2-REAGAN #2
I stepped to the side and unlocked my screen.
Surprised to find no new text messages, and I pulled my notification bar down.
Assuming the email was spam, I swiped it away, and then I caught “The Forewarning”.
My heart weighed in my chest as a strand of hope tugged at it.
I chased after the email and retrieved it from my inbox.
Dear Ms. Reagan Scott,
I am pleased to announce that your entry has been selected at random. You are one of ten runners for this year’s Forewarning experience. Please complete our application via the link provided to secure your spot.
Sincerely,
The Forewarning Team
Mouth agape, I find Miles’ eyes.
“What?” His expression relaxed. “What did Tate say now?”
Although my lips were still apart, no words left my mouth. I shook my head. My voice was just above a whisper. “No. I got picked. I won.”
Miles’ eyes took in my face and my hands glued to my phone, like setting it down would make me lose my golden ticket. “Wait, are you serious?” He strutted towards me. “Let me see.” His hand overcame mine, and I struggled to keep my phone.
“Ow.”
He ignored my scowl with my phone inches from his face, and his fingers moved across my screen.
“What are you doing?” I stretched my hand out, trying to get my phone back.
“I’m just seeing if this is biblically accurate.” He had clicked the link and flicked through the blank application before presenting it back to me. “Oh, fill it out.”
A low pop sound came from behind us. My mother opened a second bottle of wine. “Sounds like a good time to celebrate!” Her hand poured three new glasses steadily.
“Mom, I need to drive home tonight.”
She slipped the stem into my hand. “You’ve got a bed here, you know.”
“I am aware. I will have one glass but—” I had no reason to rush back.
I just didn’t need to drink. I love my mom and her newfound spark to life, but the drinking excessively was reminding me of Tate, and I was feeling gross slipping into the person I was trying to divorce.
If he saw me now… Then again, a third glass is not going to get me obliterated. Just happily buzzed.
I lifted my phone to my face and stared at the top of the application as I made my way to the couch.
“To be chased, you must consent to run.” Sat at the top of the page in bold dark letters.
Sprawled on the sofa across the living room, my mom asked, “How does this all work?” Miles took over the conversation, and I started finding out the form for my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Name? Reagan. Alias? I thought for a moment, then settled on Daisy. The Great Gatsby was always a favorite of mine.
I uploaded a photo that I used in a business photo shoot and filled out the medical notes. Under “The Capture Menu,” I selected ‘Healing’ and ‘Thrill’. For the “Preferred Masked Vibe”, I chose ‘Surprise Me’.
My lips peeled apart with disbelief at the next section. “Comfort & Interaction Preferences”.
“Non-sexual physical touch only”. Boring.
“Non-explicit undressing.” Okay. Yes.
“Full nudity permitted”, followed by “Intimate encounters permitted, if mutual comfort and consent are established”.
I leaned in closer, seeing if my eyes were messing with me. Was I reading this right? Was it the wine?
“What?” Miles interrupted as I dissected the words.
“Hm?” I played it off.
“You’re making that face again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I drew back into my phone.
“Spill it.” His tone was almost threatening.
“Just some very interesting choices, that’s all.”
“Well, shit, don’t keep it from us!” Miles demanded.
I shot my eyes up at him through my lashes, let out a sigh, and read to him.
“I’m allowed to select Full nudity and even Intimate encounters.
But the fine print says “This form is not a contract for physical intimacy, nor does it guarantee any specific type of interaction. The preferences selected above guide participant pairing and ensure mutual respect. All encounters require active, ongoing consent and can be paused or ended at any time.” So… Do I say yes?”
“Absolutely!” My mother leaned toward me as she spoke.
The chance that it wouldn’t happen and I could stop it at any time gave me the courage to fill the box.
“What’s next?” Miles barked, “You’ve been quietly filling that out, and I want to know what’s going on with the whole thing.”
“I get to rank my masked men preference.” I stayed seated against the arm of the loveseat.
Mom adjusted in her seat, edging to the end before finding her feet. “I want to see.”
Shocked, Miles’ neck twisted to face her as she stood and a scoff left his lips.
“What? I’m very interested in this.” Mom didn’t look back at him as she sauntered across the room.
“I am too.” With Miles behind me and my mother cozied up next to me, I swiped through the carousel of men, taking mental notes of each one and coming up with my own rating from one through ten. The chatter from my family was no help. “Wait, so none of them are The Phantom?”
“The Phantom?” My brow pinched together.
“Yeah, The Phantom of the Opera?”
“Uh, no.”
“Lame.” He pursed his lips to the side.
Smoke. Fang. Havoc. Solace. Whisper. Gage. Striker. Bane. Grave. Static.
The only thing in common with my top three was that you could see their eyes.
Not eyes through a small hole or the face completely shielded for the fantasy.
Maybe I needed some human connection as well.
I had been emotionally starved for over eight years, and what?
Was this supposed to fix it? God, I needed to get my life together.
Not knowing what to expect, I left my hard limits empty and moved on to my safeword. My name is Daisy. I actually owned Wild Flour, so wildflower seemed fitting.
I wrapped up my application process as my mom and brother fought over which mask was, in fact, the hottest. Mom pushed Whisper for nostalgic reasons, and Miles was in Grave’s corner.
There was something about the horns that really did it for him, and I wish I didn’t have to hear him say “Something to hold on to”.
“Which one of you wants to be my emergency contact?”
Miles pushed off the back of the couch. “I don’t want to have to leave the house to come get you, so make Mom be it.”
“Well, I was hoping we could get an Airbnb or something that weekend, since it’s in the city. I’ll pay.”
He let out an anxious chuckle. “Just kidding! It’s me. I’m the emergency contact.”
After a swift swipe across my screen, I had signed and sent my application. Securing my spot as one of ten.