Page 5 of Growing Into Love

Everybody sexts Cass. Welcome to the twenty-first century. You can do it! Go on, give it a go. Send me your best shot. I won’t judge. This is just for practice.

I grit my teeth and take a glug of wine. I switch to Jaz’s text thread. No news on the puppies. I toss my phone on the counter. It buzzes again. Zara.

I’m waiiiiiting.

I down half the wine in one gulp. My head is feeling buzzy and pleasantly light. What’s the harm in joking about with my mate? I keep insisting I’m an adult but I’m acting like a little girl. Maybe Zara is right. I’m being a bit of a prude.

I finish the glass of wine and unlock my screen. Fine. I can be sexy.

I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to run my hands through your hair, feel your chest pressed against mine. I want your mouth on me, everywhere, making me wetter than I’ve ever been before. I want to make you come so hard that you forget your own name.

I hit send with a deep sense of satisfaction. Ha. Bet Zara wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t either to be honest—that was quite the sauciest I’ve ever been. Maybe I’m a sexy texter after all.

My phone buzzes again. It’s Zara.

Helloooo? Come on Cass, send me something raunchy. Loosen up. It’ll be fun.

I blink, trying to make sense of her words. A foreboding prickle starts to crest over my scalp, cascading down my spine in a thousand tiny needles of dread. My hand shakes so hard I almost drop my phone. I stare at her thread: my text isn’t there.

But I know I sent it.

Oh.

Holy.

Fuck.

I switch back to the main screen with all my conversations on it and…there it is. The sexy text. All those words I never thought I would say out loud much less write down.

But it’s not in Zara’s thread.

I sent the text to Jaz.

TWO

JAZ

There’sa knock on the door and I jump.

“Hey boss? I think the puppies are coming now.”

“Be right there,” I call. I’ve been hiding in the loo for nearly ten minutes now. Clive, my new assistant, is going to think I’m having stomach problems. In some ways, I am. My insides are twisted up in knots, my heart thumping a painful beat in my throat.

Theresa did it again.

I open my phone and look at her text one last time.

Craig and I patched things up. I’m sorry Jaz.

I should have fucking known. This is, after all, the woman who smashed my heart to bits three years ago—and then stomped on said bits and then tossed them into an incinerator. After nearly two years together, she up and left me for Craig the Postman. I had our life all planned—the proposal, the wedding, the future children we would have. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, to start my own family. I’m an only child but my mum came from a huge family (she’s one of seven), and I always wanted that for myself. I think I’d make a good dad. A good husband too. I want to grow old with someone and have a whole herd of grandkids running about. I want what my parents have—even when they argue, it’s always with love. Mum told me once, “Every couple has their arguments. But it’s fighting with love, with trust…that’s what you need to find in a partner. Because then, no matter what, you’re safe. Find someone like that, Jasar.”

I thought that someone was Theresa. Until she dropped the Postman Craig bomb on me.

A year later, she came back, insisting she’d made a mistake. I welcomed her with open arms. Two days later, she was back with Craig. She did it again a year later. And then the year after that. And every time, like a damn fool, I thought this was it. She really did see that we were meant to be together.

But she always went back to Craig.

Two weeks ago, she showed up on my doorstep in tears. Did I learn my lesson? Not in the slightest. She and Craig had been having problems, she said. Going through a difficult time. It was over. I let her cry on my shoulder. Let her take me to bed. The next morning, she was gone.

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