A Chance Encounter

“It says here, that woman, Sophia, is looking for you,” Nicole says, snapping me from my thoughts.

“What?” She goes to hand me her phone, but I pull mine out instead. “Send me the link.”

A second later, a text comes through from her. I click on it and it takes me to the post made a few weeks ago by a Naomi Stratton. Sophia is tagged in it. The post is a couple pictures of us and she’s asking people to share it so she can find the guy in the picture—me—because it’s life or death. What the hell…

I scroll through the comments, laughing at some of them asking how they don’t know who I am. I was kind of shocked myself. I thought for sure she would say something, but when she didn’t, and turned me down for dinner, I knew she didn’t know me—which only made me want her that much more.

I click on Sophia’s page, but it’s all set to private, only showing her name, which reads Sophia Marie, which I’m guessing is her middle name and not her last. I send her a friend request and then click on the button to send her a message. As I’m contemplating what to write, I notice Jordan and Nicole are staring at me.

“I’m going to lie down,” I tell them, standing.

“What? C’mon! You can’t leave us hanging,” Nicole says with a pout.

“Let the guy have some privacy,” Jordan remarks, snagging her phone from her and setting it on the table. When he kisses her, successfully distracting her, I sneak away into my room, closing the door behind me. Thankfully the tour bus is plenty big, and instead of having several bunks, this bus has two bedrooms and two bathrooms. It also has a completely functional kitchen, as well as a living room and dining area. Touring can get lonely as hell, so it’s nice to get to share it with my best friend.

I stare at the screen for several seconds, considering what to write, but in the end, I go with playful.

Me: What’s up, Dash? Heard you were looking for me…

I laugh to myself at the nickname, wondering if she’ll get it. A few seconds later, it shows she’s online, has accepted my friend request, and accepted my message request.

Sophia Marie: Dash?

That’s it? She went through all that work to find me and she sends me a one-word response. Figures.

Me: Yeah, you know…Dine and dash…cause you dined on my dick and then dashed. ;)

When she doesn’t respond right away, I worry my joke was too much. I hardly know this woman.

The bubbles appear and I hold my breath, waiting to see how she’s going to respond, praying she doesn’t block me, and then her message comes through, making me laugh.

Sophia Marie: Ha ha. Hilarious. Didn’t know you were expecting payment.

She has a sense of humor. Nice.

Me: Your number would’ve been payment enough.

She responds a second later with You knew the score and I shake my head. Fucking woman… she’s unlike any other woman I’ve met. Most women are begging me for my number, sometimes even going to great lengths to steal it, not dipping out after sex without so much as a goodbye.

Me: Yeah, I did. Which is why I’m curious as to why you’ve been searching for me…You hungry, Dash?

There, the ball is back in her court. Let’s see how she talks—well, writes—her way out of this one. While I’m waiting for her to respond, I click on her name and change it to Dash just to mess with her.

Dash: Oh my God. Really? Is this name sticking? Most guys would call what we did, what I did after, a dream come true.

Her message is meant to be funny, and I could be wrong, but I’m sensing some underlying meaning behind her words. Maybe it’s just the artist in me overthinking and analyzing shit.

Me: The name is sticking. And most guys are dumbasses.

Dash: I need to talk to you.

Well, okay then. Mood shift.

Me: I figured that, based on the “life or death” part of the post.

Dash: That was just Naomi being dramatic AF. No one is dying, but we do need to talk.

Me: I can call you now…

Dash: Probably better in person.

Shit, please don’t tell me she has an STD. I got checked afterward but…

Me: I’m on tour, heading to St. Louis. I can fly you out.

The second I hit send, I wonder what the hell I’m thinking. I don’t know this girl and I’m offering to fly her out… and do what? Hang out with me on my bus? At the concerts?

Dash: No can do. I’m in school.

Damn, how old is she?

Me: How old are you?

Dash: 16

What the fuck!

Dash: Kidding… I’m 25. I’m in my last year of college.

Me: You damn near gave me a heart attack!

I pull up my calendar to see if I have any time off to fly to New York and back, but I have a show just about every day. It doesn’t help that we added extra nights.