Colleen’s hand froze on her phone.
Could that be what had happened?
No. Tristan didn’t seem like the stalker type. She would have gotten a creeper vibe off him if he was. She’d spent enough time in college bars to finely hone her creep-o-meter, and he didn’t set off her warning bells in the slightest. Half the guys she met tripped her alarms, so she erred on the side of caution. No one had ever accused Colleen of being a wild child.
Plus, TwistyTrader had been very firm that they weren’t going to see each other again. If he’d planned a stalker scenario, wouldn’t he have been cagey and hinted around to never say never in that British accent?
And yet, her phone was buzzing.
They couldn’t be the same person. They were different heights and had different accents, for God’s sake.
Her phone buzzed again.
She picked it up and looked at his text.
I couldn’t stay away, his first DM through the Sherwood Forest direct messaging app said.
I haven’t stopped thinking about you since last night. We’ve already broken forum decorum in both letter and spirit by meeting in person. Why stop there? the next one read.
Colleen’s heart flopped over in her chest.
She shouldn’t DM him back. Forum rules were absolutely clear about meeting anyone from the boards in real life. It wasn’t just absolutely forbidden to ask, but it would be grounds for immediate banhammering.
Even for her.
It was to keep people safe, of course.
Somehow, Twist’s telling her that he couldn’t stop thinking about her was the most dangerous thing Colleen could think of.
And yet—
Colleen typed back, Last night was amazing. She paused for a long time before she added, I can’t stop thinking about you either, and hit Send.
She stared at the blinking cursor, wondering if she’d taken so long to reply that he’d gone to sleep.
Dots appeared.
And disappeared.
Colleen wanted to shake her phone.
Another message flashed into existence. I’m not going to be in the US long. In fact, I’m hoping to leave within two or three days, and I’ll probably be in New York most of that time. There’s no feasible way for me to see you again.
What a tease.
She typed back, I know.
And I don’t know when I’m going to be back. I don’t imagine it’ll be often. There’s a lot I’m working on.
I know, she typed.
But if we wanted to carry on . . . a correspondence, there’s no reason not to.
Even though she thought she might know the answer, Colleen asked him, What kind of correspondence?
Dots. No dots. Dots.
He wrote, A dirty one.
