I search for my brother in the crowded hall to confirm that his eyes are elsewhere before clicking on the little heart icon in the corner of Bex Hex.
Admittedly, I thought Ford’s plan of putting me on a dating app was another one of his idiotic ideas to find me a boyfriend that couldn’t be swayed by my brother’s influence, but after getting numerous right swipes, it was sort of a confidence boost.
Of course, all the guys are boring, and not a single one of them has made my heart skip, but it’s still beneficial to get some practice conversation in.
I read the message from the latest swipe.
Favorite color, favorite food, favorite sport to watch… 3, 2, 1, and go.
I’m instantly intrigued because at least he’s not automatically asking for boob pics.
Purple, coffee… oh wait, that’s not a meal, and hockey.
I click my phone off and go back to watching the game until I feel another message come in.
Oh, he’s fast.
The other guys take days to respond, and sometimes they don’t respond at all if I refuse to send nudes.
Coffee is absolutely a meal. I’m with you on that.
I smile and type.
I like you already.
I take a few steps away from my sorority sisters and lean against the wall. I place my attention on the game, and to the naked eye, it looks like I’m watching intently, but instead, I’m waiting for another message.
Let’s get coffee sometime, then.
Someone is eager.
I’m not mad about it, but the conversation is definitely different from the rest. Most of the guys use Bex Hex for booty calls, but this guy seems…different. He doesn’t text back right away, and I start to second-guess myself.
Is coffee code for sex or something?
I don’t joke about coffee.
I quietly laugh.
A man after my own heart.
Why exactly are you on this app, Taytum?
My heart jumps to my throat, and I hurriedly click my phone screen off. What the hell? I press the device to my chest and panic. I laser in on my brother, but he’s in the middle of a conversation with some girl I don’t recognize, and Ford is lazily leaning against the wall, watching the football game.
I slowly peel my phone away from my chest and stare at the message, when another comes in.
You could walk up to any guy in this crowded hall, and they’d fall to their knees for you.
My jaw slacks for a split second before I clamp it shut. I survey the hallway and scrutinize each and every male. There are a few that make eye contact with me, but none of them have a phone in their hand.
I’ll give it to him. I’m definitely intrigued now.
Are you some sort of stalker?
I don’t get a chance to search the crowd for someone typing on their phone because his message comes in too quick.
That depends. Does that sort of thing turn you on, or does it scare you?
Okay, who is this guy?
I relax into the wall again, right beside Claire’s closed door with a fuzzy scrunchie hanging off the doorknob.
It depends on what you look like I guess.
I bite the inside of my cheek and wait eagerly for his message.
I know your type.
How could he possibly know my type when I don’t even know my type?
Oh? Please tell me what my type is. Then maybe I wouldn’t be on this app.
I roll my eyes after I hit send.
Do that again. I love it when you roll your eyes.
My neck cracks from how quickly I snap to attention. I scan the crowd again, and it doesn’t take long for my beating heart to tell me that I’m more excited than I am irritated.
Who are you?
When you find me, you’ll know.
I exit out of the conversation and look at his name. Runner? Is that a nickname? Or a last name? A lot of athletes go by their last name, so that would make sense. I’m about to search the student directory, when he messages again.
Stop trying to figure it out and play the game with me.
I grin.
You don’t want to play a game with me. I always win.
I’d love to see you score.
My fingers pause over the screen because I can’t decide if it’s meant to be a sexual innuendo or if I’m just that messed up from the other night when Ford got me all twisted. I’m desperate for anything at this point–even dirty messages on a dating app from some guy that’s potentially a stalker.
For the love of God.
I’m pathetic. I can’t even get myself back to normal with my own imagination and fingers. Unfortunately, Ford always pops into my head right before I’m about to orgasm, and then I end up denying myself the one pleasure I can get.
Another message comes through.
And yes, I meant it in the way you’re thinking.
Bexley U scores a touchdown on the screen, and everyone cheers around me. I seem to be the only one within eyesight that has their phone in their hand, so I move a little farther into the chaos for a better vantage point.
Your cheeks turned pink when you read that message.
Oh my god. Who the hell– Another message comes through.
Does that mean you want to score tonight, Taytum?
I’ve wanted to score since I was kissed by Ford.
You do. You’re biting your lower lip like you’re thinking about something inappropriate.
Oh my god. I type quickly.
Who are you?
My stomach fills with butterflies, and I’m starting to sweat.
Now what fun would that be if I told you?
He’s right. It’s more exhilarating this way. It would be even more exhilarating if Ford was reading these messages and foaming at the mouth with jealousy. But he’s the one who wants me on here to find a guy who isn’t him, so I push that thought right out of my head.
