
Me: See? Bossy.
I put the phone down for a sec to do another pussy shooter with the girls. Then I excused myself, gathered up my phone and my cocktail, and stumbled off to the ladies’ room.
I shut myself into a cubicle and wondered how I was gonna pull this off. I reread his text, aware that my brain was now pickled in pink booze.
Cary: Take off your panties and send me a pic.
Okay, wait. Did he want a pic of the panties after I took them off? Or did he want a picture of what was under the panties?
You know the answer to that.
I just wanted to be sure, because sending your boss a picture of your bare pussy that he didn’t ask for seemed kinda wrong. Even if you were already sleeping with him.
I started laughing, to myself, in the cubicle. I took a swig of my drink and set it down on the toilet paper thing.
Okay. Focus. I read the text one more time.
Yeah. Obviously, he wanted a photo of the goods.
I slipped my thong off. It was indeed purple. I took a picture of it dangling in my hand, and sent him the pic with the words: Wait for it…
Then I stuffed the thong into my purse. And tried to figure out how to take an attractive picture of my pussy. Was there such a thing?
If I just stuck my phone up my dress, it was gonna look like a scary dark cave.
How the hell did I get a favorable angle?
I turned to face the toilet and decided to put my foot up on the seat—after I laid down a piece of toilet paper, for hygienic reasons. Then I let my knee fall open and my skirt ride up, and lowered the phone to get the shot. I laid the freshly-painted fingernails of my free hand—no chips—just above my clit, so it would look like I was touching myself.
I took a picture.
Then I looked at it.
Oh my gawd. That was so X-rated.
Did he really want to see that?
Yup. He asked for it.
So, I sent.
Then I went back out into the bar and tried to look normal, and not like a woman who’d just taken a picture of her pussy in the washroom and sent it to someone.
When the girls all seemed to be carrying on as usual and taking no notice whatsoever of me, I grabbed my best friend’s arm and leaned into her. “I just took a picture of my pussy in the washroom and sent it to someone.”
Danica’s eyes popped and she burst into laughter. “What? Why?” she sputtered.
“Because he asked me to.”
“Cary?”
“Yup.”
“Oh my God.”
“I need another drink.” We sipped our cocktails while she grinned at me. She shook her head. In awe, I supposed. “You know what you need to do, right?” I prompted.
“What?”
“You need to march into that washroom and take a picture of your pussy and send it to your husband.”
She wrinkled her nose, but she was still grinning. “Really?”
“Really.”
“And why do I need to do this?”
“So I don’t feel like a slut.”
Danica smirked drunkenly. “What’s wrong with feeling like a slut?”
“Nothing. Just don’t make me do it alone.”
She rolled her eyes a little, but she laughed. I figured she was just drunk enough that she might actually do it.
“Has Ash never asked you to do that?” I asked, curious.
“Not explicitly. But I’m with him every night. So he doesn’t really need a pic.”
“He’s not with you now,” I pointed out.
And a few minutes later, she headed off to the ladies’ room. Alone. Because my best friend was devoted like that. To both me and her husband.
When she returned, looking breathless, her eyes sparkling with that same happy-horny rush I’d felt when I did it, I pulled her close. “You took a pic?”
“Yup.”
“You sent it to Ash?”
“Uh-huh. Mission accomplished.” She held up two fingers in the universal sign for two, but also the universal sign for spreading open a pussy.
I blinked at her drunkenly, impressed as shit. My best friend could really surprise me sometimes. One thing about Danica Vola, she was waaayyy more dirty minded than she looked. “Did you seriously spread your—?”
“Ixnay!” she hissed at me.
I looked up to find her sister looking over at us. Dani gave us both a drunk, narrow-eyed look across the table. No way she could hear what we were saying, I was pretty sure. She flung her butterscotch hair over her shoulder and leaned in to talk to her girlfriend.
“Not in front of my sister,” Danica scolded. “You know the rule!”
“No talking about boys you like in front of Dani,” I recited. She’d made me memorize that rule many years ago. Apparently, it still stood, even now that she was married.
She picked up her phone to check it. “I wish I could see his face when he looks at—Oh. No.”
“What?”
“Oh dear fuck no…”
“What?” I leaned into her, darting a glance at the other girls. None of them were paying attention to us.
“Ohmygod.” My best friend looked up from her phone, her eyes meeting mine.
She looked like she was about to burst into tears.
“What is it?”
When she didn’t answer me fast enough, I grabbed the phone and she tried to hold on, covering part of the screen with her hand. “Don’t look at my pussy!” she shouted.
Every girl at the table turned to us. Danica and I froze, both holding onto her phone.
“Excuse us.” I took Danica by the wrist and dragged her off to the back hall that led to the washrooms. She was kind of hysterically choking when we got there, maybe trying not to laugh/cry? “What!?” I demanded.
