Page 11 of Wrong Number, Right Mountain Man
Beck: Fuck, Sunny. Think about touching you too. More than should be allowed.
The curse word sends electricity through my veins. Beck never swears in our texts.
Me: How often is more than you should?
Beck: Every time your name lights up my screen. Every time that voice gets heard on calls. I had to stroke myself in the shower after our call last night, imagining your mouth instead of my hand.
My breath catches. The businessman at the next table glances over as my phone screen gets clutched.
Me: Only once? Disappointed. Would've made you come twice.
Beck: Christ. You're playing with fire, Sunny.
Me: Maybe burning is what's wanted.
Setting my phone down, my hands shake. Last night's dream comes flooding back, and I flush. Beck pushing me against the industrial mixer, his mouth hot on my neck while his hands worked between my thighs. Waking up tangled in sheets, breathing hard, reaching for someone who wasn't there.
Josh never invaded my dreams like this. With him, everything was planned, scheduled, and appropriate. Date nights on Thursdays. Sex on weekends. A relationship that fit into calendar boxes.
Nothing about Beck fits in boxes.
The screen lights up.
Beck: When do these dreams become reality?
My stomach lurches.
Me: Scared won't live up to the fantasy?
Beck: Scared you'll exceed it. Scared won't be able to keep my hands off you once we meet.
His honesty knocks the breath out of my lungs. The man who chases bears from fences and lives alone on a mountain is afraid of meeting me. Not what I expected, but somehow perfect.
Me: This weekend. Saturday. Maggie’s Diner? Meet me there at noon?
Each second, waiting for his response, stretches into eternity.
Beck: Be there.
Reality crashes in. Meeting Beck means risking everything—the connection, the fantasy, the safe distance that lets bravery emerge. What if the chemistry that burns through our texts fizzles face to face?
Dozens of food truck business plans have been started and deleted. My apartment has half-finished projects in every corner. My relationship with Josh imploded. Being the queen of things that don't work out is my specialty.
My finger hovers over the keyboard, cancellation nearly getting typed, but I pull up my big girl panties instead.
Me: No backing out?
Beck: No backing out. Fair warning, though. I’ve been thinking about bending you over that diner table since you suggested it.
Heat pools between my thighs at his words.
Me: Scared too, if that helps.
Beck: Makes me want to comfort you. Among other things.
Me: What other things?
Beck: Making you forget every reason to be scared. Starting with my mouth between your thighs until you're screaming my name.
