Page 9 of Can I Tell You Something?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
It’s gonna be a long two weeks. Yesterday I was sitting in a bar, now I’m in a cosy little cabin in the mountains where I’m supposed to try to sleep in the room next to a beautiful woman while my brain is running wild with thoughts of her naked under my red checked blanket. Or was that two days ago? Is this jetlag-induced hallucinations? It’s been a while since I hooked up with anyone. Maybe this is my brain playing tricks on me. She’s just a woman, one who doesn’t even seem to like me. I can certainly keep my dick in check.
Ryan talks about his family plenty, but I’ve never seen photos of him and his sister. I bet with a little sleuthing I can find her online and learn a few things that will get me into her good books. What she’s like, what she’s into, whether we have any common ground.
I start in the obvious place, Ryan’s Instagram account. His social media is purely for work purposes, unlike mine, which I use to promote myMac’n’Pleaseaudio work and grow my listener base. He doesn’t even follow me, the prick. Said he didn’t want to be associated with such filth. I should remind him that said filth paid for our asses to fly here business class.
I scroll through his followers list, and there she is. Hannah Richmond, with a public profile.
Jackpot.
If I was feeling a little more bold, I’d hit follow. Except… that button doesn’t say‘follow’. It says‘follow back’.
Then it hits me, the knot I already had in my stomach twisting tighter. My best friend may not follow my audio erotica voice acting account, but his sister does.
Chapter 6
Hannah
Thisistheleastrelaxed I have ever felt in my life. Normally if I can’t sleep I stick my earbuds in and let Mac tell me exactly how to get myself off until I wear myself out, but how can I do that when he’s right on the other side of the wall?
I came here hoping for two weeks of eating, drinking, skiing, and sleeping. Now my heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he’ll hear it through the wood. I’ll certainly never be able to sleep.
Cameron kept this side of his work close to his chest over dinner, but what if I accidentally let slip that I know who he is and what he does? I’ve listened to this man come so many times it’s rewired my brain. He could talk to me about sinkholes and drainage systems and I’d probably get turned on. He just has to breathe and I’m a mess.
How did I miss this?
I know he lives in L.A., and so does my brother, but L.A. is massive. Assuming everyone knows everyone is like assuming every Scottish person is related, or that I can recite every law off by heart.
This is all Ryan’s fault. He only uses social media to post about shows he’s been working on. Why couldn’t he be a normal fuckboy who posts pictures from parties like everyone else our age? I could have harnessed the power of social media and figured out his roommate’s identity ages ago.
Not that it would have mattered. The man is already an addiction I couldn’t quit, even if I wanted to. I’m practically a stalker, checking his accounts morning and night for new content, listening to audios the second something new drops, sending him my…
Oh God.
Oh, fuck no.
I have been known, on occasion, after a couple of drinks, and more than a few orgasms, to DMMac’n’Please. He never reads them, and I’ve always been OK with that, but it’s the only way I could express how much I appreciate his work.
What if he finds me on Instagram and sees everything I’ve sent him? The thought is like a bucket of ice cold water being tipped over my head.
Frantic, I grab my phone from my bedside, open Instagram, navigate to his profile and click into our message history. It’s an embarrassingly one-sided conversation that goes back months and months. I scramble to delete everything,—how the fuck do you delete DMs?—then I watch in horror as a four letter word appears at the bottom of my screen.
Seen.
Chapter 7
Cameron
Holyshit.
“This was one of your best yet, thank you so much. You sounded pretty exhausted by the end of it. I hope you had a great sleep and have relaxing weekend plans.”
“You really poured your heart into this one and it shows. I don’t know how you do it, but you always say the exact thing I need to hear in the moment. You have a gift.”
“I never come harder than when listening to your voice.”
Those barely scratch the surface of the messages she’s sent me. I keep scrolling, reading everything she’s sent me over the past year or more. Some are kind and full of praise, others are filthy as fuck.
