Page 56 of Pretty Please Me
Is it strange that I’m a dude, texting a dude, pretending to be the woman I’m falling in love with? Yeah.
But this is what I signed up for, and this woman has me wrapped so tightly around her little finger that I’d sell my soul to the devil for a do-over life where we could actually be together. But since I’m the only devil in this situation, I suppose that’s out of the cards. It’s a penance worthy of the crime, and I deserve every bit of anguish that comes my way.
“Okay, let’s see… What do you want to learn about him from this exchange?” I ask as I try to formulate a response.
“I… I don’t really know.” Maggie shrugs. “I guess I want to know if he sees me as a woman rather than the awkward teenager I was in high school? Is he interested in a relationship with me, or is he just looking for a good time? Is he tied to his location for his job? Will his family be okay with him moving on after his divorce? Will they like me?” She blurts her questions off rapid fire.
I try to suppress my laugh with a cough. “Oh, is that all?”
Her bright eyes look at mine, and then she looks down at her wringing hands. “Is that too much? See, that’s why I need help. I don’t know what to say or how to even begin.”
I wink. “How about we start with the most basic question? I begin typing.
“What’s the most basic question?” she asks.
I answer her without looking away from the phone. “If he’s even into you like that… and more importantly, if you’re really into him.”
I hit send on the message and pass her the phone.
You may be able to talk me into a video chat, but you’re going to have to warm me up for it first.
Maggie gasps as she reads the message, her neck bright red and splotchy. “Sam! Oh my God, he’s going to think I’m asking him for nudes or something!” She squeals as she playfully punches me in the arm.
I laugh at her embarrassment. “Come on, Mags, what do you say? You wanted my help. Let me help you do this.” I look into her eyes, trying to gauge her.
She shakes her head and smiles. “I can’t believe I’m letting you help me sext someone.”
This whole arrangement just went from weird to downright ludicrous.
I give her my best devilish grin and pour her a fresh glass of wine. I excuse myself and come back with a whiskey on the rocks because it’s going to take something a little stiffer than white wine to give me the strength to go through with this.
“Cheers!” I clink my glass to hers just as Trent’s response pops up on the screen.
Trent
You have my attention … What are you wearing?
TWENTY-TWO
Maggie
“What are you wearing? Seriously?” Sam scoffs and rolls his eyes. He opens his hand for the phone, and I hesitate only for a moment before handing it over to him. I trust him, but who knows what this may put into motion. Am I ready to take the next step with Trent? It feels so scary, but I guess that’s what I’ve been missing, why I haven’t been successful in any of my relationships… why I’m such a terrible lay.
Anxiousness swirls around in my belly at the thought of Sam being so willing to help me flirt with Trent. It’s unsettling, and I kind of feel like I’ve got whiplash from his typically possessive nature. I guess this really is just a friend helping a friend and nothing more. All the confusing feelings are just a reflection of my naïvety. Of course, I’d start to feel something for the first man to give me a positive sexual experience. I blow out a frustrated sigh. I’m so thankful Sam isn’t a mind reader because he’d be running for the hills if he had any idea what I was thinking.Feelings are not facts. They are visitors and nothing more, I remind myself.
I’ve got to woman up and let loose for a change. This is how adults behave in relationships. Not everything is special and meaningful. Sometimes people just like to have fun, and what Sam and I are doing is just that.
My bruised ego feels a little better after my internal pep-talk. I hope I’ll eventually figure out how to stop believing every little butterfly I feel in my belly when a man gives me attention. I guess the feelings just magnify when it comes from a close friend.
Go home, butterflies. You’re drunk.
I finish my wine with a newfound boldness and reach for Sam’s whiskey glass.Taking a long sip I watch him as the liquid burns my throat in the best way.
The faintest hint of smirk pulls at the corner of Sam’s mouth as he watches me. “Can I get you another drink?” His eyebrows lift.
“That’s up to you. I’ve already had four drinks this week at Gwen’s. I don’t want to break another rule.” I offer him a shy smile as I twirl my hair.
His eyes grow dark, and his nostrils flare, and just when I think he’s going to protest, he gets up and goes into the kitchen. The sound of cabinets opening and the clinking of ice dropping into glasses is answer enough.
