A smile stretched over my face because I was pretty certain I knew who it was from. Still clutching my panties, I retrieved my phone from the bathroom counter, and sure enough—it was a text from Alistair.
Alistair: Hey pretty lady, getting ready for yoga?
Me: Yep, getting dressed now.
Alistair: Getting dressed? I wish I was there to see that.
I wished he was, too. I missed him more each day. Every phone call, dinner date, late night conversation, and good morning text message made being apart that much harder. Other than the distance, things with Alistair were perfect.
A perfect gentleman, a perfect kisser—not to mention his skills in the bedroom.
When would we get to do that again?
Sure, we were dating, but it had its limits.
But did it have to?
I pulled on my underwear and typed out a response.
Me: I can send you a picture if you want ??
Alistair: Pamela Rollins. Are you going to send me nudes?
I slapped my hand over my eyes and snorted. I wasn’t quite ready to send him nude pictures, but my underwear and yoga tank were the equivalent of a bathing suit.
That I could do.
Me: Would a picture of me in my underwear suffice?
Alistair: Sweetheart, I’m happy with whatever you give me. It could be a picture of your smiling face and I’d still be thrilled.
I couldn’t believe this was my life. How did I get lucky enough to have a minotaur plucked from the pages of a romance novel and tossed into my life? These things didn’t happen to me—but thiswasmy life, and it was about time I started to live it.
I walked in front of the mirror, adjusted my bun, and fluffed my bangs with my fingers.
How did you pose for these types of pictures?
I put my hand on my waist and cocked my hip, the roll of my love handles peeking out from underneath my tank. Giving the mirror the most sensual look I could, I snapped the picture.
Damn, I looked good.
That was one thing that had come with age—confidence in my body. Every wrinkle, stretch mark, and scar told a story. My body wasn’t the same as when I was twenty, or even forty, but I loved it all the same.
I sent it over to Alistair, and his response was almost immediate.
Alistair: Holy Goddess, woman ??. I wish those thighs were hugging my face.
Shit.
I clenched my legs together, remembering how good he’d made me feel. Not just good, but cherished, because my pleasure was important to him.
Me: I wish they were too.
Alistair: The things I’d do to you…
A few suggestive text messages and I could already feel myself getting wet. In fifteen minutes, I’d be taking my first yoga class.
Instructed by his daughter.
