Page 34 of Whisking It All

WhiskyBusiness: Are you up?

DiceDiceBaby: I am. What time is it where you are?

WhiskyBusiness: Just after midnight.

DiceDiceBaby: Here too.

Her heart pounded. DDB was in the same time zone. For a fraction of a second, she considered asking him where he lived.

What if he’s close?

WhiskyBusiness: What are you wearing?

It was the most forward she’d ever been with DDB. No suggestive vegetables to hide behind. This was just her, crossing this line that she very much hoped he wanted to cross with her.

A moment later, a photo appeared on her screen. The angle was odd, just barely hiding his face from the frame, though the edge of a stubbled jaw was visible in the upper right corner. He wore a heathered blue t-shirt, the fabric pulled tight over his biceps and pecs, and gray sweatpants. He was fully clothed, yet the image was downright indecent, the way his shirt clung to every ridge and contour of his body, the all-too-clear outline of his dick apparent beneath his sweatpants. She sucked in a breath, heat pooling low in her belly.

WhiskyBusiness: Damn. That’s a good picture.

DiceDiceBaby: Your turn.

Tessa kicked off the comforter and angled the camera to hide her face, though her dark hair spilled over her shoulder, curling between her breasts. She wore a turquoise V-neck t-shirt, stretched out from years of wear and dipping scandalously low. The fabric, thin from repeated washing, betrayed her lack of bra and the tight furls of her nipples. The top of her pink pajama shorts and a stretch of upper thigh appeared at the edge of the frame.

DiceDiceBaby: It’s good to see you, beautiful.

WhiskyBusiness: You too.

WhiskyBusiness: What are you doing up?

DiceDiceBaby: I just got home from the restaurant. You?

WhiskyBusiness: Hiding from the ghost in this house.

DiceDiceBaby: There’s a ghost in your house?

WhiskyBusiness: Not my house. I’m staying with family for a bit.

DiceDiceBaby: In a haunted house?

WhiskyBusiness: It might be. I keep hearing all these creeeeeeeak whoooosh eerrrrrrr noises.

DiceDiceBaby: Well, that settles it. It’s clearly haunted.

WhiskyBusiness: I’m glad you agree.

DiceDiceBaby: You could burn sage.

WhiskyBusiness: Excuse me. I don’t burn my cooking.

DiceDiceBaby: No, like a bundle of sage. You light it on fire and wave it around.

WhiskyBusiness: And that helps my ghost problem how?

DiceDiceBaby: I don’t really know. My sister-in-law’s friend mentioned something once.

WhiskyBusiness: I’d rather forget about the sage and cuddle up with you instead.

She waited for his reply, knowing maybe this time she’d gone too far. Saying she wanted to cuddle was definitely more serious than suggestive produce and, more than that, it would never happen. But at that moment, she really did mean it. She wanted nothing more than to bury her face in the soft fabric of his t-shirt and wrap herself in his strong arms. Funny how when she closed her eyes and pictured it, DDB smelled like Jamie, like soap and cedar…

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