Page 20 of Texting Mr. Stranger

After clicking send, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. Sofia has finally found somebody who can bring out the best in her. Even after two days, I’ve noticed a difference in my little sister. If I get close to Bella, at some point, it will erupt, and then Sofia will be back to secluding herself in her room—back to being lonely because of the life she was born into.

I can send you a video later, but I haven’t got one prepared and ready to go.

I swallow, my chest thumping. It’s innocent, I try to tell myself. Or she’s just trying to keep her highest-paying client sweet. Maybe I’m taking advantage without realizing or even meaning to.

I almost want to tell her yes, send a video, but wear the sexiest outfit she can find. Something lacy that hints at the curviness of her body, the fabric fluttering around her thickness, begging me to grab her, to—No, stop.

Record one just for me, then,I text, even if it’s against my better judgment.

CHAPTER TEN

BELLA

When I return from the restaurant, I find Mom in the living room, textbooks sprawled on the coffee table. I know Emily is out tonight.On a date, she casually texted as if it was the most regular thing in the world. For her, it is. For me, it would be ahugeevent.

“You look tired,” I tell Mom, leaning down, hugging, and sitting beside her. “I’ve got some leftovers for when you’re hungry.”

“You’re going to make an amazing mom one day,” she says, then yawns.

“You don’t have to studyallthe time, Mom,” I reply. “You’ve got two more years to go. You don’t want to burn yourself out.”

“If I don’t study, I think,” she murmurs, looking down at her notebook.

“Why don’t you think about all the money you’ll give me when you’re a big fancy veterinarian, huh?” I tease, nudging her playfully.

She wraps her arm around me and hugs me close to her. “I know you hate how often I say this, but I’ll never stop … Thank you, Bella. This is literally the exact opposite arrangement we should have. I’ll never stop being grateful.”

“AndIknowyouhate when I remind you I’m just repaying the favor. You worked yourself to the bone to buy me a violin, to pay for lessons, instructional videos, all of it …”

“That’s what moms are supposed to do, you sweet girl.”

We savor the hug for a while. I want to tell Mom about my new high-value client, but I can’t risk it until I know that this is a long-term thing,orat least until I’ve earned enough money to provide us with a small safety net. I can’t stand the idea of smashing her hope to pieces.

“I’m going to do some playing,” I tell her. “Maybe make a video.”

“Okay. I’ll be out here. Love you.”

“Love you, Mom.”

Since I’ll be recording the piece anyway, I decide I might as well create a video about it for my channel. Setting up my camera, I’m grateful for my text conversation with Matt. It’s given me all the fuel I need to explain the pros and cons to my viewers, plus my belief that it needs to skirt that unique borderline between messy and technical.

It takes around an hour. Once I finish the video, I edit the performance to send it as a standalone clip, cutting out all the talking and instruction. I’m about to send it to Matt—not letting myself wonder if this is strange—when an idea occurs to me or maybeslamsinto me.

It’s not the sort of thing I’d usually do. I can’t imagine another context where I would cross this line. I go to my wardrobe and look for a pair of short shorts, then a tank top, and I even take off my bra before putting the shirt on. I look at myself in the mirror. My chest is rising and falling fast. My nipples are poking slightly through the material.

What am I thinking? This isn’tme. My body tingles all over at the thought of Matt wanting me. I imagine him running his hand through his slick hair, his expression getting fierce when he sees the outfit. It’s not like I’m dressed in lingerie. I’ve got plausible deniability.

Grabbing my violin again, I set up the camera. Then I do something even more forced. Again,not thinkingis the name of the game. I leave my violin on the bed with the camera running, then walk into the frame.

This means he’ll see my butt as I pick up the violin. I almost stop the video right there.See my butt …I’ve never viewed myself as the kind of woman men would be attracted to. Or women. Or aliens. Or anybody. But with Matt, I find myself wanting him to want me.

Sitting down, I look at the camera, seeing my breasts shift slightly in the viewfinder. What am I doing? But I don’t stop. I pick up my bow, pick up the violin, and play.

Maybe it’s the nerves buzzing through me or how unusual this is, but as I stroke the bow, I find fresh energy for the piece. Knowing I have an audience of one and hoping he will look at mejusta bit longer infuses me with useful adrenaline.

When the piece is over, I feel a flush spreading all over my face and neck. The viewfinder confirms my suspicions. I quickly approach the camera, end the video, and then wonder if I should delete it. Is it bad? Do I look desperate? What theheckam I doing?

I don’t even let myself watch it back. I know I will delete it if I do that. I’ve never taken a romantic chance in my life before. At least with this, there’s a chance to back out.

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