by Logan Chance
Care to meet up? Send me a message for a time and place.
Xoxo, Violet
Violet wasn’t the only one who had messaged me. My gaze drifted down to the next message:
Hi,
Kickass pilot sounds interesting.
Answer back and let’s get the kickass party started.
Helen
Message after message, all reading the same in varying forms—they wanted to meet. I couldn’t find anyone interesting to even reply to. Finally, I stopped on one message which piqued my interest:
Hey,
I’m a normal girl looking for a normal man to get to know. I’m a lot of fun, just ask my best friend. She decided I had to share my fun on here.
I sent you a few arrows because that shit is fun.
Ah. It appeared this girl had been played on the site by someone meddling just like me. I glanced at her profile. Belinda. A picture of a golden retriever with soulful eyes stared back me. I smiled and decided to write back.
Great picture.
Now, is that a recent photo? I wouldn’t want to be duped into thinking you’re someone you’re not.
Thanks for the arrows. They’ll be used to hunt and shit.
I tossed my phone on the bed and moved to the en suite bathroom. A shower was needed and as I thumbed off the rest of my clothes, I turned the water all the way to hot. The steaming water helped relax my shoulders as I clung onto any ounce of dignity I had left. A dating site? Really, Erik? What was I thinking?
I grabbed the bar of soap and scrubbed over my tired muscles. I wanted to forget about Steffie’s wedding and everything it would bring. My mother was excited, and along with my sisters, couldn’t wait to attend.
I, on the other hand, was dreading every minute of it. Why did I have to be invited, anyways? Sure, our moms were friends, but our breakup was harsh. Mom didn’t realize that, though. Only my sisters knew. It was a shit-or-get-off-the-pot kind of ordeal. Steffie wanted to get married; I wanted to keep dating. Why the rush? I was committed to her, so why did I need to put a ring on it?
Her father urged me every day to pop the question. The more he prodded, the further it pushed me away from the idea. I loved her, but I wouldn’t be forced into my nuptials. So, according to Steffie, I was a commitment phobe, she was wasting her time with me, and she moved on.
I worked the shampoo into my short dark hair and rinsed. Once I stepped out of the shower, I grabbed a towel hanging on the rack and moved closer to the mirror. Gripping the edge of the hard marble with both hands, I gazed into my foggy reflection. What the fuck was I thinking? I swiped my hand along the glass and stared into my eyes. For my mother’s sake, I would be the bigger person and show up to her wedding and then push it all into the past right where she belonged.
When I left the bathroom, I wrapped the white towel tighter around my waist and glanced at the clock. It was still early, so I grabbed the hotel phone and called for room service.
After the food was ordered, I picked up my cell phone. A new message from the site appeared. Belinda.
Hunting is kickass.
Hey, the picture is about 2 months old, and let me tell you how much I’ve grown.
Hope that won’t be a problem. But, I’m sure you’ll love leashing me up and taking me for a walk.
What about you? Are you really that sexy?
Leashing her up, that got my attention. I cracked a smile when I read the word sexy and already had the reply button hit and typing her reply.
Leashes are kickass.
Sexy? That’s like asking if the Miami Heat are kickass.
What do you do for fun besides chewing your owner’s shoes and barking at the mailman?
I smiled and flipped on the TV as I waited for Belinda to respond. The last of the Miami Heat basketball game was on, and I threw on my black gym shorts. Making myself comfortable on the bed, I swiped my phone off the pillow next to me and watched Bosh sink another shot. Another message sat pending in my inbox on the Cupid site, and my heart pumped with excitement.
You’re right the Heat are kickass.
For fun, I enjoy making baked goods, but I enjoy eating them even more. I also love to dance.
What about you? Hot shot pilot, huh? Commercial or private?
I only barked at the mailman once when he dropped the box to my Kindle I ordered. He deserved it.
I smiled and wondered what she looked like. Many ideas sprang to mind, but, for now, I was having fun.
Dancing and eating is a great combo, especially when done simultaneously. I fly a private jet for a family. I’m in the Caribbean right now, as a matter of fact. I guess for fun I enjoy flying, watching basketball, and barking at the mailman.
