Page 19 of Nailed (Dad Bod Contracting 3)
Ryder: Oh stop, you.
Ryder: Not really. I have a fragile male ego, so you should compliment me some more.
Me: My compliments are…non-verbal.
Ryder: Meaning?
Me: Meaning the fact that you’re doing that stupid pose, but I can’t stop looking at the pic.
Ryder: Looking at the pic, and…?
I let impulse reign, and in this case the impulse is to take another photo. Me, on my back in bed, staring up at the camera with my lip caught in my teeth and a wide-eyed look of arousal on my face—not at all faked or exaggerated. The fact that I’m not wearing a bra and my shirt is mostly unbuttoned means my breasts sag downward with gravity, the edges of the shirt just barely covering my nipples. The lower edge of the photo cuts off at mid-thigh, which is more than enough to show my bright yellow underwear…
And my fingers are in the act of sneaking under the waistband.
Naughty, naughty.
I send it without touching it up or overthinking it.
Ryder: holy fucking hell, Laurel. You’re killing me.
Me: Killing you?
Ryder: how am I supposed to keep this light and fun and MOSTLY innocent when you send me a pic like that?
Me: Oops?
Ryder sends another photo, this time a regular front-facing, waist-up selfie…with the gray underwear dangling from a fingertip.
Ryder: Oops?
I swallow hard, only just resisting the impulse to ask him to pan down.
Instead, I slip out of my shirt and take another selfie, squeezing my breasts together so I can cover my nipples with one hand while taking the selfie with the other. Which is a trick, and it takes a few tries to get right.
Me: Oops?
Ryder: I’m out of oopses, and you’re still in your underwear.
I rectify this, the daring of this game making my heart pound as I snap a photo of the yellow boy short panties dangling from my finger.
Me: Better?
Ryder: Yes. No. I don’t know.
Ryder: I think I need more to be sure.
Me: More what?
Ryder: More of you. All of you.
I swallow hard, swallow down the urge to give him what he wants—all of me, bare, in a photograph.
Me: Not yet
Ryder: I’m so conflicted right now.
Me: Conflicted about what?
Ryder: My need to see you naked has me wanting to beg you for more. But another part of me respects you for holding your ground.
Me: You respect me for holding my ground?
Ryder: Absolutely. I also appreciate the continued…mystique, I guess, although that’s not the right word. I’m even more crazy fucking hard for you than ever, but I’ve still not seen all of you. And, honestly, I’m glad, because it’ll make the reality of you, bare, live and in person, that much better. Especially when I’m the one to strip you out of your clothes.
Me: *gulp* I’m not sure whether to say thank you, ask you to show me how hard you are, or rethink my stance on sending you a nude.
Ryder: Now who’s not making things any easier?
I groan.
Me: I better go.
Ryder: Something better to do?
Me: Yeah…myself.
Ryder: Not fair. Not fair AT ALL.
Me: Like you won’t be doing the same thing?
Ryder: …
Ryder: while thinking of everything I can still only imagine.
Me: Tomorrow is Friday…
Ryder, after a brief pause: You have the weekend?
Me: yeah, why?
Ryder: the place we’re going to for dinner is in the city. We may be dining late, and not feel like driving all the way back out this way…
Me: You’re suggesting we get a hotel room for the weekend?
Ryder: Well, technically, YOU suggested it, I just implied it.
Me, with an eye-roll emoji: Don’t split hairs with me.
Ryder: It’s not hairs I’m dreaming of splitting…
Me: RYDER.
Ryder, with a laughing emoji: … So? Yea or nay?
Me: I’ll have to think about that.
Ryder: Fair enough. Am I picking you up? Are you following me? Are we meeting somewhere?
Me: I’ll have to think about that too. I’m sorry.
Ryder: No apologies. I understand.
Me: I’ll text you tomorrow morning with my answers to both questions.
Ryder gives me a thumbs-up, and I toss the phone aside. I sigh, rub my face with both hands, and then sit up, running my hands through my hair.
What am I thinking? What am I doing?
Am I teasing him, or myself?
He wants to get a hotel room.
A weekend in downtown Chicago with Ryder. Alone.
Since the day we met in James’s backyard, I’ve wanted him. The first thing I wanted to do when I saw him was run my hands through his brilliant red hair, and the second was get him alone, and naked. And inside me.
When was the last time I had sex? Derek abruptly dumped me over a month ago, and he’d been acting weird and standoffish for a few weeks before that so we hadn’t had been having sex, plus there was my period which had put an obvious damper on things…which means it’s been over two months, almost three.
Or is it four?