“Look!” She thrust her phone in my face.
“Oh, now you want me to see your pussy?” I drew back to try to focus on the screen that was way too close. She was still covering half of it with her hand. All I could see was part of a text conversation. And at the top, the name of the person she’d been texting with.
Matt.
My gaze shifted to Danica’s face, trying to refocus on her horrified, this-can’t-be-happening expression. “Danica. What did you do?”
“I sent a picture of my pussy to Matt!” she cried, shoving the phone at me again.
“Matt Brohmer?”
“Yes!”
“Seriously?” I swatted the phone away. She was practically jabbing me in the eye, like my eyeball had the power to erase history.
“Yes, seriously!” she hissed. “Shit, how did I do this?” She was poking at her phone, like it could somehow turn back time. She definitely looked on the verge of crying, but not devastation tears. More like drunken mortification tears. They shone in her eyes and her cheeks were turning pink.
“Okay. Holdthefuck on,” slurred my wise, drunken self. “Let’s just stay calm.”
“Stay calm? I just sent a picture. Of my pussy. To my husband’s bandmate!”
“How?”
“I don’t know! He was texting me earlier. And I’m fucking drunk. Is this the point here?”
“Okay, look. It’s not a big deal. Ash will understand. It was a drunken mistake.
”
“I’m not worried about Ash. Of course he’ll understand. I’ve had like a dozen of those pink shooters. But that’s not the problem. This is a very intimate photo intended for my husband’s eyes only.”
“Maybe Matt hasn’t seen it yet. Maybe we can—”
“He totally saw it! The little bubble with dots just appeared, like he was typing something,” she said, her voice bordering on hysterical as she studied the screen. “And now it’s gone. Gone, Taylor! What does that mean?” she practically shrieked.
“Okay. We can fix this,” I insisted, my executive assistant’s brain scrambling around in the alcohol swamp to find a solution. I knew there was one. I’d once managed to “fix” a mishap for a boss of mine that involved him accidentally emailing a video of himself in ladies’ lingerie to his mother. I’d swooped in and convinced her that it was an office prank situation of the joke Halloween costume variety, even though it was nowhere near Halloween. Sometimes people just wanted to believe what you told them.
Compared to that situation, this was nothing.
“Let’s just think this through,” I said. “It’s just a picture of a pussy, right? It doesn’t have to be your pussy.”
“It was sent from my phone!”
“Yeah, but we’re drunk, right?”
I took the phone from her hand, covering most of the screen so I didn’t have to see the pic, and tapped Matt’s contact at the top.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m fixing this.”
“Oh my God. Taylor, who are you calling?”
Seriously? Was she really that drunk?
“I’m calling Matt. Just trust me.” It was ringing, but he wasn’t answering.
Shit. Was he not gonna answer?
Pick up.
Please pick up please pick up please pick up.
I needed him to pick up, right now. Before I lost the will to take the fall for this pussy mishap. It wasn’t exactly on my list of life dreams to call up a man I’d once made out with at a party over an errant pussy pic.
He picked up. “Hey,” he said. Obviously, he’d seen Danica’s name on the display and thought it was her.
“Heeeyyyyy. Matt. Hi. This is Taylor.” I swatted Danica’s hands away as she pawed at me. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to halfheartedly take back the phone, or just cling on to me for support.
“Taylor?”
“Yeah, you know, Cary Clarke’s assistant? Ash and Danica’s friend?” I made sure to throw Ash’s name in there, to remind him that yes, Danica was married. And also, yes, he and I had once made out at a party thrown by the aforementioned couple.
But there was a whole lot of alcohol involved that night.
Kinda like tonight.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, hesitantly. Obviously, he was wondering what the fucknuts was going on. “How’s it going, Taylor?”
“Welllllll… this is incredibly mortifying. But I may have just accidentally sent something to you that I totally didn’t mean to send. From Danica’s phone. We’re drinking right now and I’m suuuper drunk, and I grabbed her phone by mistake. We both have the same iPhone.” We did, though hers was in a distinctive bejeweled case and mine was black. And really, what idiot wouldn’t know she had the wrong phone in her hand?
Maybe an idiot who sent her pussy to the wrong man?
I was really hoping he was buying this, but he didn’t say anything, so I kept talking. Surely he could hear how drunk I was? “I texted a photo to you, accidentally, because as I mentioned, I’m super drunk. Did you happen to receive a photo that looked like it was from Danica in the last few minutes?”
“Uh, yeah. I got that.”
Fuuuck.
I gave her a look, like, Yup, he totally saw your pussy.
Danica covered her face with her hands.
