Page 11 of Illicit Illustration

Charley would be beyond smug, but I wouldn’t let my nerves get the best of me and miss out on the possibility of pursuing something with him. Even if things went bust after we started texting or he wasn’t who I wanted him to be in a few weeks when I’d get to meet him for real, I would not be shy or talk myself out of things any longer.

“And where would that be?” I knew I was pushing the boundaries again since this was supposed to be a friendly date to see if our personalities were compatible, but I knew I’d kick myself if I didn’t follow my instincts. Even if my instincts were telling me that this man on the other side of the wall was vastly more experienced than I was.

“You’re trying to benaughtyagain, ha…” his voice trailed off abruptly, and I wondered what he was going to say. After he cleared his throat, he continued, his voice a bit deeper. “Have you always been this much of a rule breaker?”

Surprised laughter flowed out of me, and goosebumps raced across the backs of my arms—not helping at all with the nipple situation—when he joined in, his deep timbre evoking feelings only one other man in my life could ever create.

“No, I’m about the exact opposite of a rule breaker. You’re currently conversing with a bona-fidegoody two shoes. If rule following was a sport, I’d be a world champion.”

“Hmm, I…” he hummed, and I thought he’d ask for more details, since he seemed to be more curious about me than revealing much about himself, but he didn’t, the sound of my best friend’s voice cutting him off.

“Thirty seconds, boys and girls, then we’re onto your next match.”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and the smile that pulled across my cheeks was obnoxious. “Okay, one last question.”

“Hmm?”

“What’s your hidden talent?”

If only he knew what talents I’d been pursuing lately. Charley was the only one who knew about all the commissions I’d been working on. But as the seconds ticked by, I decided that playing it safe wasn’t what I wanted anymore. And at the end of the night, this guy—this man—on the other side of the screen was worth disclosing all my naughty secrets to. Because I had a feeling he wouldn’t judge me.

With a nervous laugh, I glanced at Charley out of the corner of my eye, and she flashed me a thumbs up while holding up her phone that was counting down the end to the weirdest, but most satisfying date I’d ever been on.

“Drawing naked people.”

He was quiet for a moment, and I thought maybe he was put off by my answer, but then his response moments after the timer went off on Charley’s phone had my heart beating faster.

“Don’t think for one second that timer is saving you from answering more of my questions. We’re continuing this discussion later.”

“Um,” I laughed, a bit startled by the gruff tone in his voice. “Pretty sure our date is over.”

“You better turn over that phone number at the end of the night, because I’m telling you now, this discussion isn’t finished.”

Glancing to the side, I noticed the next woman who’d be going on a date with bachelor number seven giving me an impatient look. Well, she could wait a fucking minute.

“Maybe that’s for me to decide,” I teased, knowing full well he was the only man to have earned my number so far. And I had a feeling he might be the only one.

“We both know you wouldn’t have told me that if you didn’t want a response.”

“Hmm, I guess we’ll find out.” I knew I was throwing off Charley’s schedule, but I also wanted to say fuck it and knock down this stupid divider to beg bachelor number seven to get me out of here.

“I look forward to your text.”

“So cocky.” The arrogance suddenly coming off this man should have been a turnoff, but it had the opposite effect.

“You have no fucking idea,” he chuckled, and I really, really wanted the next two weeks to fly by so I could meet him for real.

“Bye, number seven.”

“This isn’t a goodbye, fourteen. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

No amount of pissed off blondes scoffing as I refused to move on to my next bachelor quickly could have wiped the smile off my face.

“So…” Charley had beenwaiting for me at the end of the event, grinning obnoxiously as I deposited the card with my phone number on it into two of the numbered boxes lying on the table by the entrance to the bar. “Looks like you didn’t totally hate it.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, come on, you give your number to a guy—actually two guys—after an event you were very much against doing and you think I’m not going to ask you how things went? This is huge, Haz!”

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