No. You swear that’s where you are?
What purpose would it serve to lie?
She laughed. “The purpose of murdering me in my sleep.” She smiled as she typed her next test.
Prove it. Send me a picture of the room you just described.
She waited only a minute before the image loaded and her lips parted. Wow. Talk about lush. The carpet looked super expensive and the woodwork was masterful. It matched everything he described although the picture was even prettier than his description. She’d never seen an actual house with a room like—
“Wait a minute.” She responded again.
How do I know you didn’t just copy and paste that from Pinterest or something?
I suppose you have to trust me.
Trust is earned.
I see. Would it help if I wrote a word on a piece of paper and took another picture, so you could see the pictures are mine and not premeditated?
Yes. But I get to pick the word.
Fine. What shall it be?
She considered some choices, but wanted to choose something totally random to make sure he was the one producing the pictures. She grinned cleverly as Harry Potter continued to play in the background. Nothing like a random movie quote.
You have to write the words: The spiders…they want me to tap dance.
She waited patiently. If he actually did this and proved that was the room he was sitting in, she’d be highly impressed. Anything that looked superimposed or photo shopped and she was blocking him.
The screen dinged. “Holy. Shit.”
There was the impressive office and fireplace, and there was a man’s hand holding a slip of paper that read:
I admire your movie reference, Ms. Farrow. THE SPIDERS…THEY WANT ME TO TAP DANCE. I believe the next line is, “And I don’t want to tap dance! ...You tell those spiders, Ron.”
She laughed. He’d certainly done what she’d asked and proved himself. She analyzed every clue she had at her disposal. His hand looked clean. His wrist was a normal size with a nice looking watch. And his handwriting was very nice, sort of like the kind they used for Sharpie ads. Plus, he liked Harry Potter enough to know one of the quotes. Cool points.
When the screen alerted her to a new message, she minimized the image.
Satisfied? Shall we continue?
Yes, she was definitely satisfied. However… She didn’t want to come off as an idiot, but certain things weren’t making sense.
Yes. Thank you. So…are you interested in dating? I don’t understand your intentions.
Think of it as someone being focused on you—in a positive way, Ms. Farrow. You piqued my interest and I find myself charmed with the idea of being the man you seek.
But you aren’t interested in anything sexual?
Not that she’d have sex with a stranger. She was simply trying to understand what this was exactly.
What gave you that idea, Ms. Farrow?
You said you’re not interested in a physical encounter.
Ms. Farrow, allow me to enlighten you. The largest sexual organ is in fact the brain. Our bodies are aroused through the mind, erotic imagery formulated by the brain’s processing of the senses. Not all absorbed things must be learned on a kinesthetic level. I can take you where no man ever has, without ever laying a hand on you, so long as I can engage your mind.
Whoa. He was smart. Maybe he was a doctor or something. The longer she spoke to him the more information she gathered. Brown hair, blue eyes—the trainer was a plus—good with words, owned his own company—company, not practice, so probably not a doctor then. But most of all, he was smart! Mr. Stone was adding up to quite an interesting person. To be honest, he sounded like a catch. But it was still strange not seeing him. This could all be bullshit. She wished she had more proof then a wrist shot to know he wasn’t plotting her death.
Her laptop chimed. She’d been thinking of a reply but hesitated.
Shall I give you another word, Ms. Farrow?
All right.
Good. Your word is, discipline.
Her nose wrinkled at his selection. Own, claim, and now discipline? Maybe this guy was a little too intense. She responded.
Dog.
Interesting. Why dog?
You say discipline and I imagine a hand rolling up a newspaper and swatting a dog.
Did you have pets growing up, Ms. Farrow?
Yes, cats and dogs, but we never hit them. I love animals.
I’m curious what would make you associate the word discipline with a cowering animal.
I don’t know. I don’t like that word. I had a different reaction to it than the others.
I see. And what do you call it when you see a person in training running through the rain or a soldier crawling on broken bones and bloodied limbs to save a life? Is that not discipline? What of the guards that stand silently to protect their homeland or the child who struggles through school, despite his learning difficulties? The addict that recovers against all odds and continues to stave off temptation every day for the rest of his life? These are all admirable qualities to my way of thinking. And all require discipline. Do you not agree?
He completely flipped her thinking.
You’re right. I suppose I was thinking more along the lines of discipline in terms of modifying behavior. You’re interpreting it as an adjective where I saw it as a verb.
And now that we’ve clarified, how would you respond in one word to the word discipline.
She thought for a moment and typed her answer.
Strong.