What are you thinking about? You’ve got that look in your eye…like you’re about to do something that your big brother wouldn’t approve of.
My eyebrow flicks.
He doesn’t approve of anything I do, so I have to do everything in secret.
Like kissing his best friend in a dirty bar bathroom.
I bite my lip again and wait for a response. I take a look around the crowd and linger on a few guys who have their phones out, but when they put them away, I don’t have a message, so I internally pout.
Tell me what you do in secret…
I lock onto the back of Ford’s head, because he’s now one of those secrets. There’s a little turn of my belly when I see a girl standing beside him with her hand on his bicep, laughing at something he said.
My breath hitches, and I’m instantly irritated at the bite of jealousy I feel.
I type hard and fast, as if playing this little game with a stranger is going to erase my body’s reaction to him.
When I’m alone?
I start to get antsy when he doesn’t message me right away. When I feel the vibration against my palm, I almost drop the phone.
Yes.
I want to know what you do when no one is around.
Late at night.
Behind closed doors.
With every message that comes in, my skin flushes hotter. I gather my hair at the nape of my neck and pull it to the side to get some air flowing.
Oh, it must be pretty good if you’re starting to sweat.
I refuse to look around the hallway again, and I absolutely will not look in Ford’s direction to see if that girl is still beside him, because deep down, I know I shouldn’t care.
It is good, and I definitely sweat.
Where do you touch first?
Why is this so hot? And why am I letting some random guy on a dating app turn me on? My mouth runs dry, and I break my one rule and look at Ford again. My heart slips when I find the same girl beside him.
I have no right to be jealous or, even worse…hurt. Yet, I am.
My fingers fly over the screen.
My thighs
My pulse picks up pace, and I’m determined to find my mystery guy before the night ends.
If it were me, I’d touch you there too. I’d trail a finger up each smooth leg until landing at the brim of those lacy panties I know you’re wearing.
My jeans suddenly feel too tight as I imagine the relief I’d feel if I shimmied out of them and were able to do the thing he just described.
Then what?
I ask, desperate for his answer.
His message is quick, and butterflies fly to my throat.
I’d peel them off your body and spread you wide.
I exhale and lazily scan the sea of students again because I have to know who he is.
Is that what you do next? Shove your panties past your hips and spread yourself wide so you can get yourself off?
Jesus. A delicious heat brews between my legs, and I’m suddenly thirsty.
Wouldn’t you like to know…
I tease.
I nibble on my bottom lip and try to cool myself off with a quick puff of air from my mouth. My panties are wet, and if I listen hard enough, I bet I can hear the throb between my legs.
I’d love to know.
I’d love to suck on that lip that you can’t seem to stop biting too.
I’m panting at the thought of this mysterious guy touching me. It’s the first guy I’ve had even an inkling of an attraction to, besides Ford, and I don’t even know what he looks like.
Are you nice and turned on, Taytum?
Thank God I’m leaning against the wall, because my knees are weak, and my chest screams for air.
Look at you over there. All hot and bothered in the middle of a crowded room.
I type quickly.
Are you going to do something about it?
I immediately look up when I hit send.
He’s obviously watching me, and I’m going to find out who it is.
I pass over the guys who are sitting with their girlfriends and the ones who are in a deep conversation about the football game playing on the screen. There’s an intense game of beer pong at the end of the hallway that I ignore, so I swing my gaze to the other side of the hall, and my stomach bottoms out.
My heart thumps so hard I hear it in my ears. I’m engulfed in flames when I latch onto a set of familiar blue eyes a few feet from my brother.
We stay locked in a deep stare, and I type my message without looking.
Do you enjoy tormenting me?
I wish I could disguise what I’m feeling as anger, but my body disagrees on every front.
Ford slowly looks down at his phone, ignoring the girl beside him, and types something.
I feel the vibration against my palm and finally pull my eyes away from him.
No, but I do enjoy turning you on.
My fingers fly over the screen.
I hate you.
I turn and stomp down the hallway to the back set of stairs. I don’t say goodbye to my brother or to any of my sorority sisters. I’m too worked up to think straight, let alone speak in a coherent manner.
How dare Ford message me under a fake profile, turn me on, and then drop a bomb like that?
What kind of game is he playing?
And why do I enjoy playing it?
I push open the door and rush down the stairs. I crave to feel the wintry air on my heated face, because maybe it’ll be enough of a shock to cool me down.
Instead, I get another type of shock. The kind I feel in my bones.
Leaning against the door that stands between me and the snowy weather is my opponent.
Unfortunately for him, he’s about to lose at his own game.
