Page 4 of Burn for You (Flirting with Forever 3)

She knows damn well I can hear her, and she’s starting to get on my nerves, so I jab right back at her. “And you’re spoiled. Did Mommy and Daddy always hand you everything you wanted? Is that what the problem is?”

“You—you have no idea what you’re talking about, Damon!” She rockets out of her seat, hands on her hips, glaring at me. I have her so worked up, I’d swear if I got close enough to her, I would probably see the flames flickering in her eyes.

I try to hold back the smirk forming on one corner of my lips. And she riles me up like no one else does. I have a feeling I’ll end up spending the whole damned weekend at the gym pummeling a bag, or better yet, my sparring partner, just to work out the frustration.

My eyes drift from her fired-up expression to her long, dark hair. My gaze travels the length of it, ending just below her breasts. She’s got on a white button-down shirt that seems tailor-made for her, tucked into a bright-pink skirt at her tiny waist. My gaze skims over her full, lush hips and down her legs to a pair of black heels. Judging by the way she dresses, she doesn’t know what it’s like to want for anything.

Her teeth clamp down on her lip. “I’m going to go make some copies. I’ll be back in a little bit and we can discuss. Maybe I can knock some sense into you.”

I shrug in a way I know will annoy her. “Whatever you need to do, princess.”

“Stop calling me princess, you jerk.” She leaves the same way she came in, with a bang of the door.

Shaking my head at her antics, I pull my phone out of my pocket and log into the Tryst app.

I’ll admit, it was not my idea in the first place to sign up for an account. My sister, Arabella, is four years younger than I am and suggested I try out this new dating app when she had luck with it. She met the guy she’s currently dating on it, so naturally, she thinks it’s going to work for me, too. She'd even created my profile—including a Moriarty avatar I would not have selected—without my knowledge. My phone started getting weird notifications, and I thought it had some sort of bug at first. Once Arabella admitted to what she’d done, I’d gotten … well, curious, I guess.

When I’d first seen some of the messages, I’d been like fuck no and had gotten rid of them quickly. But then one particular person intrigued me. Sherlock4Love. She’d been cautious at first, asking if Prof.M. really meant what she thought it did. Through our mutual love of all things Sherlock Holmes, a friendship started to blossom. Friendship might be the wrong word. We discuss. We debate. We argue. A lot. But she’s smarter than hell, and I enjoy locking horns with her over everything related to our favorite character.

Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: I’m in the mood for an argument. I figure I’m better off bickering with you over Sherlock stuff than strangling someone IRL.

Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: LOL, well, we never did finish our discussion about who portrayed Sherlock best. I’m going with Jeremy Brett. He played Sherlock for ten years in the 90s. It’s a very classic adaptation. He starred in forty-two of the original Sir Arthur Conan Doyle stories, and they were set in the original time period. I don’t know how you top that.

Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: I still say no one can compete with Benedict Cumberbatch’s modern take on Sherlock. He’s the man.

Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: Agree to disagree, then. I still like a classic better.

Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: You can’t deny that women love Cumberbatch. I’m surprised you don’t, too.

Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: Don’t get me wrong—he’s okay. He’s just not the best interpretation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s character.

Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: If you say so. The other guy seems old and too stiff.

Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: C-L-A-S-S-I-C

Chapter 3

Piper

Over the weekend, my exchanges with Prof.M. had gotten the tiniest bit … dirty. Funny how just his words can get me all hot and bothered. I think we both must have been bored because I’d spent a lot of time messaging him. An inordinate amount of time, really. It would be embarrassing to the extreme if he turns out to not be the someone special I think he could be.

I glance down over our messages on the Tryst app. It all started innocently enough …

Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: Maybe this is going to completely change our little online relationship … but can I ask what you look like? Your profile just says you’re 26.

Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: I am 26, correct … and I see you’re 29. Neither of us has an actual photo posted. You sure you want to destroy whatever illusion you’ve created in your head? Could be dangerous.

Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: I’ll admit I’ve been daydreaming about you—what you might look like. It has me curious.

Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: Is that all you’ve been daydreaming about? Just what I look like?

Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: Maybe not the only thing. But tell me. I want to know what you look like so I can build on the fantasy.

Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: If you’re sure … brunette, long, straight hair, brown eyes, fair skin.

Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: Tan. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Six feet tall. I work out a lot.

Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: I’m average height for a woman, but I like wearing heels, so I always appear taller than I am.

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