I shift my jaw from side to side, scraping my teeth together, trying to make sense of this.
How did you get this number?
I send the message, sitting back and waiting.
The response comes quickly.
I can’t tell you. You’d be angry X
Why the kisses? I send.
Force of habit, I guess. I can stop if you want X
Who are you?
Three dots appear, vanish, appear again… and then vanish. I tighten my grip on the phone, more curious than anything. The number thing is a problem. People shouldn’t be able to simply gain access to my personal number, but money can accomplish anything.
Is that it? Maybe this is one of my business rivals.
If so, it’s a stupid strategy. What am I going to tell a stranger over a text that could hurt the company?
I don’t know how to answer that, the mysterious texter responds.
I laugh aloud, shaking my head. You don’t know how to tell me your name?
No, because then you’ll know who I am.
My laughter comes again, a good feeling after so much grimness. Whoever this is, they’re funny.
That’s the whole point of asking a name, I respond.
She does the dot thing again, typing and then deleting her response. It takes me a second to realize what I’ve just done… assuming this texter is a woman.
Is it because of the kiss?
She must know who I am. A thought hits me, which is even more depressing than the business rival angle.
This could be an opportunistic woman who’s somehow got hold of my number, and now she’s seen her chance to dig some gold. I’d call myself cynical if I didn’t experience so many women trying that exact same thing.
My name is Fiona, she writes. But I don’t want to give you my surname.
Fine, Fiona. I’m Felix.
LOL. I know that!
I grin at the use of the acronym. Despite the danger that she might be working for one of my rivals or texting me as a way to get money, I find myself wondering how old she is, what she looks like, and who she is.
It’s a strange feeling, at least for me. One I’m not used to. Curiosity tickles at some new part of me, something I haven’t felt since…well, ever, at least where a woman is concerned. I must be in an analytical mood today – I blame my mother – because my next thought comes quickly, cuttingly.
Maybe this feeling exists because I know nothing about this woman. But, like the faceless person from my fantasies, I’m able to fill in all the vague feelings of belonging, possession, primal urgency, all the things I wish could come to me naturally.
So why are you texting me tonight, Fiona?
More dots, more vanishing.
I’m surprised to feel my heart pick up its pace. The night is quiet, dark, cold, and yet suddenly, I’m invigorated.
I repeat her name in my mind, Fiona, all the warning signals not seeming to matter.
There’s a real possibility I’m making a mistake.
But I also can’t deny the truth.
I want to keep speaking with her, whoever she is, even if I can’t pinpoint exactly why.
It’s a feeling moving deep inside of me, triggering those fantasies I should’ve let die a long time ago, the sorts of feelings I thought died with my father.
The dots disappear again, making me wonder if this is it. She’s going to ghost me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Fiona
I feel like a little kid, staying up past my bedtime, with the blanket over my head and my phone screen blasting my eyes brightly. A wild impulse made my hand fly out for my phone and made me send the one-word text.
I can’t remember exactly, but I think I fell into a fitful sleep, unable to sink completely into resting. And then, before I’d had time to think it through properly, the text was gone.
I was going to throw my phone down and ignore it until morning. Maybe even break the thing when he didn’t respond, so there’s no way of him…what?
No way for him to use his money and his connections to track the number. Can he do that?
Heck, I wish I was more tech-savvy.
I read his message again. My body is pulsing, my mouth dry, my pussy tingling. My heart glows in time with the physical lust, combining into a messy mass of emotion that’s difficult to handle. One second I imagine him, maybe sitting in bed, shirtless, his muscles throbbing, his hands twitching as those wolfish eyes turn to me…
And the next thing you know, we’re hugging lovingly, his lips close to my ear, telling me how he’ll always protect me.
He wants to know why I’m texting him, but there’s no way I can explain it, not truthfully.
What would he say if I told him about all the emotions taking hold of me, all my hopes for the future, all the images of him sweaty and passionate and ready to do things to me that nobody ever has?