Page 25 of The Emerson Effect
A laugh bursts out of me at theGreasereference. Texting Twila is going to be fun. That’s one thing that isnotfake. One of many, I’m starting to realize.
Shaking off the serious thought, I quickly text her back.
Me:That’s not a very flirty response, T.
Daisy:Sorry. Sorry. How’s this?
Daisy:Hey, Stud. How about you fire up Greased Lightning and come pick me up? We can go to Lover’s Point and make out.
I laugh again, a deep, joyous sound that echoes off my bedroom walls. Silently warning myself to keep it down so my nosy roommates don’t come snooping to find out what’s so funny, I type out a response.
Me:Better. But you don’t want people thinking you’re easy, do you? I’d only be crushing on a proper lady.
Daisy:Still stuck in the fifties, I see. Should we go to a drive-in movie, instead?
Me:Fine. Apparently, I suck at text-flirting, too. This is why I wanted to practice.
Daisy:Too? I’ll have you know I do NOT suck at text-flirting.
Me:Prove it.
There’s a bit of a pause in the rhythm of our text messages, and I wait with bated breath for Twila to respond. I know it’s not real, but the prospect of her flirting with me has my heart beating a bit faster.
When her message finally comes through, my eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
Daisy:I have a secret. Do you want me to tell you?
The words are simple, but the feelings they invoke are anything but. I have no idea why my body is reacting, but my heartbeat is pounding in my ears, and my skin tingleswith anticipation. It’s ridiculous, I know, but it’s happening, nonetheless.
Me:Tell me.
Daisy:When I close my eyes, I see your smile. When everything else is silent, I hear your laughter. And when I lie in bed at night, I feel the ghost of your touch on my skin.
Holy shit. My cock goes half-hard as I read the words again, and I press a palm against it to ease the pressure.
“It’s not real. She’s playing a part. It’s fake,” I murmur as another text pops up.
Daisy:Cat got your tongue? I TOLD you I’m good at this.
I swallow against the lump in my throat.
Me:Touché.
Daisy:Ha ha ha. Okay, your turn. Sweep me off my feet, handsome.
I’m still breathing hard, and that little “handsome” at the end of her message is doing weird things to my brain. Does she really think I’m good looking? Or is that part of the act?
I’m so confused.
Shaking my head to clear it, I focus on coming up with the perfect text before I start typing.
Me:That pink lip gloss you put on in your GRWM video last week was really pretty. I couldn’t stop staring at your lips.
Maybe there’s a little too much truth in that text, but I send it anyway. I watched that “Get Ready With Me” video at least a dozen consecutive times, my eyes drawn to her lush lips as she smoothed on the shiny, pink gloss.
It’s like I was hypnotized, or something.
Daisy:*clears throat* Okay, Stud. That was better.