Very good, Ms. Farrow. Your amended answer pleases me and I agree with your choice. Discipline is strength.
Unprecedented warmth spread through her chest at his praise. It was bizarre, having such a reaction to a stranger’s opinion. Her skin heated and she found it difficult to look at the computer, which was ridiculous.
Before she could process her reaction, the laptop chimed again and she was analyzing yet another strange result. Anticipation—it bloomed the second her laptop notified her that he’d written more.
Next word. Chivalry.
That was an easy one.
Want!
Well, there’s some enthusiasm. No need to go on. I understand. Next word. Trust.
She breathed in a deep breath and slowly let it out. That was a big one. Trust was a lot of things. In any relationship it was necessary, especially when getting to know someone for the first time. Trust was weighed, earned, and then maintained. The truth was, trust wasn’t something she easily granted.
Cynical.
Are you simply throwing out an antonym, Ms. Farrow, or are you admitting to trust issues?
Trust issues. I used to be optimistic. Then I hit thirty.
I see. And you’ve applied this newfound pessimism to all future encounters, a sort of blanket approach?
She sighed. She never used to be pessimistic, but over time there had been so much disappointment. She really wanted that hopeful side of her to come back.
I suppose I’ve become a bit jaded with the selection out there.
It can be quite discouraging.
His response jolted her forward with a sense of camaraderie.
Yes! Some of the dates I’ve gone on were awful. I could write a book with the characters I’ve met.
Do you read?
Yes.
What genres?
All of them. I like romance and science fiction best, though.
Tell me your favorite male character from fiction.
Their conversation picked up pace, a quick volleying of Q and A that required minor contemplation and had her smiling. It was nice to have a conversation with someone other than her cat. Pair this with a nice dinner and one had themselves the perfect date.
Hmmm… Jordan Rider.
Tell me about Jordan. What appealed to you?
He was a pirate in an old romance I read when I was young. It was my first romance novel and my mother would have flipped if she knew I was reading i
t. Compared to what’s out now, it wasn’t even that bad, but Jordan Rider was the sexiest man I’d ever come across. I loved him. I still do, over a decade later. Just his name gives me chills.
What was it he did that was so remarkable?
It wasn’t what he did, but how he did it. He carried himself in a way real men can’t pull off. Everything about him was unapologetically masculine. Sometimes he could be rigid and demanding, but he never lost his temper except for this one time when any man would have done the same. But other than that he was perfect. He treated the heroine with such esteem, adored her, possessed her, handled her with the perfect amount of tenderness and strength blended into one.
You want a fairytale.
She laughed. What girl didn’t? Shifting on the couch, she bounced her foot and Thor gave her a disgruntled look for disturbing his catnap. They’d been chatting for quite a while. She had to use the bathroom, but didn’t want to miss a reply.
Of course. I’m a woman after all. We’re all hoping to someday find our happily ever after, our knight in shining armor. BRB
She scooted Thor off her lap, rushed to the bathroom and her computer chimed as she was washing her hands. Running back to the couch she snatched the laptop off the coffee table and quickly read what she missed.
What does your happily ever after include, Ms. Farrow?
Her lips twitched in a secret smile. Every incoming response added to the strange sense of giddiness filling her.
I think happiness is contentment.
He wasn’t doing more than asking her questions, yet his words stimulated some side of her brain that flourished under such personal attention. He made her seem interesting and that felt nice. Completely engrossed in their conversation, she anxiously awaited his every reply.
Are you not content with your life, Ms. Farrow? Scratch that. Of course you’re not. A content woman would not write such a letter to the local paper. I’ve read your letter several times and, after talking to you, I believe I can definitely help you.
What does that mean, exactly? Help me…?
You wanted to know what it feels like to be completely adored, if even for a short time. I’d like to get to know you, Scarlet. I believe you’d be quite easy to adore.
Her arms prickled with goose bumps. She liked when he used her first name. They were becoming more intimate with each other. Strangely, she wasn’t as freaked out as she had been earlier in the evening.
What did you have in mind?
The intoxicating build of anticipation flooded her as she waited for his reply.
First, I will require one thing from you. I’m not sure you’re capable of providing it at this time, but once you are, I think we should meet in person.
Oh, God. This was the point where he announced some ridiculous fetish that would surely be a deal breaker. Even with the elements of mystery, he seemed a bit too perfect.
She cringed as she typed her next question, dreading he might suggest she join him to sacrifice a goat or come to dinner wearing a strap-on. There were tons of freaks out there. Chances were he was one of them. Holding her breath, she hit send.
What’s the requirement?
Her breath left in a rush when his response appeared.
