by Cari Quinn
First he would reply to GothGeek’s note. She’d signed it with the same xo, so she must not have found his last correspondence too off-putting. It helped him to relax a bit more than he had while writing the last one. He’d never had a problem wooing women in real life, but he didn’t delude himself that his last name wasn’t a factor. As were his looks, at least according to some members of the female persuasion. Their appreciation of his physical attributes certainly didn’t bother him. He had enough personality issues to combat when relating to the opposite sex that he gladly accepted any points in his favor. He’d gotten a few positive comments on his photo since he’d been on Sole Mate, and while he didn’t necessarily agree, he wasn’t one for hiding his light under a rock.
Or mixing any more metaphors than necessary before he’d cooled off from his run.
Deciding he had nothing to lose, he sent back a quick note about the long night of paperwork ahead of him and asked about her evening plans. Nothing heavy. He could be casual too.
When he emerged from his shower, he opened his bedroom door to find a folded note waiting on the floor. He picked it up and smiled at the big, looping handwriting he immediately recognized as Ang’s. She sent him Christmas cards every year, full of joy and fun. Even now, when things were so strained between them that they’d resorted to writing each other notes in spite of being a hallway apart, her joie de vivre came through her words. She managed to turn a few lines about heading out to work and grabbing a salad on the way—with extra cluckers—into something amusing.
As the message indicator from the dating site dinged on his laptop, he looked over his shoulder, then back at the note he held. Perhaps he’d found the perfect way to communicate with women.
Even he couldn’t screw up writing a letter.
The depths of her depravity continued to sink further by the day.
Ang blew out a breath and stared at her phone. She’d become addicted to reading the online musings of the man she lived with, yet rarely spoke to beyond “Please pass the napkins” and “Do you like green beans? I may make some to go with dinner.”
But their e-mails were different. She asked him questions, and he actually responded at length. She’d probably read yesterday’s text chat ten times already. Instead of preparing for today’s job interview as she should have—or at least fretting over proper interviewing clothes—she’d been consumed with words on a screen.
Despite having their most recent convo practically memorized, she read it once more before she checked the messages he’d sent while she’d been in her interview.
Want to know something I rarely tell people?
What’s that?
Though I got a MBA, I had an undergrad minor in Buddhism.
Really?
Really. I nearly got one in Spanish as well. I find other religions and cultures fascinating. Someday I want to travel more.
What are you waiting for?
I work far too much.
Why do I sense an ‘and’ there?
And I don’t like traveling alone.
At that point, her heart had gone into hyperdrive, as it did once again as she reread their exchange. Ah. I see.
Most men embrace their bachelorhood. I have to admit, it’s always been uncomfortable to me. I prefer being part of a couple. The right couple. Being with the wrong partner is far worse than being on your own.
Have you had many of those?
A few. None that were terribly awful, just not for me. And you?
My fair share. Dating sucks.
It does. That’s why I turned to this method of finding someone. I’d hoped it would allow me to get to know the real person inside, rather than their shell. I have one too.
A shell? Like a turtle?
Exactly like a turtle. I have lots of soft things to protect.
She’d almost laughed out loud at that, until he’d continued.
And hard ones as well.
Instead of pursuing that very intriguing line of conversation, she’d changed the subject. Every time he veered toward overt sexual teasing, she tried to divert them to a safer path.
Not because she didn’t want to flirt or test his boundaries for online fun. But because she was a liar. A big, fat, shameful fibber. After almost two weeks of online correspondence with Sterling, she couldn’t seem to stop.
This situation wasn’t supposed to have progressed this far. When she’d done her detective work to find out his screen name, she hadn’t exactly had a plan in mind. Oh, she’d intended to talk to him through the site. But she’d still been so pissed about his finger-and-flee routine, then his might’ve-been-cybering sitch with DaffyDuck or whoever she was, that she’d been prepared to anonymously heckle him a bit too.
