“I guess I’m better at leaving voicemails than I thought,” I tease.
“I won’t argue with that. I’m looking forward to talking to you tonight.” His lips graze my ear as he whispers. “You can tell me what you liked about last night, and what you want to try next time.”
I manage to contain the shiver his words send through me. “I could probably fill a book with that information.”
He laughs. “Yeah?”
“Well, at least a long email,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“Oh, I’m definitely going to hold you to that. Ireallywant to see this email.”
“I can do that. But only if you write one, too.”
“Deal.” He squeezes me in an intimate hug.
“Then I guess you better let me go home and start typing,” I say, poking his side as he releases me.
He nods, and his hands rest on my hips as he leans in again. Our goodbye kiss feels more like a new beginning.
Chapter 24
Shelley
Jordan:I’m going to have to mark this assignment incomplete. None of these are fantasies. This is a tiny list of the three most basic positions known to humans.
My cheeks heat as I read Jordan’s text. He read my email then. Missing him and feeling bold last night, I decided to follow through with his suggestion to send my fantasies. I thought it would be sexy, but now it feels a little humiliating.
Me:Maybe I misunderstood? Apparently, I’m not a good student.
Jordan: Sorry, Law School, I’m not buying that one at all.
Me:Ugh. I need an example, then. What exactly are you looking for with this “assignment?” And you didn’t even send yours yet. Why am I the only one being vulnerable?
Jordan:I didn’t realize you were really going to do it so quickly. I thought I still had a few days. But fair enough. You write out a more detailed scene, and I’ll write one, too. Try to be specific. We’ll send them to each other by midnight. Deal?
Midnight tonight? Six hours from now, I could have a detailed description of Jordan’s fantasies in my inbox? I let him sweat it out a few minutes before responding.
Me:Those terms are agreeable.
Jordan:It’s hot when you put on your courtroom voice, Counselor.
I’m still smiling while I send an eyeroll emoji.
Me:Save the role play for your scene. Get to writing.
Jordan:Yes, ma’am.
Turning to my computer, I start typing. Midnight can’t come fast enough. The words fly out of me, and it doesn’t take me long to finish my story and hit send.
At eleven-forty-two, I get his email. Not that I’ve been obsessively checking, and not that I set notifications and a specific sound alert for everything that comes through from his account or anything.
I think it would be cool to come home to someone wearing my jersey, and nothing else. Maybe we eat a meal or play a game. Then they sit on my lap and things get heated.
Three sentences? His fantasy email contains exactly three sentences, and they aren’t even long ones. I, on the other hand, wrote a two-thousand-word short story. He’s going to think I’m too much. That is, if he even responds at all. What if I scare him off with my over-eager intensity? I must admit, I do like the idea of wearing his jersey and sitting on his lap, though.
My phone buzzes with a new text.
Jordan:Are you awake? Is it okay to call?
