Page 19 of About That Night

“So, who knows what would happen a third time?” I finish, instantly realizing I should have kept my mouth shut. It sounds ridiculous out loud. Like an excuse. “Bad things come in threes.”

Hank cups my cheeks and stares down at me intently.

“Chastity. I won’t bring up sex again, I promise. You have my word. I’m just going to be your friend and help you out. A friend helping a friend, that’s what this is.” He kisses the top of my head. “But maybe you don’t bring it up anymore either.”

I shiver as I nod. I want more. Which makes me feel guilty. “Thank you. I promise I won’t bring it up again either. You’re a good man.” I get in the car.

“I’m a fucking saint,” he says, giving me a grin. “That’s what I am.”

Then he turns and walks away, throwing his hand up in a wave without looking back. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Hank.” I pull my car door shut. “Sweet Jesus,” I whisper in the dark interior. “What have I gotten myself into?”

Bad things happen to naughty girls.

The dire warning rings in my ears.

“Oh, zip it, Granny,” I say, frustrated, as I turn on my car. “Maybe you wouldn’t have been so cranky if you’d been getting railed on the regular.”

I drive home, go to bed, and lay awake for an hour trying not to picture getting railed on the regular by Hank Young.

It doesn’t work. It’s all I can picture.

Hank, over me in the dark, kissing me while he strokes inside me steadily, making me ache and moan and come…

I roll over and yank open my nightstand drawer. If this keeps up, I’m going to need to add batteries to my monthly Amazon order.

Chapter Five

Chastity

The next day, I’m at work when I get a text from Hank.

What’s up?

I text back.

Just about to take a break.

You weren’t supposed to respond. That was a test.

Oh. Oops.

But…

No buts. Ignore me. Don’t respond to this.

My fingers start typing, “How am I supposed to know when to respond?”

But he must see the text dots appearing as I type because he texts before I can hit send.

Chastity. Stop.

“Argh.” I delete the text and drop my phone in frustration.

“What’s wrong?” Bobbi asks from behind the nurse’s desk. She’s in her forties and has four kids. She is always feeding me and worrying about me.

“Do you think you should text back a guy who just texts you ‘what’s up?’”

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