Yes, he’d done her a solid by giving her a place to stay. She appreciated it immensely. That didn’t mean she could forget how he’d turned what should have been a moment of intimacy into something…strange.
So much for the man of her dreams coming through on his charger and taking her to unknown heights. If she hadn’t been horny enough to possibly rub one out on her car’s headlight, she might’ve lost all interest in him for good after that little episode. The almost twenty years of friendship and good memories weighed in significantly too. Why should she care he’d wanted to get her off and out of his hair as fast as humanly possible? He’d gone to town with her shampoo later and that must mean something, right?
Yeah, that DopeyDuck pushed all the buttons you barely tapped.
Regardless, she’d discovered she liked being the object of Sterling’s almost-sexual-fascination. Sterling could be a sly dog when it came to flirtation, she’d discovered.
He could also be awfully sweet, from stocking the kitchen with a box of Fruity Pebbles to buying her vitamins. He’d even had pregnancy books shipped to the house. She wasn’t ready to read any of them yet, but she stacked them on the guest bedroom nightstand and figured she’d have to bite the baby bullet soon enough. Denial would always be her favorite river.
Her denial river-rafting also applied to the situation with Pete. Her worry had dulled to a much more manageable level, mainly because she was making a concerted effort not to think about him. She didn’t stay up at night listening for odd noises anymore, in case her ex tried to convince her through force that she didn’t want to have her baby. With Sterling around, she felt secure. Not because he was some big Arnold Schwarzenegger type, but because he had a way of easing her concerns. Nothing bad would happen when he was nearby.
Hell, maybe she’d even exaggerated the possibility of Pete doing her harm. Perhaps he’d never intended to take things that far, and she’d let pregnancy hormones and her fears over her predicament blow everything out of proportion. And if so, she had even more reason to feel remorseful at drawing Sterling—and S-quared—into the quagmire that was her life.
God, S-quared. That was a whole other can of nuts. Literally.
Guilt swamped her at unexpected times, yet she didn’t stop returning to the S-quared well. She couldn’t. She’d come to crave the man on the other side of the screen. If she’d been more ballsy, she would’ve confessed her sins to him, then demanded they address that effed-up moment in his guest bedroom. But her ballsiness had apparently fled with her thirty-four-inch waistline.
Finally reading the message Sterling had sent an hour ago didn’t help either.
I know we skipped the measurements discussion early on, but we know each other better now. Since you still haven’t gotten a picture, perhaps you’d like to describe yourself again in more detail. Don’t leave anything out. I promise to return the favor.
“Oh no. He didn’t.”
Ang stared at her cell and bit her lip. She could almost here the da-da-dum music swelling in the background.
None of this seemed real. As strained as things were between her and Sterling in real life, they were butter smooth and easy in their e-mails. She still wanted his friendship. So much. Wanted him, if she dared be honest. But she’d told herself
that the notes were just a means to an end, a way to feel closer to him while her world was in turmoil.
She still hadn’t come clean to her parents, and she’d been searching for a better-paying job than the bingo hall, with flexible hours and a bit of freedom. Today’s interview for a technical writing position that would allow her to work from home—once she got her own home—had gone really well. Things were starting to fall into place.
Once she had a better job, she’d tell her often overprotective parents about the baby, secure with the proof that she could provide for her child without being coddled by anyone. She wasn’t some wild child who rocked the books, but majorly failed at life. Not anymore.
Overall, life had mostly settled down. That didn’t mean she thought she was anyone’s relationship bargain or hot sex chippie. She could have a little fun though, right? Let the preggo chick have a freaking bone. At least metaphorically if not in reality.
She sent Sterling a quick reply, half certain she was wrong about his intentions. The man had chosen to masturbate rather than touch her beyond using his fingers. He couldn’t be soliciting cybersex…or edging down the road to cybering.
Could he?
