Page 31 of Beautiful Mess

Conway: Riiight.

He sends a follow-up text that’s just a yellow thumbs-up emoji.

Me: My gosh, give your emoji skin color. You look like a boomer.

I snort, imagining the scowl on his face when he reads that text. I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing right now as he texts me. Is he sitting in the living room like I am? Or is he in bed? If it’s the latter, is he in pajamas or does he sleep naked? Swallowing another sip of wine, I try to ignore the way my body heats at the idea of him not wearing anything as he texts me.

Another message comes through, and this time it’s the fist emojiwithskin color this time.

Conway: Better?

Me: Is that a representation of you jacking off?

Pressing send, I drop the phone like a hot potato on the couch, slapping a hand over my mouth.Why on earth would you say that, Grace?This is probably a sign I should lay off the wine.

Too bad I’m not going to. Especially when my phone buzzes, and I read his response.

Conway: Or yours. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the incredible sight of your dainty fingers wrapped around me before I fucked you.

Heat spreads low in my belly, remembering how…well-endowedConway is. A trait he definitely didn’t pass down to his son.Oh, fuck.I’m going to hell.

Right about now, I wish I would’ve told my sisters and Charley about what’s happened between Conway and I, so they can help reel me in, but like a chicken shit dumbass, I haven’t told them. Not a single one of them. At first, I said it was because I didn’t want to take away from Gemma’s engagement, but as I’m sitting on this couch, staring down at my phone, the beginnings of wine tipsy making my head all floaty, I can admit it’s because I’m not ready to hear them make a big deal about it, and tell me “I told you so.”

It happened one time. That’s it.

Okay,technicallytwice, if I’m counting the night of the auction.

But still…there’s nothing to tell because it’s not going anywhere. It was a mistake that won’t be happening again.

Although, somebody should tell my vagina that since it’s apparently going rogue and calling the shots.

Me: Ha! You wish.

Conway: What are you wearing?

Is he serious?

Me: Did you really ask me that?

Conway: Yes. Answer the question, Sin.

Things would be a lot easier if my pathetic pussy didn’t throb every time he called me that.

Me: A turtleneck and a floor-length skirt. And granny panties.

Conway: Mmm, I love it when you talk dirty to me.

A sane person would turn their phone off and go to bed. They wouldn’t engage because flirting with Conway is a bad idea. But clearly, I’m neither of those things. Glutton for punishment, remember?

Me: And what are you wearing?

Conway: Nothing.

I knew it!My gosh, having him confirm that is way hotter than simply wondering.

Me: Prove it.

Goddamnit, Grace!

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