What color hair do you have? I see in the photo on your profile you have yellow. Is that your natural hair color?
I shouted as the Cavaliers scored another free throw. Fuckers. My hand kept reaching for my phone as I kept checking every two seconds for a response from Belinda. A knock at the door had me springing from the bed, and as I answered I heard my phone ping with the sounds I’d been waiting for.
Handing the man a few bills for a tip, I took the silver domed platter from him and set it on the table before checking my phone. Disappointment surged when I saw it wasn’t from Belinda, but from Lexi trying to get more information on my dating agenda.
I sat down, opened the dish, and topped my burger. It was mouth-watering as I sank my teeth into the buttery toasted bun. The toppings mingled with the char-grilled meat to create perfection in my mouth. My phone pinged and my chewing stopped. Setting the burger down, I raced over to grab it.
Private jet? You’re right. That is kickass.
No, yellow is not my natural hair color. Again, the photo was taken months ago during a bad wannabe Taylor Swift era. It didn’t work out. I have brown hair and blue eyes. For work, since I know what you do, I run a kickass bakery with my best friend. I’m sure you’re wondering what makes it kickass. Well, my friend, maybe one day I will let you try my cookies.
When do you return to Florida?
I smiled and dropped the phone to continue with my burger. When I was halfway done, my phone rang.
“Yo, let’s go out,” Connor said.
“Give me an hour.” I hung up, not needing any more details. This was a bit of a routine of ours. We’d come to this island and hit the local bar scene while we were here. Same thing, over and over, and I would once again be left to diss Selene’s advances while Connor tried his hardest to get into her panties.
I glanced at the phone in my hand and decided to leave Belinda one more message before I left.
Brunettes are kickass.
Taylor Swift isn’t all she’s cracked up to be, and I’m glad you’ve outgrown that stage.
I can’t wait to eat your cookie. I love cookies.
I return to Florida in two days.
What do you want to do when I get back in town? Want to meet up?
I took a deep breath before hitting send. What if she didn’t want to meet up? What if she was like her picture showed—a complete dog. But, something about her seemed fun. I enjoyed talking to her and wanted to at least give it a shot. Hey, if it didn’t work out, maybe I would at least score a free cookie.
3. Erik
Flying back to Florida, I tried to remain calm. I messaged with Belinda almost the entire time while on the island of St. Thomas, and our conversations turned from fun and flirty to personal real quick. I enjoyed getting to know her.
For the first time in a long time, I was excited.
Somewhere along the way, I lost myself in the hustle and bustle of flying. My life had become sedentary, and I didn’t date. Maybe Lexi and Marley were right. I did need someone.
When I stepped into my high-rise apartment, I tossed my keys onto the glass table by the front door. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I glanced down and smiled when I saw another message from Belinda.
Don’t you just hate when you lock your keys in your car?
I’m stuck waiting on my friend and wondering if it could get any hotter today.
Hope you’re having a good day, and welcome back to Florida. If I don’t melt, I think we should meet up on Friday.
I grinned as I read the message again. Friday was doable. It was really fucking doable. I typed my reply.
Friday sounds great. Let’s meet at the Clevelander. Around seven?
The leash is optional.
I smiled, pressed send, and went into my bedroom to get ready for another night out with Connor.
“So, you need a date for Steffie’s wedding? Why don’t you just look around? Plenty of hot girls here.” Connor laughed as he glanced around Club Ariana.
Even over the music, his words rang loud and clear—I was stressing too much about this wedding.
“I met someone on that dating site,” I said, leaning in to be heard over the music.
“Oh yeah? What’s she look like? Big tits?”
I took a long pull of my Heineken as I stared at Connor holding his hands to his chest to mimic a nice set of boobs.
“I haven’t actually met her yet, but I will on Friday.”
He drew his brows together. “You’ve seen her photo though, right? Come on give me the deets.”
“No, I haven’t seen her photo either.”
Connor perched his elbow on the wood table, leaning closer before hitting me over the head with his left hand. “Are you a fucking moron? What if this girl is a complete hag?”
