Page 23 of Ring My Bell

“You know, like Grindr or Scruff or Quicky or—”

“That’s not an app!”

I smirked. “How would you know?”

He huffed, pulling into a Love’s and parking near the convenience mart. “Go now or hold it for another hundred or so miles.”

I hesitated, clutching my phone to my chest. “I need to check something first.”

“Oh my god,” he muttered. “Are you serious?”

“Huh? I… Oh! Oh no! No, no, no! I mean, we… You know!” I gestured between the two of us with my phone in hand. He narrowed his eyes at it, and I knew, just a second before it happened, what he was going to do. It went in slow motion, my gasp and jerk back, his reach, the fumble. Then he had it in his hands, screen still active and on my social media. “Dude, the hell?” I shouted.

“I just wanted to see what Quicky had to offer here in scenic Lucille, Colorado. City on the move, city of industry…”

“You’re being an asshole,” I muttered without bothering to grab for my phone. I didn’t want to fight over it like a child, and besides, I had nothing to hide.

Much. I mean, he was going to find out about the website soon anyway. And if he saw it now, before it was officially live, maybe he’d have some suggestions…

“The fuck is this?”

“It’s just something I was making and—”

“‘Stupid fucking slut,’” he read.

“Hey, I usually wait till the second date for the name calling and attempts at humiliation,” I said weakly. “It’s nothing, Mathis. Just one of those randos I was talking about.”

“There’s over a dozen of those on this one post, Iggy! And what the hell is this?”

I winced. He’d found the one I was sure was Raymond, or maybe Vicky typing on his behalf. “It’s nothing. Seriously. I’ve gotten harassed online before, okay? And there’s literally nothing to be done about it, especially since it’s not a direct threat. It’s someone mouthing off to get clout and brag to their other neck beardy, basement-dweller friends.”

Pinning me with an intense expression, he handed my phone back to me. “Iggy, that wasn’t someone just being a jackass. That was a threat. That was abuse. The names they called you—”

“Good thing there’s a character limit, huh?” I tried to make it breezy but failed miserably. “Look.” I tapped out a few things and turned the phone to face Mathis. “I reported and blocked them, okay? If it is Raymond, he can’t message me from that account again.”

“If it is Raymond,” Mathis said grimly, “I’m going to punch him when I see him. Hell, I’m going to do that anyway, but I’ll make sure to really coldcock him for that shit. Because that,” he jabbed his finger at my phone, “is beyond messed up, Iggy. He—or whoever that was—is threatening to dox you. And those names… I’ve said some pretty shitty things in my life, but I’ve never called anyone that. That’s beyond disgusting.”

Shrugging, I shoved my phone in my pocket. “I don’t have many secrets, and none of them would burn me at this point. Maybe if I had some clout of my own, sure, but right now, I’m a has-been who never was, and I’m barely hanging on.”

Mathis’s expression crumpled before smoothing back into something nearly kind. Damn it, I wanted to kiss him so badly, but the way he was watching me made me feel embarrassed, ashamed even. “I’m not saying I’m fine with the names, but I speak from experience, okay? I’ve tried reporting shit like this before, and it got me nowhere.”

“Iggy—”

“Listen. This is me, okay? If it happens to you, you can go all in, however you’d like, and I’ll support the hell out of you. Hell, I might even let you hold my bag while I kick some ass, okay? But…” I sighed, a throb behind my left eye telling me a migraine was brewing and would be ready to serve soon, probably before we were back on the road. “But for now, one crisis at a time, please. If this is Raymond, then it’ll be taken care of in a few days, huh? And if it’s not… then maybe I’ll have enough eyes on me to make the powers that be feel like pursuing charges is worthwhile.”

He reached for me, then paused, lowering his hand back to his lap. “I’m sorry.”

“For wanting to touch me?”

My voice was huskier than I’d intended, needier, but I didn’t care. We’d barely interacted since the night before—a few brushes of hands over breakfast, his palm on my lower back as we loaded up the car to leave, a bump here or there, but not touching. And I wanted it.

I was pretty sure he did, too. His gaze was fixed on my lips. When I licked the lower one with the tip of my tongue, his breath hitched and eyes widened ever so slightly. “Mathis…”

“Okay.” He closed the distance between us, and we were kissing, his hands coming up to my face, my neck, my chest. Touching me wherever he could reach and still remain decent in the travel plaza parking lot. It started sweetly enough, but I couldn’t help but press harder, trying to taste more of him. When I nipped his lower lip, he gasped, then made a low, growly noise, tangling his fingers in my hair to better angle my face for a deeper pass.

So much better than Raymond. The thought flittered, uninvited, through my thoughts, nearly taking me out of the moment.

I didn’t like thinking of Raymond, especially not when it came to sexy times with Mathis, but I couldn’t help but recognize how different things were. It didn’t feel like a transaction, a performance, with Mathis. And he didn’t treat me like a human Fleshlight, using me up and then pushing me aside when he got his own needs met.

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