Page 10 of Starry Night Kisses

I’ve been doing that a lot lately, talking to myself.

I’m starting to lose it.

Quickly, I send Nate a reply.

SUBJECT: DINNER?

LET ME KNOW WHEN AND WHERE.

AND ALSO, I PROMISE I’M NOT A SERIAL KILLER, EITHER.

-EVIE

Bagel pauses in the destruction of his toy to look up at me, his big brown eyes filled with judgment.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s a mental thing, okay? Be glad you don’t have to worry about these types of things, sir.”

All I get in return is another grumbled woof, followed by a symphony of squeaks.

So, what are you up to tonight?

The message comes through just as I’m finishing up my makeup. I nearly smear my lip gloss across my face when I see Eric’s name pop up, as though he knows exactly what I’m up to, and he wants to remind me of his presence.

Hi there, remember me? The guy who made you come so hard you saw stars just by texting you?

I grab an old-school strawberry candy from the little dish on the coffee table, unwrapping it and tossing it in my mouth so I don’t chew on my newly manicured thumbnail.

Should I tell him I’m going on a date?

Should I just rip the Band-Aid off now and say this isn’t going to work?

Ever since that night, Eric has been all sweet sayings and proper gentlemanly topics of discussion. It’s like the sexting didn’t happen at all. Like he has a cinnamon-sweet Jekyll and a decadent, domineeringHyde who only likes to show his face once in a blue moon.

My fingers fly over the screen before I overthink what I should say.

Nothing much.

Eric is almost eight hundred miles away. And we don’t owe each other anything. For all I know, he could be hooking up with someone in New York.

I check my reflection in the mirror and smooth my dress. It’s a simple black sheath with a square neckline and a slit that accentuates the curve of my hips. I’ve teased my hair to perfection, and as I slip into a pair of black pumps, I can’t help but feel like a little hussy.

I’ve never gotten dolled up for a sex date before. As a matter of fact, it’s been years since I’ve been this dressed up at all. Part of me feels exhilarated, while the other feels guilty.

Once Bagel is done doing his business outside, I give him a treat and check my phone once more.

Is it weird to say I miss you?

Fuck.

Something knocks on my ribs, trying to get to the organ nestled between my lungs.

Hope.

Longing.

A familiar sense of comfort that seems to bepresent whenever Eric and I are within mere feet of each other.

As I stare down at my screen, thinking of a reply, a message comes through from Nate on the SparksFly app.

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