Page 13 of Sexting Mr. CEO

He smiles shakily. "If I told you I hadn't slept, would you be surprised?"

"Would you be offended if I said it was obvious?"

He laughs distractedly. "Lots going on. I desperately need more coffee. I can't believe I left your room without getting your number. That sends the wrong impression. I hope you didn't think I didn't want to see you again."

"Relax, Luke," I murmur.

"I can't relax until I know you're one text away," he says, with some of his usual irony, his smirk appearing more like himself now. "At least then, I'll have some way to stay sane during this chaos."

"What chaos?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I don't want to burden you."

"Give me your cell phone. I'll type my number in. And just so you know, it wouldn't be a burden."

"The only thing you need to contemplate is which of those scenes we're going to recreate," he says, leaning closer as he takes his phone from his inside jacket pocket.

He doesn't seem to care that people are watching. Those two beauties are practically glaring at us now, as if trying to make my head explode with telekinetic powers. He loops his free hand around my waist, pulls me against him, and hands me his phone.

I laugh, my body tingling with electricity. "So, it wasn't just the champagne, then?"

"It was non-alcoholic champagne; we were just drunk on each other."

I nudge him playfully. "Yeah,right. I felt the bubbles."

"Okay, you caught me. But I was still drunk on you. Go on, Sparkplug. Call me cheesy."

"I don't think I can."

Almost as soon as I've typed in my number, his cell phone buzzes. His hand tightens on my hip as if he doesn't want to let go, as if he'd rather ignore whatever crisis he's dealing with and stay with me.

"I'll text you," he says. "If you've got a boyfriend, this is the time to tell me."

"I'd never cheat," I snap. "Ever."

"Good."

His public kiss catches me off guard, but I melt into it. I know those women are watching. It's clear that others are too—observing an ordinary woman kiss... whoever Luke is, with his mysterious identity.

"If I don't stop," he says roughly, his chest heaving, "I'll drag you into the nearest booth..."

"You're making some women jealous. And lots of people have been staring at you, Luke. Who are you?"

He smiles. "You're a good girl, Sparkplug. You still haven't looked me up."

"When I give my word, I keep it."

"Then I'll enjoy being mysterious a while longer..."

He pulls away, but I feel a sudden surge of confidence. I grab his shirt and pull myself in for another kiss. He groans and presses his hands against my back. Then his cell phone goes off again.

He sighs, walking away from me, bringing his phone to his ear.

I head to a nearby auditorium for a talk about 'technological Darwinism,' using a digital form of natural selection to produce more efficient algorithms, but my mind wanders far from these lofty concepts.

The talk lasts for thirty minutes. Afterward, I find a text from Luke waiting for me.

Luke: So how do you young'uns do this sexting business, then?

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