Besides, it was the middle of the day. He must be at the bodyguard agency or at his father’s office in midtown, not sitting in private somewhere. In an environment conducive to hitting on women who were profoundly not the woman he’d bottom fondled in his guest room mere weeks ago.
But she wasn’t jealous of herself. Much. That would be weird.
The reply came back swiftly.
Ms. Geek, are you turning shy on me?
“Yes,” she said aloud, glancing in her rearview mirror as if she expected him to be staring into her window.
She couldn’t sit in the parking lot of Tech Edge magazine and have this conversation. She was wearing pinstripes, for frig’s sake. She’d pinned back her little wings of hair and toned down her makeup and stuffed herself into a body slimmer that had probably accidentally neutered her burgeoning baby.
And that burgeoning baby only hammered home her sense of guilt all over again about pulling this crap on Sterling to begin with. Why had she ever devised this crazy idea? She’d gotten roped into Sole Mate’s monthly subscription to talk to the guy who lived in the same house. It was crazy. Wrong. But reading his messages and knowing he was reacting to her as who she truly was, not just Marcus McFee’s troubled daughter, had been…nice.
Nice. Still wrong, still heartburn producing, but nice.
She flicked open the button at her waist—tight clothing was now her nemesis—and expelled a long breath while she debated how to handle her suddenly sexually aggressive roommate. That was probably a little harsh. Sterling could never be sexually aggressive—
Another message dinged in her inbox and she read it with wide eyes.
I’ll start if it makes you feel more at ease. I’ve been told I’m well-endowed.
“Dude, I could tell you that myself.” She rubbed her lower belly. She didn’t have to pee. It was just nerves. Lots and lots of ’em. Maybe a little excitement too.
How wrong would it be to have virtual sex with Sterling when he’d never consent to doing it with her in reality?
Very. Extremely. Oh God, she was already getting wet.
Ah hell, he’d never know. Soon enough she’d have to end this online thingy with him, and GothGeek would take a graceful exit stage left. Perhaps an ex would come back and request her everlasting love or something equally schmaltzy.
She winced as Pete’s scowling countenance invaded her brain. No. No exes. GothGeek deserved better than that. She also deserved really big tits—non-pregnancy-related ones—and glistening eyes that weren’t the blah color of industrial fencing and a butt that never jiggled when she ran.
She also deserved a Sterling-provided orgasm, just once.
Even if it wasn’t fair. Even if she might end up hurting him a little by pulling her disappearing act in a few days. It wouldn’t be some big blow for him. She didn’t matter that much to him in either of her incarnations.
So what did it hurt for her to get a little pleasure out of the deal? She’d be doing all of the heavy lifting herself. No amount of penis pix or dirty commands would change that it would be her fingers on her flesh—again.
Before she could chicken out, she shot off a reply.
You’ve been told you’re well-endowed, hmm? I believe you. Really.
She almost expected him to deflect the bait. Surely he couldn’t intend to go through with this. A few moments later, she saw the error of her thoughts.
At least I have a picture of my face. I suppose I could provide some other proof if you’d like…assuming you’re willing to play ball as well.
Play ball like what?
You told me you have a tattoo. Show me a picture of it.
She exhaled, idly stroking the piercing above her lip. That wasn’t so bad. Sterling didn’t know what or where her tattoo was either, so it wasn’t like he’d be able to identify her from it.
Another message came through.
Without your clothes.
I’d have to lose part of them to take a picture of my tattoo, so no biggie.
Not part of them. All of them.
Oh boy. She’d told him her tattoo was in a place usually hidden by clothing, so he’d made sure she got the gist.
Unless you’d rather show your face, but I think this is a good compromise. It’s only fair.
Back to fair again. She was living in the man’s house rent-free—though she bought their groceries, as well as promised to pay him back at a rate equal to her college housing allowance once she got a better job—and conning him with a fake persona when he’d rejected her in the flesh that day in the guest bedroom. Fairness wasn’t present in this scenario.
