Page 32 of Pucking Around

Has he tried? I flip open my messaging app and click his name. A long string of messages over the past two days fills my phone. Most are from yesterday.

JAKE (7:37AM:) Good morning, Seattle Girl. Another beautiful day in Jax. Perfect for a walk on the beach *wave emoji**palm tree emoji**sun emoji*

He followed that up with a shot of him shirtless on the beach looking like a goddamn snack.

JAKE (9:45AM): Hey, how do you take your coffee? We never got to compare morning routines

JAKE (9:46AM): Wait—do you drink coffee? Please don’t tell me you drink kombucha or some frufru shit with foam

JAKE (9:48AM): Cay drinks peppermint mochas like some kind of weird Christmas elf. I swear, if I didn’t love the jerk, our friendship would be over

I was in the potting soil aisle of the garden store when that message came through and I snorted on a sip of my perfectly normal americano with cream and two sugars.

JAKE (12:37PM): I love cheat day!

Then he sent a photo of a massive plate of colorful sushi.

JAKE (5:50PM): What’s your favorite color? Mine is *blue heart emoji*

JAKE (9:45PM): Night, beautiful. FYI, I go to sleep pretty early

JAKE (9:45PM): Unless you’re in my bed, obvs

The last thing he sent on Saturday was a picture of him, shirtless in the dark, stretched out on his bed. He had a sleepy smile on his face, one hand tousling his hair.

I can’t stop smiling.

“Girl, what?” Tess says with a grin. “What is that face? He’s been texting you, hasn’t he! Omg, what is he saying?”

“Nothing,” I reply, tapping her screen to hide his messages.

“You little liar,” she teases. “You practically have hearts in your eyes. Is it dirty stuff? Text him back.”

“No—”

“Oh god, please text him a dirty pic. Do it now—”

“Tess!” I cry, setting my wine aside again.

“Your tits!” she shouts. “Text him a sexy picture of your tits. You’ve got great boobies, girl. Share the love. Please, Rach. Do it for me.”

“What kind of example in restraint am I setting if I go from leaving him on read all weekend to texting him a shot of my boobs?”

“Hey, two can play his game,” she says with a shrug. “He can look, but he can’t touch. Drive him wild.”

My heart flutters at the idea. “I think that would qualify as torture in like at least thirty countries. Cruel and unusual punishment.”

Tess just rolls her eyes. “Trust me when I say that no straight man on this earth would consider it a punishment to get an unsolicited tit pic from Rachel Price.”

I grin, snatching up my glass of wine and taking a sip. “If I’m sending one, you’re sending one too.”

She chokes on a laugh. “What—to Magic Boy? Honey, the majesty of my titties would end his sweet little life.”

“No,” I say, all but snorting on my wine. “Not to him. Surely you have someone whose soul you’d like to see ascend to a higher plane of existence?”

She smirks. “There might be someone.”

I’m grinning now too. This is the world’s most terrible idea, but I’m two glasses of chardonnay in, and he’s been blowing up my phone all weekend. Two can play his game. “I’m doing it.”

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