SEXT

“Okay. On your phone?”

“Of course, Celeste. I didn’t hire a professional photographer or anything. Obviously.” I choke out a hollow laugh.

She sighs. “But your phone is still on you. Nobody stole it, you didn’t leave it unlocked anywhere.”

“No of course not.”

“So, who did you share this picture with?”

I blink. Stare at the wall across from me in blank shock. “I… only one person.”

He’s the one I took it for after all. The one I trusted with a half-naked selfie, when I’d barely ever trusted anyone with something like that before.

How could I have been so stupid?

“Zayne,” I whisper, my throat aching with the single word.

“Who?” I can practically hear the disdain from here. The fury.

“A guy that I…” I close my eyes. I can’t tell her the whole story. It’s too idiotic. I knew this was a bad idea, knew I shouldn’t get involved with someone from my building, someone so close to home. All men are the same, and now I have an asshole right on my doorstep who I’ll have to walk past for the rest of my life. An asshole who might have just ruined my life.

If it was him. If.

Part of me still doesn’t want to believe it. Refuses to. Not after this weekend. Not after how we felt together.

But what other explanation is there? Unless maybe someone stole it from him, stole it from his phone… my brow furrows.

“Hello? Earth to planet Clove. Come in Clove.”

I blink and shake my head. “What did you say?”

“You’re the one who trailed off mid-sentence. A guy that you what, met on that app? Did you meet him in person at all or did you skip straight to handing him damning blackmail evidence?”

I wince. “We met. We… we went out a few times.” Well. We were technically outside of his apartment once, anyway. “It went really well actually. I can’t imagine he’d do this.”

“If he did, I swear I’ll skin him alive,” she mutters through gritted teeth. “You need to talk to him. Ask him what the fuck happened. He might know something even if it wasn’t him. And if it was, you just give me his address and let me at him, you hear?”

I can feel myself nodding even though I know she can’t see that. And of course I wouldn’t let her actually kill the guy. “I will. Thanks, Celeste. Look, I have to run now, but—”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll be around anytime you need me. And if you do need me to murder him, just ring beforehand okay, so I can pull all my supplies together?”

Something in her voice tells me she really isn’t joking. I’m reassured by that, at least a little bit, even as I hang up the phone. It rings again almost immediately. It’s a number I don’t recognize. But maybe it’s Celeste calling back.

Or Zayne. It could be Zayne. What if someone stole his phone, found my photo on it? I’d much rather believe that than that he’d stab me in the back like this. Maybe someone took his cell and this is his new phone.

I hit answer. “Hello?”

“Hey, is this the hot chick we’re supposed to call for a titty-fuck?” The voice on the other end sounds about 15-years-old and every bit as mature.

“Only if you want me to rip your dick off.” I scowl and hang up.

It buzzes again. Same number. I hit ignore.

Now a text message appears. New number this time.

Lookin’ to party wit u bee-yoo-tee-full.

I delete it.

Another one follows hard on its heels.

Gawd girl them tits are fine as hell.

And more. And more. And more. Pretty soon it’s all I can do to type anything between hitting ignore on calls and deleting text messages. Finally, I manage to make my own outgoing call, to Zayne.

I press the phone to my ear, ignore the buzz that lets me know I’m missing other incoming calls in the meantime.

On his end, it just rings and rings. I grit my teeth, dig my nails into my palms and pray with every ounce of energy I have.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“What’s up? This is Zayne, leave me one—”

I hang up before his sexy baritone voice even finishes the voicemail message. Screw him.

You did, my helpful subconscious reminds me. Over and over and over again. Hell, if I clench my pussy tight enough, I can still feel the sweet, deep ache where his clock was just this morning when we had one last quickie before I headed into work. When he kissed me on the lips and I felt like I could conquer the whole world with him beside me.

He didn’t do this. He wouldn’t. I know him. Maybe not well, maybe not for a long time, but enough to know this isn’t his style. If he just wanted to humiliate me, he got this photo way back on Friday night. He had all weekend to ruin my life. He didn’t need to spend the whole weekend fucking me senseless in the meantime.