“Okay. Well. As I mentioned, the photo is not from her. It’s totally my picture and I meant to send it to someone else. Like, this guy I’m dating. So… do you think I could ask you to delete it? And forget you ever saw it? Like scorch it from your memory? And then pretend we never had this conversation?”
“Sure, Taylor,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. No problem.”
Well, that was easy. Matt always did seem like a nice guy.
“Okay. Well… thank you, then. And goodnight.” I hung up and handed Danica her phone. “Done.”
“Really??”
“Yup.”
She stared at me. Drunk, confused and hopeful. “You think he bought that?”
“I think so…”
Actually, I wasn’t so sure.
The more my liquor soaked brain cells chewed on it… Yeah, that was way too easy. I wasn’t sure he believed me at all.
And either way… I wasn’t sure he was gonna delete that photo.
For one thing, he answered a phone call he thought was from Danica, like minutes after she sent him a picture of her pussy. Eager much?
“He knows it was me,” she moaned.
“No, he doesn’t,” I told her. “He deleted it. He’s not gonna have time to like, study it and figure it out.”
“Okay.” She tucked her phone away, looking like a wilted flower. “I feel stupid.”
I threw my arm around her. “Don’t. I’m sure it’s a very nice pussy.”
Chapter Nineteen
Taylor
This World
Back at our table, we promptly downed another shot and ordered a fresh round of cocktails. Danica got talking with Jolie and trying to act like she didn’t just accidentally send a pic of her pussy to her husband’s bandmate—and luckily, everyone was too drunk to notice anything was up.
I checked my phone and found a new message. Cary had responded to my pussy pic.
Thank fuck I actually sent it to the right guy.
Poor Danica.
Cary: I wanna put my tongue in that.
Me: I really wish you would.
Cary: When are you coming home?
Me: Soon. Ish.
Cary: I can’t wait that long. Touch yourself.
Oh, no. He didn’t.
Except he totally did.
I glanced around at my girlfriends, smiling like I was listening to their conversations.
Then I slipped my hand down, between my legs under the table. It was dark in here, right?
I looked around. No one seemed to be staring at me or anything. I drifted my fingers over my clit through the thin fabric of my dress. I hadn’t put the thong back on.
Felt pretty good…
Okay, this was naughty. This was very, very naughty.
I was in public. Anyone could see this.
How drunk was I that I was actually doing this?
Cary: Are you doing it?
Me: Yes.
Cary: How does it feel?
Me: Like I want it to be you.
Cary: Will you come for me?
Well, wasn’t that sweet. He was asking instead of bossing.
Me: No. I want to come on you.
Cary: Come home. I’m so hard.
Me: Save some of that for me.
I removed my hand from between my legs. Probably for the best. I didn’t want Danica to think I’d turned into a total sexual deviant overnight.
She’d been traumatized enough for one evening.
On that note, I decided it was time for me to take off. One, I wanted to see Cary, like stat, and before I got so wasted I couldn’t function.
And two, I had a phone call to make.
I texted Liam to let him know I was ready to leave. A few minutes later, when he texted back to let me know he was waiting outside, I finally broke it to Danica that I was heading out.
Her face fell. “What? You can’t go yet.”
“I know. I should stay. But I’m kinda tired.” Honestly, I would’ve stayed out a little longer, despite the sexting. It was ladies’ night, after all. But I didn’t want her to know the real reason I was taking off a bit early. I had to ta
ke care of this, and it felt like I needed to do it in a timely manner.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re going home to have sex with your hot boss, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” I couldn’t exactly lie to her face.
She studied me, drunkenly.
“What?”
“You know, I thought maybe you’d be good for him,” she said gently. Seriously. “But what I see is you getting pulled more and more into his world. I’m a little worried.”
“You don’t need to worry,” I told her. “I’m having fun with him, I promise. It’s all good.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She softened. “Okay. Then go have fun.” She gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and once I’d said good night to the other girls, I headed outside. Liam was waiting curbside and opened my door for me.
“Where to next, Ms. Lawson?” he asked me, as he slid into the front.
“Home,” I said, then caught myself. “I mean, to Cary’s place.”
He smiled at me in the rear view mirror. “Yes, ma’am.”
As we pulled into traffic, I pulled out my phone and dug up Matt Brohmer’s phone number. I’d never called him or anything, but I had his number. It was on a contact list Cary gave me, important numbers of everyone in the band and at the studio, etcetera. I found the list and called Matt.
He didn’t answer.
And as it rang, I considered again the fact that when Danica called him, right after he received that pussy pic from her, he answered.
But of course he didn’t pick up now. He was a rock star. He wasn’t going to answer a call from some number he didn’t recognize.
So I texted him instead.
Me: This is Taylor. I’m trying to call you from my phone. Can you please call this number? Right now.
Lovely Madness: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 4) Page 30
