Page 12 of Wrong Number, Right Mountain Man
The coffee cup almost slips from my fingers. A woman at a nearby table shoots a disapproving look, probably sensing the sexual tension radiating from my corner.
Me: Keep talking like that and might not make it to Saturday.
Beck: Good. I want you desperate for me. Want you so wet you can’t think straight.
Me: Already there.
Beck: Show me.
My pulse spikes.
Me: Here? I’m in public!
Beck: Bathroom. Now.
The command in his text makes my core clench. Standing on shaky legs, I find the bathroom with me clutching my phone. The small space smells of expensive soap and desperation.
Me: This is crazy.
Beck: Crazy is what's needed. Touch yourself. Tell me how wet you are.
My hand slides under my skirt before logic can intervene. The dampness between my thighs confirms what my body already knew. I shiver, and take a picture of my wet fingers and send it before I lose my nerve.
Me: Soaked. Can’t concentrate.
Beck: Good girl. Saturday can't come fast enough.
The work schedule at the bakery pops into my head. Saturday morning shift. Honey would never switch, her son has a soccer game. If a no-show happens, we'll be short-staffed during the weekend rush. Mrs. Henderson's unicorn-dinosaur monstrosity is due for pickup. A million responsibilities and reasons to stay safe in my comfortable disaster of a life.
Instead, I brace my shoulders and text him.
Me: So Saturday. Noon. I’ll be the one looking terrified and trying not to trip over my own feet.
Beck: And I’ll be the bearded guy who doesn't remember how to talk to beautiful women in person. But knows exactly what to do with his hands.
Me: You think beauty applies to me?
Beck: Know you are. Going to spend Saturday proving it.
The barista clears her throat after I have returned to my table, and for twenty minutes, I’ve been clutching the empty coffee cup and grinning at my phone like a lunatic.
"Refill?" she asks, hoping the answer is no.
"Good, thanks." Good doesn't cover it.
Me: Three days until this gets real.
Beck: Already real to me. Already planning how to make you mine.
Chapter 6
Beck
Thedinerishalf-empty.I choose a booth with a clear view of the parking lot and order coffee, my leg bouncing under the table. What the hell am I doing? A month of texts doesn't mean we'll have anything in person. What if the chemistry exists only through a screen?
My phone buzzes.
Sunny: Almost there! Running a little late, just got off work.
