He doesn’t even read my reply, and after five minutes of anxiously staring at my phone, I toss it to the side and go back to packing in a huff. I feel like an epic failure as a flirt. I hate technology. From shoddy Wi-Fi to not getting the tone of a text right, we just don’t seem to get along.
I crank up some music and make good progress on the first round of my packing. I always over pack, so I’ve learned to gather everything I want and then do a few rounds of editing.
I want to be efficient, since I’ll be traveling so much on this trip. And now I’ve added another country. I’ll have to start a new page in my binder and do some research on the weather of Romania during our visit and what I’ll need.
After pulling out some outfits that include layering for all weather possibilities, I shuffle my trip stuff to the side of my closet to edit tomorrow. For now, I’ll reward myself for getting started.
I head out to the kitchen and dig in the fridge for something to eat, but really nothing sounds good. With a sigh, I pull a frozen pizza from the freezer and toss it into the oven. To cheer myself up, I pour a small glass of my favorite tequila.
I swirl the golden liquid around the glass to get it chilled from the two skull ice cubes and take a sip while I scroll through our new social media accounts Anna set up. The oven timer goes off, and I pull out my sad little pizza. I cut it into fours and throw half of it on a paper plate. I’m eating high class tonight.
I keep scrolling, getting drawn in by book reviews and funny memes, and absentmindedly take a large bite. I drop the phone and start panting as cheese the temperature of liquid hot magma hits the roof of my mouth. Lucifer stares at me with judgmental unblinking yellow eyes, unamused by my open-mouthed breathing.
I grab my drink and fill my mouth with ice cold tequila.Social media really is dangerous,I think. I scowl at the offending pizza and decide to let it cool while I grab a seltzer. I hear my phone chime with an incoming text message and my heart races, wondering if Luke is replying.
I snatch it up only to see another unknown number. Curiosity piqued, I swipe my text messages open.
Unknown
I’m in town. We’re going out, little pet.
Pet? Who the hell would call me that? I wonder how everyone is getting my phone number. Is it scrawled on the bathroom wall somewhere I don’t know about?
Lieshe
Who is this?
An incoming contact comes in and when I click it, a stunning picture of a redhead wearing devil horns pops up with the name Fire Goddess. How on earth did Luke’s ‘maybe sister’ get my number? And more importantly, why on earth would she invite me out when she obviously doesn’t even like me?
Lieshe
Out? You know where I live?
I question my sanity as I entertain the thought of going out with this girl. I really don’t know her at all. But I know that if I say no, I might regret not going for the rest of my life. I just know she has to be absolute trouble when she’s out. Like arrested on the front page of the news trouble.
I’m also intrigued by the possibility of getting some insider info on Luke. I look at the clock. It’s already eight and I’m on my second tequila. I’ll need it to face her. Fuck it, let’s do this. Apparently, it’s a “yes” night and I’m up for anything from international travel to local mayhem.
Fire Goddess
30 minutes. Be ready.
Lieshe
I didn’t even say yes yet! Where are we going?
She doesn’t reply. Poor communication must run in the family. Guess I’m going out–somewhere. I take a chance and text Anna to see if she can cover the store for me tomorrow since I have a feeling I will get in a little late. Or a lot.
I pick up my now lukewarm pizza and fold the two pieces over on each other into a giant sandwich and head back to my closet while I wolf it down.
I stare at the disarray, trying to figure out what the hell to wear. Anything will seem like a burlap sack next to the "Fire Goddess." I really need to get her name since I amnotcalling her that. I admire her big dick energy, though. She could teach lessons. Maybe hanging out with her will do me good.
I finish my pizza while flipping through hangers, quickly dismissing almost everything I own. It doesn’t help that I do not know where we are going. I don’t want to be completely off, so settle for a black skater dress and pair it with my red Chelsea boots and red coffin backpack.
I think it’s cute and flattering. I would normally have worn my red fishnets with this outfit, but someone ripped the crotch out of mine, and I hadn’t gotten around to replacing them yet.
I rummage through my drawer to find the perfect bra and panty set, hoping to channel some big dick energy myself, then sprint to the bathroom to do my hair and makeup. I change into the lingerie and do a quick curl refresh with a spray bottle and conditioner.
Leaving my hair to air dry, I start my makeup. I glance at my watch and see I only have fifteen minutes left until she is supposed to pick me up. Rushing to finish, I pair a smokey cat eye with a bold red lip. I’m just about to get dressed when I hear a brusque knock.
