“Dammit, I know. I’m just frustrated. You’re right, though. I can’t ask you to be exclusive when I can’t give you what you want. As long as you don’t count us out, I can handle that for now.”
“I’m sorry I can’t commit to more.”
“I’m sorry too… for not being what you need.”
I giggle. “Did we just have our first fight?”
He scoffs. “I think we did. You know what thatmeans, don’t you?”
“What?” I ask, with a sneaking suspicion of what the answer is.
“Makeup sex.”
“You’re terrible,” I scold, even though my body automatically responds to the suggestion.
“I bet you just clenched your thighs and are already wet for me.”
“Don’t you dare tease me when you can’t do anything about it.”
“Fine. We’ll make up properly tomorrow, so plan some extra time for me. Okay?”
“Okay, bossy.”
“Don’t pretend you aren’t excited.”
I giggle in acknowledgment. “Not at all. I’m looking forward to it.”
I’m grinning ear to ear as we end the call. When did he turn into the man who makes me smile instead of scowl? Or maybe he’s always been that man, and I was too hung up on my sexual conservativeness to notice. Either way, I like how he is—a little sweet and a whole lot filthy.
Noticing the time, I rush to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine before curling up on the couch for my chat with Owen. I’m anxious to see if it’s all in my head or if I’m as into him as I remember. I’m also excited to exchange pictures tonight and hopefully set up an actual date. We need to move on to the next step so I can figure out if I’m interested in the real deal or just the idea of Owen.
My phone pings on the dot with a notification from the dating app. We’re still communicating through that since it’s required. We found out early on that we weren’t allowed to enter numbers into the chat. Their algorithm even looks for numbers spelled out and blocks the text if it detects you’re circumventing the system. We’re supposed to receive approval after our fifth qualified exchange, and I’m more anxious each time we talk, counting down conversations.
Owen: Hey, beautiful. Is this a good time?
Shoot. I’m immediately disappointed when no message pops up telling us we can send pictures. I’d like to know whether we’re physicallycompatible, because like it or not, it’s important. But I shake my frustration off for now, not wanting the sour mood.
Poppy: It is. Chilling on the couch with a glass of wine. How about you?
Owen: I’m enjoying my wine in bed. Would you like to join me?
Poppy: Sure. You can tell me about your weekend while I get comfortable.
Crap. I shouldn’t have suggested that. Now he’ll ask how mine was. That was stupid. I go to the bedroom and am almost situated when I hear his reply chime in.
Owen: You inspired me to catch up with a friend. How did your visit go?
Poppy: It was good. Really good, actually. I was sad when it came to an end.
Owen: Same. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Are you excited for your brother to come home?
That was easier than I thought, and even led to a topic I don’t have to shy away from. It’s weird, but I’m not as enthusiastic as I usually am when we chat, and it most definitely has something to do with another man I’d like to be talking to.
Poppy: Yes! I can’t believe he’ll be here to stay. It’s the best present ever. What are you doing for the holidays?
Owen: I always go visit my mom.
Poppy: Where does she live?
