Kitten: And your other clients are OK with it?
Me: Yes.
Tell her the truth.
Me: Last night was the only time I’ve even broken the rule.
Me: You’re dangerous, Kitten.
Kitten: Roar … I am mighty. Very dangerous roar.
She sends a GIF of a lion jumping into a box, flopping on its back, and roaring, with text that says, “Apex predator.” I want to make some sort of cutting remark, remind her not to be rude, but as my thumb rubs against my ring, I remember that once, long ago, I wasn’t so cynical and maybe she’s just joking.
She’s quiet for a few minutes.
Kitten: What should I wear?
Me: Whatever you want.
Me: It won’t be on long.
Kitten: ::Blush::
Me: But you look good in pink.
Fuck … why? Why am I telling her that? Stupid.
Kitten: Done … and thanks for noticing.
Kitten: See you in two nights?
Me: Yes. Don’t forget to submit your forms—can’t do anything unless we follow policies.
Kitten: White.
What does she mean white? I don’t understand. I grab a water bottle from my nightstand as I try to craft a response.
Kitten: That’s the Alpha Dogggz’ favorite crayon flavor … because they’re racist.
Water flies out of my mouth and all over my phone. She’s cute, sexy as hell, and funny.
It’s not a matter of when I will break the rules—it’s how quickly.
