Page 17 of Thirst Trap
And a lot of water emojis, whatever that means.
“He can dance like that for me any day!”
“I’m going to need his location so I can not-so-patiently wait for a dance.”
“Does he do private shows?”
“I’m pregnant from watching him. And I’ve had a hysterectomy.”
“Must. Find. Officer. Sexy.”
“Can he dance like that horizontally?”
My jaw drops with every comment. And those are the tame ones. Some of them make my cheeks heat, and it’s not easy to embarrass me.
“You should read the direct messages,” Trent says. “Those are… let’s just say I wish I could move like you, my friend.”
I tell him to pull up the messages, and I quickly glance over the words I can see without opening them. Holy hell, he’s right.
I want you to…
You are so fucking hot…
I’d like to fuck…
SUBJECT: Whitley
Whitley? I don’t even stop to look at who sent it or glance at the user’s picture as I open the message. If it has her name in it, I need to read it.
Officer Sexy, huh? I like it. Has a certain ring to it.
Whitley told me you two were going to leave everything in Nashville and remember it as a fun night. Well, Officer Sexy, my girl is miserable, and I have a feeling the only one who can put a smile on her face is you. Here’s her number. You didn’t get it from me.
By the way, she hasn’t seen the video. She doesn’t have the app. Just figured you should know that.
— Betsy
