“So…wait. You’re saying you met this guy in Seattle at Harrison’s wedding?” Tess is incredulous, her thick brow raised behind her glasses on the phone screen.
It’s Sunday night, and I’ve avoided Jake all weekend. I was invited out to Rip’s on Friday night to celebrate the end of the preseason, but I declined. I still had my bags to fetch from the airport and I just needed a minute to breathe and recalibrate.
I hid out all day yesterday, only making a run to IKEA to trick out my balcony, which included getting a stopper for the sliding glass door because I am never getting stuck out here in my thong again.
I spent today exploring the city on my own, picked up some flowers, and now I’m nestled in the corner of my new mini sectional. A row of freshly potted flowers and ferns hang along the railing. I added an outdoor rug, some electric candles, and a little reed basket for my yoga equipment. Two sets of patio lights are strung from the ceiling, letting off a soft golden glow.
All in all, I’m proud of myself for this flip job.
I take a sip of my wine, holding Tess’s gaze in the phone. “Yeah, we met in Seattle.”
She blinks at me, then there’s a shuffle as she sits forward on her bed. “Oh, girl—wait. When you say ‘meet’…did you meet meet him?”
I nod and she shrieks through the phone.
“Oh god, that is amazing!” she cackles. “You dirty little horndog. You hooked up with an NHL player at your brother’s wedding—”
“Not at the wedding,” I correct. “And I didn’t know he played for the NHL. I didn’t know anything about him. We didn’t do names.”
Tess laughs. “God, you are wild, girl.”
“It didn’t feel very wild in the moment,” I admit. “It felt…right. He felt right. It was…” I struggle to find the words to explain what Seattle meant to me. “Cosmic,” I say. “We had a cosmic connection…have,” I add softly.
Tess heaves a dramatic sigh. “But now you’ve signed on to his team, and you’re twisting yourself up because you’re a doctor and he’s a player and you’ve gotta keep your horny little horndog hands to yourself, right? Is that the problem?”
“Of course, it’s the problem,” I say. “Tess, I can’t—” I groan, setting my wine glass aside with a clink. “I can’t start something with him again. I can’t mess up this chance. The last three Barkley Fellows from the Clinic were all offered permanent positions when their fellowships ended. This could be the start of my new career.”
Tess is pensive, lips pursed as she nods. “Yeah…or it could be the start of the rest of your life with Magic Boy—”
“Mystery Boy.”
She sighs again. “Look, Rach. You know I love you. You know that, right?”
“Yeeeah.”
“Okay, well you have this thing you do where you sabotage all your relationships. You don’t give them the legs to stand before you cut them off at the knees. And now you’re telling me you have a cosmic connection with Magic Boy—”
“Mystery Boy,” I correct again.
“Whatever.” She waves her hand. “We’re talking about planets aligning, stars shining, and you’re sitting alone on a Sunday night, talking to me? Rach, you’re living in the same city as this Magic Boy and—wait—I’m assuming the sex was good? Oh, please tell me it was good. Tell me he’s got a gorgeous, nine-inch member that vibrates.”
I all but whimper as the memories flood me, swallowing a gulp my wine. “Tess, I—I’m actually speechless. I have no words.”
She’s squealing again. “God, I’m so jealous. I need a decent fuck like I need a good detangling spray,” she says, fluffing her bouncy red curls with her fingers. “Has he tried to contact you at all?”
Has he tried? I flip open my messaging app and click his name. A long string of messages over the past two days fills my phone. Most are from yesterday.
JAKE (7:37AM:) Good morning, Seattle Girl. Another beautiful day in Jax. Perfect for a walk on the beach *wave emoji**palm tree emoji**sun emoji*
He followed that up with a shot of him shirtless on the beach looking like a goddamn snack.
JAKE (9:45AM): Hey, how do you take your coffee? We never got to compare morning routines
JAKE (9:46AM): Wait—do you drink coffee? Please don’t tell me you drink kombucha or some frufru shit with foam
JAKE (9:48AM): Cay drinks peppermint mochas like some kind of weird Christmas elf. I swear, if I didn’t love the jerk, our friendship would be over
I was in the potting soil aisle of the garden store when that message came through and I snorted on a sip of my perfectly normal americano with cream and two sugars.
JAKE (12:37PM): I love cheat day!
Then he sent a photo of a massive plate of colorful sushi.
JAKE (5:50PM): What’s your favorite color? Mine is *blue heart emoji*
JAKE (9:45PM): Night, beautiful. FYI, I go to sleep pretty early
JAKE (9:45PM): Unless you’re in my bed, obvs
The last thing he sent on Saturday was a picture of him, shirtless in the dark, stretched out on his bed. He had a sleepy smile on his face, one hand tousling his hair.
I can’t stop smiling.
“Girl, what?” Tess says with a grin. “What is that face? He’s been texting you, hasn’t he! Omg, what is he saying?”
“Nothing,” I reply, tapping her screen to hide his messages.
“You little liar,” she teases. “You practically have hearts in your eyes. Is it dirty stuff? Text him back.”
“No—”
“Oh god, please text him a dirty pic. Do it now—”
“Tess!” I cry, setting my wine aside again.
“Your tits!” she shouts. “Text him a sexy picture of your tits. You’ve got great boobies, girl. Share the love. Please, Rach. Do it for me.”
“What kind of example in restraint am I setting if I go from leaving him on read all weekend to texting him a shot of my boobs?”
“Hey, two can play his game,” she says with a shrug. “He can look, but he can’t touch. Drive him wild.”
My heart flutters at the idea. “I think that would qualify as torture in like at least thirty countries. Cruel and unusual punishment.”
Tess just rolls her eyes. “Trust me when I say that no straight man on this earth would consider it a punishment to get an unsolicited tit pic from Rachel Price.”
I grin, snatching up my glass of wine and taking a sip. “If I’m sending one, you’re sending one too.”
She chokes on a laugh. “What—to Magic Boy? Honey, the majesty of my titties would end his sweet little life.”
“No,” I say, all but snorting on my wine. “Not to him. Surely you have someone whose soul you’d like to see ascend to a higher plane of existence?”
She smirks. “There might be someone.”
I’m grinning now too. This is the world’s most terrible idea, but I’m two glasses of chardonnay in, and he’s been blowing up my phone all weekend. Two can play his game. “I’m doing it.”
Tess hoots with delight. “Yaaass, get it, girl! Make him sweat! And call me tomorrow!” She hangs up before I can reply.
As soon as she’s gone, my confidence falters. Rachel Price does not send nude pictures of herself to men. I’m suddenly nervous. Snatching up my wine and my phone, I go inside.
I really shouldn’t do this. I don’t want to lead him on.
But you really want an orgasm.
I shiver at the thought, my mouth quirking into a smile. Yeah, just picturing Jake’s face when his phone dings is enough to have me hot. And there’s literally no way he won’t respond. If I’m not careful, I might have him breaking the laws of traffic, racing over here to handle business in person.
Would that be so bad?
I groan, setting down my glass of wine. I strip off my ratty Ferrymen sweatshirt, tossing it to the bottom of the bed. Now I’m standing in just my silky pajama shorts. No way am I sending a picture of my coochie. I’m not even going to let him see my full tits.
I crawl onto the bed, sitting back against the pillows. I cross my right arm over the girls, squeezing them together a bit and giving them a lift. The lighting is good, just a soft glow from my side lamp. And if I angle the shot right, I get just my neck and chest. Everything is covered and the angle ends at my hips.
Before I lose my nerve, I take the photo. This is crazy, but I have a plan. I send the picture and wait.
