Ex Games

I wrinkled my nose, trying but failing to contain my snarky reply.

ME: You have an account here. Classy.

MASON: What’s the problem

ME: None.

ME: Just realizing the sheer volume of women you’ve brought into this store.

MASON: If you’re not feeling special enough right now let me comfort you with the fact that you’re the only one who will be receiving actual clothing rather than just lingerie

ME: Mm. Even classier.

MASON: That said you could probably use some lingerie despite your full supply of incredibly sexy day of the week panties

I narrowed my eyes at Mason’s last text. Sipping my champagne, I stared at my phone for another minute before deciding I wouldn’t reply – because I was classy, not because I had no comebacks left in my arsenal.

“Miss Simms,” the salesgirl smiled warmly as she glided over. “Your fitting room is ready.”

With that, she escorted me to a white, circular room lit by the glow of a chandelier hanging over a white, circular couch. With a gesture toward the button to press if I needed help, she shut the door behind me, leaving me alone with about a dozen dresses that could probably pay my rent four times over. There was silk, jersey and charmeuse in shades of coral, jade and champagne – and all it took was two seconds of running my hands all over the buttery fabrics before I was eagerly stripping naked and pulling on the first piece. I couldn’t even be mad at Mason for picking the tightest, shortest little things to offer because the mission was to find The One – that one painfully sexy dress to incite Aaron’s emotion, envy and regret all at once.

While the first three or four choices were gorgeous, flattering and certainly summer appropriate, I’d yet to feel that spark. But then sifting through the pieces left, my fingers brushed along a silk so soft and luxurious my lips actually puckered into an involuntary “ooh.” But just as I slipped the potential winner off its sleek, black hanger, my phone buzzed on the chair.

MASON: What are you wearing right now?

ME: Ha.

MASON: I’m not sexting you. It’s a serious question since I can’t see you in person

ME: Well I was about to try on something promising but then you interrupted

MASON: Are you telling me you’re naked right now?

ME: I’m wearing underwear. Are you sure you’re not trying to sext me?

MASON: Having doubts now. What color are your panties?

ME: This is 100% sexting.

MASON: Let me guess – they say Friday despite the fact that it’s Sunday

ME: I’m not wearing day of the week panties, asshole. They’re black lace boy shorts

MASON: Fuck.

I snorted, ready to toss the phone aside after a good minute of silence. But just as I set it down, another text buzzed in.

MASON: Send me a picture

ME: You’re not seriously requesting nudes from me right now.

MASON: I was asking for a picture of the dress you were about to try on but I’d be more than receptive to nudes if you want

ed to send some. You certainly have me thinking about them at this point.

ME: Ha. Weren’t you supposed to be swamped with work?

MASON: Distracted now