I sipped my beer through my grin and set the bottle back down. “I don’t know man. She seems cool.”
“You pussy lacking mother fucker. That’s your problem right there, you need to stick your dick into something, and quick. Check it out.” He pointed to a blonde seated at the bar, and my eyes locked with hers from across the room.
She was stunning in a short red dress held up by two thin straps. My heart hammered in my chest. Connor waved his hand in front of my face as I smiled to her. “Go talk to her.”
Forcing my eyes away from her, I shook my head as I held tight to my bottle of Heineken. Connor set his beer down and stepped away from the table. He grinned. “Wish me luck.”
I laughed and raised my beer to my lips. He made his way over to her, and I laughed even harder as she shook her head and he walked back.
“She’s cold. Don’t even bother.”
I was even more intrigued.
She stood from her seat, and I couldn’t look away as her sweet, round ass swayed off to the dance floor.
Her shapely hips rocked as she closed her eyes and let the rhythm overtake her. She was a sight to see—both arms above her head, her dress inching up her long pale legs a bit. Her tits bounced slightly as she danced. Nice. They were real. A few men stared along with me, mesmerized, as she continued moving.
“Dude, give up. She’s uppity.” Connor tried to get my attention but my eyes remained glued to her.
After a few minutes of watching her, I resumed chatting to Connor about the previous Heat game.
“I’ll be right back. Need to drain the main vein,” I said as I stood.
Connor shook his head. “If that’s your main vein than I feel sorry for the rest of you.”
I laughed. “I’ll be right back.”
I headed away from the table and skirted past the dance floor in search of the restrooms. When I turned the corner, I ran smack into someone.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” My eyes widened when I saw the blonde from the dance floor.
“Watch where you’re going,” she snapped.
“Let me buy you a drink and make it up to you,” I said, nodding toward the bar.
Her blue eyes were striking, and I smiled as she tugged on the bottom of her dress to reposition it.
“No, I’m ok. I’ll see you around.”
“Are you sure? Come on, let me at least buy you a drink.”
“No, I’m fine. I need to get going,” she said, taking two steps away.
“Can I at least get your name?”
She stopped and glanced over her shoulder and her sweet, pink lips curved upwards. “Kayla.”
As I headed home that night, I thought about Kayla for a second too long. She was unlike anyone I’d ever seen before. Her cute button nose, sparkly light-blue eyes, and her curvaceous body kept my mind occupied as I drove my truck.
When I stepped through my front door my phone lit up with a message from Belinda, and I clicked it open.
Clevelander works for me. I’ll be in a green dress and sitting at the bar. Hope your day has been better than mine.
Maybe you can send a few arrows my way, just for fun.
I opened the app and clicked on the arrow button and sent her a few. She was right, it was fun. The cartoon display of Cupid pulled back his bow and shot the arrows. They would land right on the person’s profile pic, in turn hitting them.
I clicked a few more, just for good measure, and then wrote her back.
I’m sorry you had a shitty day. Hope you got everything taken care of with the car. Want to talk about it? Or in this case, type?
I flipped on the TV and changed my clothes. Sinking onto the soft leather of my sofa, I waited for the ping from my phone. Maybe she didn’t want to discuss her bad night with me, but I hoped she would. Just when I started to doze off, my phone pinged beside me.
It’s ok. I’m much better now. Ever have a day where your whole life is thrown into perspective? You think you’re heading down one path, but life throws a curveball and turns you in another direction.
What got you into flying?
I knew exactly where she was coming from. My life was set on a certain course, until Steffie crushed my heart. Even now, I couldn’t pick up the pieces to better myself. I got up and grabbed a beer from the fridge, cracking it open. As I sank back down onto the couch, I opened the Cupid app to write her back.
Yes, I know the feeling all too well. Sometimes things happen for a reason, or so I’ve been told. I’m still undecided about it all, though.
I was in the military, and, well, planes are kickass. After I left the Navy, I got this job and haven’t ever thought about doing anything else.
