Page 87 of The Boyfriend Goal

I’ll miss them, too, if I can’t find a way to stay. I’ll miss them so much.

27

A THOUSAND DIRTY WORDS

Josie

I shouldn’t do this. I really shouldn’t. And yet that night, when I’m home in Wesley’s place, wandering through the living room, my footsteps echoing as I enter the kitchen, I stop and snap a picture.

Of the kitchen counter. We agreed not to “do that” again. But a photo’s not breaking a rule. That’s what I tell myself as I hit send on a text.

Josie: Does this count for number five? Take pictures of fun times?

It’s late in New York, a little past midnight, so I don’t expect to hear from him. But as I leave the bathroom after applying my lotions and potions, a reply blinks up at me.

Wesley: Well, there were definitely fun times there.

A smile takes me hostage, along with my reason and good sense. As I walk to the bedroom in the dimly lit home, I dictate another text.

Josie: I went to The Resort with my friends for a girls’ night out. I thought about the last time I was there.

Wesley: Yeah? What about it?

They say text has no tone, but his sounds intrigued.

Josie: I thought about when you said “What are you into?” Nobody has ever asked me that before. No one.

Wesley: Their loss. My gain. Since you knew exactly what you wanted. I can still hear you saying it.

A delicious chill slides down my spine as I wander into my room, shedding my sweatshirt, a little intoxicated already by this exchange.

Josie: What did I say?

I haven’t forgotten what I said. I doubt he has either. I just want to hear him say it. Or write it.

Wesley: You said the hottest words ever.

My breath halts. A ribbon of heat unfurls inside me. He’s lit a match. Then he drops it on some kindling, setting the blaze with his next message.

Wesley: And I quote: “Can you bend me over the bed and fuck me hard?”

Josie: And you understood the assignment.

I float to the bed in a sex trance, remembering that night, but boomeranging to the other morning, too, here in the house. That first night with him, he was my sexy stranger. The second time, he was my hot-as-hell friend.

Wesley: What would you say now? If I asked you what you’re into?

My lungs are hot. My bones are lava. I sit on the bed, my entire body aching for him. I close my eyes. Picturing. Then I sink down onto the pillows and respond.

Josie: Your hands on me. Your mouth exploring my skin. Your dirty words whispered in my ear.

Wesley: Where do you want my hands?

I drag a hand down my chest then back up, touching the valley of my breasts, my skin tingling as I trace the path I want him to touch. I sigh greedily, a precursor to the moan building in my chest, then write back. My neck. My throat. My back. When you push me down. When you tug me close. When you put me in position.

Except I don’t send that. A picture is worth a thousand words. Instead, I angle the phone’s camera with my left hand, then push down my tank top so the tops of my breasts are exposed. Holding the phone, I take a picture of my hand spread across my tits, inching toward the hollow of my throat.

After I check it, I hit send. Feeling bold, I stretch against the pillow, my neck long, my hand curling around it gently. Another pic. Before I can stop I take off my shirt, flip to my stomach. Resting the phone against the pillow as a stand, I set a timer and strike a pose of me in a bra and jeans, my hand pressing on my back.

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