Page 6 of Ronan
Fuck it.
I toss my phone onto the couch and turn back to my computer, staying focused until the end of my shift. Funny how I clock out at exactly wine-thirty, isn’t it?
Grabbing two bottles and one glass, I sit my ass down and drink until I feel brave enough to look.
It takes longer than I’d like to admit.
With my heart in my throat and my stomach turning, I navigate to my notifications and see... nothing.
The dot I panicked about all day turned out to be a video of cats smacking each other sent to me by a co-worker.
What the hell?
I don’t see anything telling me the comment was removed, so I head to his page, find the video, and start scrolling comments. As usual, he responded to everyone... everyone except for me.
Jesus Christ on a thousand crackers, this is worse than any alternative I thought of.
My comment was funny if nothing else, and he couldn’t even like it? There’s no reason for that unless — oh god.
Did I win?
Is that why?
Did he decide not to respond because he’s going to do it over FaceTime?
Shit!
Fumbling, I scroll back to find my comment and attempt to delete it, but my phone rings before I can.
It’s a FaceTime from a number I don’t know.
In my haste to swipe it away, I accidentally answer, spilling wine all over myself in the process. “Fuck! Shit, no stop,” I beg audibly, gasping when Nightbreed’s face fills my screen.
Can’t even give a girl a warning.
“Stop?” he asks, his voice deep and alluring. “But we’re just getting started, my feral little winner.”
Oh my god. This is how I die. Not on a cock, or in an accident, or of old age. I’m going to die of embarrassment right this second. How the hell did he even get my number? “You could’ve warned a girl.”
“Nah, that’s not my style. I wanted to see that blush.”
I can’t tell if he’s purposely making his voice deeper or if it’s this way naturally, but either way I feel it traveling down my spine.
And he’s definitely getting what he wanted. “Oh. Well, hi,” I mumble, looking down to gauge the damage I did to my shirt. It’s soaked, but there’s not much I can do about it now. “I... promise I’m cooler than this. Usually. Sometimes. When I’m prepared, anyway.”
“Things usually go smoother with a little prep. I’m more of a dive-in-head-first kind of guy. What did you spill?”
He nods down, and even though he’s wearing sunglasses again, I know what he wants to see.
Okay. I can do this, right? He’s a stranger to me. He doesn’t know me, I don’t know him. It’s anonymous and fun, and I can definitely do this.
Tilting the phone down a little, I let him see the red-soaked shirt clinging to my skin. “Just a little wine.”
He hums. “Red wine looks good on you. What should I call you, pretty girl?”
Something tells me I shouldn’t give him my real name, but I can’t help it. I want to hear him say it. “Atley. Is there something I can call you that isn’t Nightbreed?”
His chuckle should be illegal. “Are you dissing my name, Atley?”
