Wanna get laid?
Fuck, Jesus, no, that has to be the cheesiest thing I have ever written. I might as well send him an eggplant emoji and a gif with waggly eyebrows.
I delete it and try another.
Can I see you again?
Mmm... nope. No, that sounds like a date, and what I need right now is very un-date-like.
You were so hot last night.
True, at least, but also right out of bad porn.
I close my eyes and accept my fate.
Eggplant emoji, peach emoji, raindrops emoji, Send.
I skip the waggly eyebrows.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I may succumb to tequila yet.
Except the reply is almost immediate.
I don’t understand. Are you cooking?
“Oh my God.” I facepalm in real life but hold off on sending the corresponding emoji, because Iwouldhappen to hook up with a forty-something who has the technological wherewithal of my grandfather. If I sent the facepalm, he’d probably think I was trying to play some kind of digital peekaboo.
Finally, in desperation, I call him.
“Hello?” He sounds like he isn’t expecting my call.
“Hey. It’s Brady.”
“Oh.” Still distracted. “Hi.” Nash’s voice is clear, but I can also hear a lot of background noise. People cheering, a whistle blowing.
“Is... is this a bad time?”
“No. Uh. Not— What’s up?”
I tried to be slick via text and wound up crossing all the signals, so I go for the direct approach. “Wanna come over tonight? Go for round two?”
“Oh.” The word is surprised, but he follows it up with a low laugh that I can feel in my gut, even over the phone. “I can’t tonight.”
Of course he can’t. Two in a row is too much to hope for. Too fast, too soon. Patrón, pull up a chair. I’ll provide the salt and limes, you provide the oblivion.
“No problem,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I just thought I’d—”
“Tomorrow?”
“Oh. Oh yeah. Tomorrow’s good.”
Somehow, even the knowledge that he wants to get together again is enough to stave off the call of Cuervo.
14
Nash
Ihaven’t had so much sex in a very long time. Brady is... I’m not even sure I’d have been able to keep up with him when I was his age.
