Alaric:Maybe I like nice guys.
Magnus:Really? That’s interesting.
I thought you liked guys who pushed you around.
Guys who can make a mess of you. Kyle doesn’t seem like the type.
Alaric:Maybe you’re right.
My heart slams. He’s playing. He’s not hanging up, he’s leaning in.
Magnus:What do you like in a guy then?
Alaric:Wouldn’t you like to know.
I laugh out loud, a sound that bounces off the empty apartment walls. He’s teasing me, throwing my own game back at me, and it’s working.
Magnus:I do want to know. Tell me.
Another long pause.
Alaric:You’re ridiculous. First my dog, then my date.
We send the message at the same time.
Magnus:So it is a date.
Alaric: What next? My blood type?
Neither of us moves for a moment. Letting our messages hang unanswered.
Magnus:Everything. I want to know everything about you.
The dots flicker. He sends nothing. I stare at the screen until my eyes ache.
Inside, something ugly and sweet curls tighter. It isn’t just lust anymore. It’s possessiveness. It’s curiosity. It’s the way his answers come back clipped but immediate, like he’s just as hooked as I am.
While I wait, I scroll back through the pictures—the café shot, the skyline, the dog, the one with Kyle. I pinch and zoom until Alaric’s face fills the screen, lips slightly parted, eyes dark.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard. I want to say a hundred things: Stop seeing him. Come here. You’re mine. Instead, I type slow:
Magnus:You wish I were the one to ask you on the date?
The dots blink immediately. Like they’re just as shocked as he is.
Alaric:You’re obsessed.
Magnus:Maybe. Are you?
Long pause.
Alaric:Goodbye, Magnus.
I smile seeing my first name inked on the screen. Oh, he doesn’t know what he’s done.
I lean back on the couch, phone glowing in my palm, the whiskey warm in my gut. He’s teasing me now, giving me just enough to keep me on the hook. And it’s working.
Because all I can think about is the next time he answers. The next time I push him. The next time he cracks. He doesn’t reply. But he doesn’t block me either.
