I like himsomuch. And I know he likes me, but this thing between us isn’t meant to cross over into the real world. And that’s not enough for me anymore.
I need more.
But what’s a generally unpleasant, lonely-by-design internet lurker to do? Most of the time I don’t let it bother me that I don’t have people in my life.
I wasn’t going to text that guy I met in The Beanerie. He’s hotter than August in hell, but I just couldn’t see things working out between us. He’s so…normal.
I haven’t had time to do a deep dive into him, but a preliminary background check came back squeaky clean. Peter Smith, age 30, born and raised in Surrey, in the US on a visa. No shady activity. Not a cop.
The only weird thing was his lack of credit history, but there are a few reasons that could be the case—and only one of them is that credit histories are hard to generate, so new fake identities usually don’t exist in the system. In this case, it’s probably due to the fact that he’s from another country. Not every country uses credit scores.
It was enough to convince me that he’s probablya regular guy. And, as a rule, I try to stay away from regular guys.
But I guess it doesn’t have to be that serious. I mean, Peter is both fine as fuckandinto me—which makes him exactly the kind of guy you get under when you want to get over someone else.
I flip over to my texting app and pull up a blank message toFlick-the-Bean Peter,snorting a little at the contact name.
So have you tried a lavender latte yet, or do I need to be concerned that you set the bar a little too low when you promised to be more fun than your coffee order?
He responds quicker than I’d expect—I have a text waiting for me before I even get all the way home. No cool-guy prescribed waiting time to seem aloof here. I like it.
I’ll let you be the judge. You free for dinner tonight?
I smile down at my phone. He’s decisive and makes plans. That’s a heavy point in his favor. He’s not even going to waste my time texting back and forth forever. Tonight is a bit short notice, but I can make it work, as long as he gives me a few hours.
I need to shave… everything.
9
Madison
Oh, I’m definitely a troublemaker.
I can feel eyes on me as I lock up my apartment. I turn my head to confirm, catching Todd’s gaze on my ass just before his face falls into an unfriendly sneer.
Great. I just showered, but now I feel like I need to again.
“What’s with the clown makeup? Circus in town?” he sneers, smiling at his joke before he even finishes it.
I press my lips together, enjoying the feel of them sliding smoothly against each other from the vampy dark color I swiped on. If there’s one thing about me, it’s that I’m not going to leave the house without lipstick, and something tells me inked-up Peter liked my alternative look.
“Todd. Pleasure as always. I’d stay and chat, but… I don’t want to.” I flash him a smile, grab my keys from the door and turn to leave.
“Aw, didn’t like that one? I was going to compare you to a cheap whore, but let’s be real: no one would pay for that shit.”
I sigh dramatically.
I look good. I know I look good. My everything shower took me two hours—I’m shaved and waxed ‘stache to toe—and my hair and makeup took me just as long. Artfully overlined lips. Cat eye sharp enough to kill a man. My outfit? Flawless. This dress hugs me in all the right places but will only give him a flash of cleavage to leave him wanting more.
What can I say? Flick-the-Bean Peter is my whole damn type, and I’m trying to knock his socks and then all the rest of his clothes off.
“Like you could afford me.”
“Heard you got fired, so you must be pretty desperate.”
Fired? Figures Fred would spread that story. “Hmm. How’s it going in the SmarTech talent toilet? Get that big promotion yet?” My smile is saccharine. I didn’t need to work there long to know that no one at SmarTech respects him.
His brows snap down. “I’m putting in my time.”