Why shouldn’t she show him her tattoo? What difference did it make? She wasn’t parading around half-naked at his place, and he’d never get a chance to see it otherwise. Their weeks of strained conversation had rammed that point home. He deserved some honesty from her, even if it just meant her revealing an actual part of her soon to be stretch-marked body. It wasn’t much, but she’d give him that.
She replied before she chickened out.
Full nude?
The answer came back in a hurry.
Full nude.
She let out a shaky breath. At least her breasts still looked mostly perky. As things progressed, that would probably become a dubious proposition. Might as well document her posterior for posterity.
Only the side of the body with the tattoo, right?
It took longer for him to respond this time. While she waited, she chewed her leftover ice from that morning’s to-go orange juice and wondered if she could find some double-sided fashion tape somewhere to boost up her buns, in case she decided to reveal them in her picture.
Brandy. If anyone would know where to get such a thing, it would be her friend with a big heart, a lumpy sofa bed and a truly scary amount of knowledge about skimpy underthings, sex toys and the human body.
While she waited for Sterling’s e-mail, she called Brandy. “Hey, got a question for you.”
“Shoot. I’m just hanging up boulder holders.”
Ang grinned. Brandy worked in a lingerie store in a suburb outside the city and never stopped coming up with amusing ways to describe the merchandise. Considering Brandy had a statuesque body even Marilyn Monroe would’ve been jealous of, she clearly knew her product.
“So…if I wanted to get my hands on some double-sided tape, where would I?”
“We sell some here. Gotta keep the girls plumped and perky.”
“Does it work on asses?”
Brandy snorted. “Leave it to you. I don’t know. Suppose you could try it, but I know your ass is plenty stacked on its own. You kept flashing it when you slept on my couch. Speaking of that, how’s it going with Stick-Up-The-Butt?”
“Shh. Don’t call him that. He’s really very sweet, just a little—”
“Uptight? Anal? Asstastic?”
“Why are you fixating on that particular area? He’s a nice guy. Kind and thoughtful and a bit domineering, but only when he’s in hardcore protective mode.”
“Domineering often goes hand in hand with anal.”
Ang tried to glance at her phone screen out of the side of her eye. No Sterling yet. “You know what else goes hand in hand with anal? Being horny. Which I am. Hello, second trimester. So, you know, tread gently. Even things that I’d previously had little interest in sound appealing.”
“Like being plowed up the butt?” Brandy chuckled. “You’d be surprised how good it can be.”
Brandy had the kind of sex life most women dreamed of. From her tales, she practically could come when a hot guy looked at her right, and they did that often since she was a damn goddess. Somehow her man fu had gotten screwed up last year because she’d started dating a deadbeat who wasn’t nearly good enough—must be something in the water—though she’d finally shaken him loose a couple of months ago.
At least she didn’t have to deal with potentially being connected to the dude for the rest of her days.
“Yeah, yeah, and I’m sure you’re all too willing to tell me.” Ang pulled her cell back until she could see the new mail icon. “Hang on. Incoming.”
She opened up S-quared’s latest message, heart hammering.
Show what you like. I’m up for anything.
He was? Since when? She didn’t know if she could handle an up-for-anything Sterling Vance.
She blew out a breath and returned to Brandy. “I’ll stop by and pick up some tape in a bit.”
“Sure you want to venture out this way? Sleek’s over an hour from Yardley.”
“Yeah. I could use the drive to clear my head.” Besides, what else did she have to do that afternoon, other than sending dirty pictures to Sterling? She had the next two days off from the bingo hall. “Just gotta get some foodage first. Maybe Baby’s going on strike if I don’t send down munitions soon.”
“That kid’s gonna weigh twenty pounds by the time you eject him.”
“Her,” Ang reminded her friend, her forefinger already itching to reply to Sterling. “It’s a girl. Trust me. I’ll talk to you in a bit.”