The Accidental Text

I ride the elevator down with Egil and then walk onto the street. It’s quiet at this time of night, the park completely empty. Walking him down the lane – stopping every couple of minutes to let him sniff or mark his spot – I try to convince myself I can’t pursue Autumn.

She’s two decades younger than me. She was eighteen when I first met her. It was when she’d just started college. Which makes her twenty-one now. I’m forty-two. Anyone would agree that that’s a large age gap.

Then there’s the fact that all these thoughts and plans about the future would make her run as far away from me as she could possibly get.

As Egil spends what seems like several hours sniffing the same spot – not that I’d ever complain about the little guy – I try and imagine how she’d react if I told her.

My fantasies spiral and suddenly she’s smiling, even if I know she wouldn’t smile in reality. Her hands cup my face, leaning in close as her lips spread wider and wider.

“I feel the same,” she whispers in my mind, causing my body to throb and riot with a predator’s possessive compulsion. “I want the life you want. I need it as badly as you do.”

Egil has paused, tilting his head up at me, silently asking why we’re not walking ahead.

“Sorry, boy,” I murmur. “It’s just hard not to think about her.”

I ponder the question of fate as I walk through the park, trying to work out the chances of Autumn and I being in the same place, at the exact right time. I’m not much of a mathematician, but I use mathematical equations in some of my work, and trying to work out the probability has my mind spinning.

But do I really think that some mysterious force led me to the woman of my dreams?

Maybe I’m just lucky.

Or unlucky, considering I can’t tell her.

I don’t let myself think about it for too long as I take out my phone and send her a quick text.

Hey, just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay?

I debate leaving a kiss at the end of my question for far too long, feeling like a smitten teenager, and then I decide against it. If I start flirting with her, I know it will only be a matter of time before I let out the full truth, all of it, the massive confusing mess that would have her deleting and blocking my number and asking me to never contact her again.

Three years, three long years I’ve tried to get these thoughts out of my head. Ever since I first laid eyes on her perfect young body – ever since I started imagining what it would be like to fill her with my seed – I’ve tried to push the fantasies away. I’ve tried to tell myself it makes no sense, that I can’t possibly know I want to be with her after a quick tour around the Lincoln Memorial.

I’ve failed.

I can’t stop thinking about her.

Autumn, my Autumn.

Egil is tired when we return to the apartment, padding down the hall to his usual spot in the living room. He curls up in his doggy bed, laying his gray beard on his forepaws. His eyes remain open, though, as I pace up and down in front of the window, looking over the city.

I look down over the glittering lights, across the bridge, to where I know Autumn’s apartment is.

My phone buzzes.

I check it much too quickly, eager for it to be her.

I’m fine. Thank you so much for tonight. It was crazy! XX

I stare at the two kisses, chest-pounding, thoughts clouded.

That’s how I know things are getting bad. If a couple of kisses at the end of a text can cause my body to stir with all the force of our possible future, romance, connection, what will her physical touch do?

I squeeze my hand around the phone and close my eyes, taking a deep breath, telling myself to calm down.

The best thing for me to do now – the smart thing – would be to forget all about Autumn…and her curvy-as-hell body and her shy alluring smile and the way her cheeks blush so deeply. The best thing would be to push it all aside.

But I don’t know if I can.

I send a text back.

Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.

I’m not even sure what I mean by that, but I want her to know I’m here for her, even if I shouldn’t.

I will, thank you.

Her text comes back almost right away, leaving me to picture her in bed, wearing just her underwear, that thick delectable body waiting for me to tear her bra and panties away… or maybe she’s in some baggy PJs. It doesn’t matter. Whatever she’s wearing, I’d rip it away so I could get my hands on that perfect body of hers.