Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Stranger88: For the record, I’ve had more than one woman tell me I’ve rocked her world.
Stranger7721: Did you rock their worlds in your parents’ basement?
Stranger88: Not exclusively, no. I’ve also rocked worlds in bathrooms, dressing rooms, and libraries. I was with a girl at the office once. That was hot.
I blush. So maybe he doesn’t work from home.
Stranger7721: Was it?
Stranger88: Yeah. I was all stressed, wanting to blow off steam. And then she was there and… damn. It felt good. Gave me the energy to power through the rest of the day. Little afternoon pick-me-up.
I open my mouth. I know the feeling of being stressed. I live it. But I never once thought of relieving it that way. It’s bold. Genius. Risky. I could never. But the idea of it excites me anyway.
Stranger7721: So you did it right on the desk in your cubicle then?
Stranger88: In an unused cubicle. My office is too private. That’s no fun.
I gnaw on my lip, intrigued. He has an office. Interesting. That image of the IT slob is slowly disintegrating in my head, being replaced by someone else…
Stranger7721: Was she your admin?
Stranger88: No. I don’t dip my pen in the company ink. She was from a delivery service.
I let out a ragged breath. All I can think is that he must be very good at convincing people, just like he said. We have clerks come up to our office from the copy place all the time, and they’re there and gone so fast, trying to keep up with their delivery schedule. How on earth did he manage to…?
Two possibilities stand out in my mind—either he’s bullshitting me or he truly is as charming as he claims to be.
Because his bio is as no-bullshit as they come and because I’m getting a little flustered just typing with him… I have to think it’s the latter.
But if that’s the case, why’s he on this app talking to me?
I find myself growing hot. I’m speechless, ready to close out the conversation when he sends another message. Clearly, I’ve waited too long.
Stranger88: I take it you don’t do things like that?
Stranger7721: One-night stands? No, I think they’re gross.
Stranger88: Fair enough. And you’ve never done public?
I guess I have no reason not to be honest.
Stranger7721: No, I never have.
Stranger88: You don’t know what you’re missing.
Probably. I have the feeling I’ve been missing a lot, but public sex is the least of it. Still, it’s been a long time since I’ve gotten quite so hot under the collar. I undo the top button on my blouse and imagine what it would be like, all stressed out, getting it on in a corner of Foster and Foster while other people are working and meeting and taking calls all within earshot. It sends a little zing of excitement through me, one I’m not sure I want—especially from some random stranger on an app.
I shift in my seat and sit up straighter.
Stranger7721: And I suppose you think you can show me.
Stranger88: I don’t think I could. I know I could.
Why am I so intrigued by this guy? Odds are he’s an IT slob bullshitting me for fun. Or maybe a group of teenage boys killing boredom by trolling people. I’ve always been a healthy skeptic, but yet I’m flushed and breathing hard at his invitation.
Stranger7721: But in 90 days, right? Those are the rules.
Stranger88: I don’t ever play by the rules.
Despite my heart beating faster, I shake my head, then close out of the app without saying goodbye. I do play by the rules. Law is my vocation, after all. A lack of it tends to bring out the worst in people. Plus, I don’t do one-night stands, and I never have. Odds are that in ninety days, I’ll have forgotten all about this BLIND LOVE app anyway.
Odds are, I’ll still be alone too.
Heading upstairs, I change into pajamas, brush my teeth, and climb into bed. Usually, I spend this time in the dark before I drift off, going through a mental list of things I need to accomplish at work the following day.
Only tonight I think of a nameless, faceless man, bending me over the desk in one of the unused cubicles at Foster and Foster, providing a much-needed relief from all that built-up tension.
And it’s all Stranger88’s fault.
2
“You know you’ve got it in the bag,” Mike Wilson, my fellow associate, says to me as we sit at the head of the conference table.
The meeting doesn’t start for ten more minutes, but that’s how I operate. Early bird gets the worm. You have to show you want to be here and show you care enough to be here early—or at least that you care more than everyone else.
I grin as the other associates begin to file in after a few minutes, then say in a low voice, “I wouldn’t say that. Not yet.”