Trust.
Trust? That wasn’t weird, although it asked a whole lot. Relief came so swiftly, skepticism reflexively followed.
That’s it?
For now, yes, that’s it, though I don’t regard trust as a minimal entity. I don’t want us to meet until you’ve developed some level of trust. I’m not concerned with the time this will take. I’m typically a trustworthy person and I believe you’ll realize that. However, my endorsement of my own honor is worthless. You must decide if and when you trust me and at that point we can proceed.
Wow. Maybe there wasn’t anything impressive about his conditions, but for some reason his logic impressed the hell out of her, removing some lingering apprehension. His confidence influenced her decision as well. Perhaps that was the motive behind his spiel and she was just gullible.
Okay.
I’m pleased we agree. Trust is necessary to proceed. We’ll start with this, Ms. Farrow. What are your plans tomorrow?
She grimaced with self-disgust. Her schedule was, of course, wide open.
I have some work to catch up on, but I’ll be around most of the day.
As the message sent, a nip of panic crawled up her spine. What if she was the easiest target in the world and she just gave him enough information to find her, kill her, and get away scot-free?
Perfect. I will message you here tomorrow at 12:00. We can have lunch together.
She laughed—a cyber lunch. They were taking the term online dating to a new literal level.
Okay.
I look forward to it, Ms. Farrow. Enjoy the rest of your evening. Sweet dreams.
Disappointment swamped her as the abrupt conclusion of their conversation took her by surprise. Maybe he worried he was keeping her from something.
We can talk a little longer if you’d like.
True, but I’d rather leave you to think on what I’ve said for the night. It brings me great pleasure to imagine you in bed thinking of me. I’ll be doing the same, in my bed, pondering you and all the ways I intend to adore you. Goodnight, Scarlet.
She shivered. There had to be something wrong with a person who could get turned on by an absolute stranger. Her mind was so lost in the fantasy of Mr. Perfect, she didn’t want to consider reality.
In reality, she’d likely never meet him. He’d move on to some other girl and she’d be forgotten. Or she might come back and find his profile deleted like it was never there. Either way, she was certain they’d never really meet.
Most likely he’d just bullshitted the hell out of her, but hey, if this was role-playing it had the desired effect. She felt better than she had in weeks, wanted and attractive. Pretending online for a few hours on a lonely Friday night beat the hell out of watching Harry Potter with her cat for the twentieth time.
Chapter Four
Enchantment
The following morning, Scarlet awoke a bit lighter. Lying in bed, she grinned to herself, recalling the interesting man of mystery from the night before. Mr. Stone.
Her mind played over various shades of blue, trying to decide which was closest to the color of his eyes. No matter how much she tried not to get ahead of herself, every time she imagined him he was gorgeous. The temptation to run to her computer and check if his profile was still there was only belied by her fear he’d be gone.
Last night was such a breath of fresh air. If anything, Mr. Stone broke up the monotony of her weekend and she liked him for that simple fact alone. So what if it was all talk and they never actually met? It wasn’t like he was keeping her from living a real life.
Playing over their conversation in her mind, she grinned then groaned into her pillow. “You’re living in a fantasy world,” she mumbled to herself as Thor pounced on her butt and began kneading as if her were a baker making fresh bread.
Was it strange that she missed him? Her curiosity was increasing with every speculation. Unable to resist another minute, she climbed from bed and found her laptop.
Thor impatiently nudged her knee in a plea for food. Her heart raced as she waited for her computer to load. Passing the time, she opened a can of Fancy Feast—only the best for her beast—and quickly fed the cat.
The excitement running through her veins made it difficult to type as she logged into her GeekPeek account. As soon as the page opened she went right to her messages. There it was, their entire conversation.
Carrying the laptop to the table, she doctored up her coffee, distracted by his curious words and getting sugar everywhere. Reading over the exchange was as exciting as it was the first time round. Maybe more so, because now she wasn’t as afraid of him and no longer assumed it was Nicole trying to punk her.
Sipping from her mug, she grinned as she continued to read, intrigued all over again. When she re
ached the part where he said goodnight, the same disappointment from the evening before swamped her.
Glancing at the clock, she noted there were still several hours until noon. Damn it! She wanted to talk to him again, but she didn’t want to come on too strong or too desperate. Snooping around, she went to his profile. Without accepting his friendship request there really wasn’t much to see.
Taking a deep breath, she clicked accept. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t this. Her mouth pulled to the side as she scoped out his profile. The sword in the stone picture was the only photo. He’d joined GeekPeek only a week ago, which meant he was probably full of shit.
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