Page 94 of Catfish

Me: Against the Astros, congratulations.

Chase: I want to win my bet, Sox.

Me: Why, so you can use my lingerie pic to jack off to? Not interested.

Chase: You’re fucking sexy when you’re pissed.

Me: You should see how I look with my middle finger extended to the screen of this phone.

Chase: Alright, so you’re mad, you have every right to be.

Chase: What will it take to make you forgive me?

I smirk. I can’t help it because I know exactly what the hell I want.

Me: For you to give me my dick pic.

I expect to hear crickets, truthfully, he already blew me off the first time I asked. It’ll just go to show me that he was cool to talk to but just not fun to talk to.

Yeah, it’s petty stupid. He doesn’t know me like that to show me his goods, or lack of, but it’s the only way I know he’s serious about talking to me and not wasting my time, again.

So, if he wants to talk, he can consult with his dick about giving me what I want.

Another episode of New Girl comes on my TV (yes, I love that show, Schmidt is my favorite), and I toss my phone next to me on the couch. He can honestly sit on that shit for all I care.

First Grant, then the Jed news, now Chase is back.

Yeah, I’m good without having this noise in my life.

My cell dings from a text message coming through, and I let it sit. Taking another sip of my beer, I attempt to get into the episode even though I have no idea what's going on because I can't focus. I get up to go pee, even though I don't have to because I can't touch my phone to sift through useless memes and words of wisdom on Instagram because I'll click on his text.

I’m literally playing hard to get to a guy who’s never asked me on a date and someone I’ll never meet.

No, I’m not going to junk anymore of my time on this ass clown.

The hot ass clown.

My phone beeps again, and I seize it up to get this misery over with.

Chase: *download attachment*

Chase: Open at your own risk.

Mhm.

I’m trying to decipher if the cockiness is nervousness or pure swagger. And I have no idea why I’m hesitating to even open it.

Maybe it's because I've imagined him too much in my head, and I don't want my smokescreen to be altered by a small dick.

I snort, which turns into a small fit of laughter as my thumb hovers over the small downward arrow.

I’m being so damn stupid right now.

Chase: Scared, Sox?

Me: For you, yes.

My phone rings, Chase's name appearing on my screen, and I freeze.

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