I love flying. It’s freeing in a way.
Imagine you’re driving in your car, and the roads are empty. You just drive. Now, multiply that by ten thousand. That’s how flying feels to me.
I hit send and closed my eyes imagining how bad her day was.
The phone pinged another message.
I like that.
All of it.
Sometimes I think my life isn’t destined for much. Don’t get me wrong, I love baking, but I hoped for more.
Are you happy? I know that’s a loaded question, but are you happy?
I thought long and hard about her question and didn’t know how to answer. Almost fifteen minutes went by before I hit the reply button.
No.
I shut my phone off and headed into my bedroom to get some sleep. Tomorrow. I’d meet her tomorrow.
To continue reading, you can now purchase DATE ME on Amazon.
STUDY ME
Now available on Amazon.
1. Marley
Insanity-noun-extreme foolishness or irrationality.
That’s me. I’ve lost my mind, but I can’t help it. Being so close to Professor Houston Dale does this to me. It’s led me to masturbating in the bathroom on a Boeing seven-forty-seven, thirty thousand feet in the air.
My fingertips race over my clit as I close my eyes conjuring up his dark irises, strong hands, his deep voice…oh, God, I’m going to come soon. I’m so wet, and the want swimming through my veins is too powerful to stop.
When we took off from the JFK airport, my nerves were shot from the idea of spending two whole days with my Anatomy professor.
Houston Dale, wait, I’m sorry, Doctor Houston Dale, was asked to speak at a prestigious medical conference in Chicago. As his assistant, he asked me to come along
At first, I was thrilled with the pros
pect of meeting some of the nation’s most brilliant physicians. In my excitement, I spent hours packing and repacking a variety of clothes—casual, business, even a slinky cocktail dress. My suitcase for this weekend trip is filled with enough outfits for an entire week. Then, my nerves took over. A weekend trip. With Professor Dale. Two whole days of being in close quarters with him, no buffer. Let me explain the problem with this scenario—even if my body doesn’t agree, I don’t particularly like Professor Dale most days. But, on the other days, I really do. It’s his brain, his intelligence. He’s so smart, and of course, it’s scary. To say he’s intimidating is an understatement. If you don’t complete an assignment or if you fail a test, the ridicule is severe. Believe me, I’ve experienced it a time or two.
Miss Murphy, maybe you need to return to high school and learn the fundamentals of education.
Miss Murphy, will you tell your patients you had no time to complete their chart?
Miss Murphy, blah blah blah.
The gorgeous man can be downright terrifying. Keyword, gorgeous. Tall, distinguished, and fucking sexy as hell in his glasses. He’s constantly running his hand through his dark waves, his frustration with his students leaving his hair in a sexy rumpled mess. It’s distracting. So many times, he’s chastised me, not knowing I was focused on the shape of his full lips forming the words. The way they sound coming out in his deep voice. Class is much harder when your Anatomy professor is talking about the human body and you’re checking out his.
Shit, my legs tremble as I try to steady myself in the small confines of the tiny bathroom. A burst of turbulence propels me forward a bit, and I lose focus momentarily. Until I remember the words Houston said to me five minutes before I beelined to the restroom on this airplane to touch myself.
We were sitting side by side, his muscular leg brushing up against mine, our forearms mere hairs apart on the armrest. Just a hint of stubble decorated his chiseled jaw, and I couldn’t stop staring at it. I wanted to touch it, see if it was soft. If it would scrape the sensitive skin on my thighs.
The flight attendant was no help at all. She kept setting those adorable, tiny bottles of vodka on my tray. So, I drank them. One after the other. All while watching him concentrate on the leather-bound note book he wrote in. He has really nice hands. Hands that have held someone’s life in them. Obviously, that led to me wondering how they would feel on my breasts. With alcohol coursing through my veins, my imagination took off, like anytime I’m near Professor Dale. I couldn’t stop it. In my fantasy, he wrote about all the wicked things he wanted to do to me. Then, he leaned over, his warm breath fanning across my cheek, “Don’t get too drunk now. I wouldn’t want to have to take advantage of you.”