Dammit, I was.
Waylon: Is that so?
Poison Ivy Girl: I’ll prove it.
Just as I’m about to send another message stating I’ll take her word for it, she sends me a photo.
Of her ass in a bikini.
I nearly choke on my saliva.
Jesus Christ.
What am I supposed to say to that?
Waylon: I think you’re lying about your age.
Poison Ivy Girl: What makes you say that?
Waylon: That’s too perfect of an ass for anyone over forty.
Oh God, why did I type that?
Better yet, why did I send it?
Now I’m no better than Scrawny Perverted Asshole.
Poison Ivy Girl: And now you’ve seen it twice. So your turn.
Waylon: Against my will!
Poison Ivy Girl: HAHAHA you poor baby.
Waylon: Okay, fine. I’m all about equality, so here ya go…
And then I send her a photo of a donkey.
Poison Ivy Girl: Wow… hairier than I expected but cute nonetheless.
Waylon: Cute and hairy, I’ll take that.
Poison Ivy Girl: Gonna be disappointed if you’re ugly and hairless.
The fact that she has the same humor as me makes me even more curious about her.
“Who the hell has you blushin’ like a teenage girl who just met her pop idol?”
Wilder’s voice grabs my attention, and my gaze follows him from my kitchen to help himself to a beer and then to the living room where he promptly plops his ass in my recliner.
“Do you ever knock?”
“What for?” He pops the tab of the can. “Even if I did, you wouldn’t have heard me with how lost in your phone you were.”
“I was not.” I lock and pocket it to prove a point. “What’re you doin’ here anyway?”
“Let’s go out tonight.”
“No, thanks.”
