My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

I fucking love how wet you get.

Holy mother of subway sexy times.

My mind takes off at the pace of a Derby horse.

Who the hell is the dirty talker on the other end of her phone?

Is he even a fraction as attractive as Milo?

Does she know how flip-flapping lucky she is?!

Her fingers tap across the keypad, and a few seconds later, her response pops onto the screen of her phone.

I’m on the subway, and my back is arched just thinking about this. I’m craving you so bad right now…

God. I want that.

I want the low-ache, can’t-breathe, skin-scratching feeling of someone talking to me like that. I want to be wanted so badly, a man can’t stand the thought of waiting another second to tell me what he’s going to do with me.

I want to sext and be sexted and live out every single word in real life.

I’ve never even come close to experiencing a sliver of what the NSFW blonde has.

Am I missing out?

I suppose there’s still time to change it, but is it even possible for a twenty-four-year-old virgin to sext?

I’m not completely naïve, but I can’t deny I’m still pretty damn naïve at the same time.

Without a second thought, I swipe the lock screen on my phone, click into my messages, and pull up the straightest shooter I know.

If there’s anyone who’ll know what to do—know how to take control of this part of my life and change it—it’s her.

Me: Do you like sexting people?

Lena responds a minute later.

Lena: Definitely. Though, I’ve had some seriously weird sext conversations that I’d prefer to never experience again.

Me: Like what?

Lena: Oh, honey. You don’t want to know.

Me: Yes. I do.

I nod to myself as I send it just to punctuate my words with completely useless emphasis.

Lena: Well, I’ve had guys send me pictures of things I didn’t want to see and go into explicit detail on things I would never even type into Google, and I’ve been looped into a group conversation with some swingers with questionable choices in camera angle.

Me: But you do sext. I mean, you’ve for sure sexted before and you’ve liked it.

Lena: Lol. Yes, I’ve sexted and, yes, I’ve liked it.

God, I want to sext message someone.

You want to sext Milo.

No. Not Milo. Well, not specifically him. Obviously, it’d be great if it were him, but I just want to experience it in general.

Hello, denial! Nice to meet you! I’m a big fat liar otherwise known as Maybe!

God, my inner subconscious is such a snarky biotch sometimes.

Lena: So…mind telling me where all this is coming from?

Me: I’m sitting here on the subway watching this cute girl sext message with someone. I kind of saw them…on accident.

Sort of. I mean, the first message was definitely an accident, but the next four or so were more of an intentional eavesdrop. Those are minor details, obviously.

Lena: Adorable and a little voyeur? I swear to God, you are too much. I fucking love it.

Before I can respond, another text message pops onto the screen.

Lena: Stop eavesdropping on other people’s sext convos, and do it for yourself. You need to sext message Milo. Tonight.

The mention of his name makes me gasp and choke at the same time, and the sound comes out kind of like a bark. The man to the left looks at me, and his mouth turns down at the corners. Obviously, he was hoping to find a cute Yorkshire Terrier or the like, and instead found a virginal, odd girl.

I turn my back on him and go back to typing on my phone.

Me: WHAT? No.

Lena: You gotta be crazy if you want to get what you want in the end. And you want Milo. Scoot out onto that sexting limb and reach for him.

Me: OMG. You’re serious. YOU’RE SERIOUS???

Lena: Consider this Phase 2 in Maybe’s Seduction Plan.

Me: Phase 2? HAHA. I’m still trying to uncover my eyes in Phase 1.

Lena: Just trust me, okay?

Me: I wouldn’t know the first fucking thing to say.

Lena: Let me guess, he’s already told you he wants you to let him know how your interview goes today, right?

Me: How in the hell do you know that?

What the hell? Did she bug me before I left Bergdorf’s with her last week?

Lena: I’m telling you…I have a real sixth sense about these things. The man is into you, Maybe. He’s currently trying to fight it, but the proof is in the pudding. He wants to see you. Talk to you. And, after your sext conversation tonight, he’s going to want to bang you.

Me: Your confidence is terrifying.

Yeah, but you’re one-hundred-percent smiling like a loon right now, so what does that say about you?

I groan inwardly at my own ridiculousness.

Lena: Have I steered you wrong yet?

Me: Technically, no. But I’m chalking that up to luck more than anything.

Lena: You have no reason to doubt me.