Page 4 of The Close-Up
“‘Fuck-it mode’ is me downing more alcohol in forty-five minutes than I have in the past four months combined because I found out my boyfriend cheated on me tonight. I broke up with him, of course. And now I’m chatting you up. Because fuck it. See? Fuck-it list.”
“I’m still not sure I understand what a fuck-it list is, but I’m sorry you went through that. Your ex is a prick for sure. I’m kind of glad to hear that happened, though.”
“Sorry, what?” I hiccup.
“I’m glad because if he hadn’t screwed things up with you, I wouldn’t be chatting with the most beautiful, hilarious woman I’ve met in a long time.”
There’s the slightest gleam in his eye when he speaks.
“Whoa,” I say through a hot exhale. “You are smooth...”
“Simon,” he says with a boyish half-smile.
“Naomi.”
He gives the spot on my arm where he’s holding me a gentle squeeze. I pat him just above his knee and promptly salivate. My oh my, that is one firm quad.
“It’s nice to meet you, Simon.” I let my hand rest on his thigh, fully expecting him to politely mention that I could take my hands off him at any point.
But he doesn’t. Instead his smile softens; he keeps his eyes locked on mine. That gleam in his stare sharpens, and my stomach takes a tumble. In my head, I run through everything that tells me this impromptu flirt session has gone from playful to something more.
We’re openly touching.
Our faces are mere inches apart.
He’s looking at me like he’s starving and I’m the snack he’s hungry for.
It all gives me confidence to see if I can take this exchange to the next level.
“Sorry for disrupting your quiet night,” I say. “Judging by the way you’re holding me and letting me touch you though, you’re into this.”
“You’re the kind of disruption I’m happy to have. But you’re drunk.”
I’m certain my cheeks and neck are as red as the letters on the exit sign above the back door. “Oh...yeah. I—I’m sorry, I...”
He pins me with those soothing gold-brown eyes. They haven’t lost one ounce of intensity, despite him putting the brakes on our exchange.
“I’m definitely into this—into you. But you need to be sober for this to go anywhere. How about we exchange numbers and tomorrow you can text me where you’d like me to take you for a drink?”
His sweet offer delivered with that killer grin takes the edge off my momentary embarrassment. He whips out his phone, I give him my number, and he calls me. I make a mental note to save his number when I fetch my purse.
My eyes fall to the floor. “Sorry for my, uh...drunkenness.”
He lets out the sexiest growl of a chuckle. “Don’t fret about it. We’ve all been there.”
Don’t fret about it.
Those four words hit like a Mack truck to my brain. It’s a phrase I remember from many, many years ago.
In a split second, I’m transported to my college dorm room. I’m alone in bed on a night when my roommate is out, my laptop propped on my pillow, my hand down the front of my pajama shorts. On my screen plays a naughty video of a gorgeous college-aged man on his knees in front of his girlfriend’s bed.
The lucky lady is lying on her back, her legs hanging over the edge of the bed, her naked body open to him. The webcam recording their every move is positioned in such a way that you can’t see her face.
But you sure as hell can see his. He scoots closer to her legs, rests his hands gently on the tops of her thighs, then twists his head to the camera. His mouth stretches into a smirk that somehow looks more kind than smug. He winks. Then he turns back to her open legs, lowers his face, and goes to town. Her moaning, panting, and screaming are all that can be heard for the next few minutes.
Only this isn’t just some random college couple filming their bedroom escapades for thrills.
This is the most popular cam guy online at the time, someone who millions of college girls like me watched, fantasized about, and pleasured themselves to because most of the videos he streamed were of him orally pleasing whatever lady he was seeing at the time—always with her enthusiastic consent.
