Chapter Ten
Reid
I shouldn’t have blind carbon copied myself the pictures and saved them to my phone when I’d emailed them to Hazel before I deleted them from the memory card. But as I sat in my bed later that night, flicking through the images Hazel had captured earlier in the day, I couldn’t resist staring at them.
Despite the tender bruise now forming across the bridge of my nose, this morning had been a rush. Even though nothing had happened, and I knew she was getting into character and doing what she had to do to capture the shots she needed, I’d been rock fucking hard as she ground that tempting pussy across my face.
Even though it was muffled with her thighs covering my ears, I’d heard the gasps and whimpers she made, and it’d made me desperate to rip off her tiny shorts. And I might’ve if Gray hadn’t cock blocked me.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was no way Hazel would have let things get that far, but I’d almost slipped and kissed her before he interrupted our tense moment.
I’d wanted to try to get information from her about the text exchange I’d initiated while I got the heater from the storage room, but there hadn’t been enough time. But judging by how pink her cheeks were when I came back into the room and found her with her pants around her knees, she’d been into it.
Which was exactly where I wanted her. If we kept doing this picture thing, I needed to behave myself, because I couldn’t afford to complicate things before I’d let her see the real me hiding behind bachelor number seven. She still thought I was a fuck boy, and Gray’s sarcastic comments about an Only Fans and having a girl in the break room didn’t help my case.
Pulling open the text thread from earlier, I scrolled through her replies, my chest warming at how flirty she’d been. It was a side of her I was desperate to bring out. She was still jumpy around me in real life, and I wanted to make her comfortable being playful with me. To see me as someone safe in her life. Someone who wanted to keep her safe, and four little letters drifted through my brain when I thought about what other feelings I was having for her.
It was way too early to even be thinking that, much less acknowledging it.
Hesitating, I typed out a message, hoping she was home from her shift and would be available to chat with me.
Seven: Are you ever going to show me these illustrations? As a fellow creative, I’m curious about the detail in your pieces.
Her response didn't come right away, but I eagerly devoured it when my phone buzzed a few moments later.
Fourteen: Good evening, my mysterious suitor. How was your day?
She was so fucking cute.
Seven: It was good. Busy, but I kind of like the longer shifts because I feel accomplished at the end of the day. Although my fingers are a little sore.
And my nose, but I wasn’t telling her that because then she’d figure out the identity of her anonymous texter.
Fourteen: So, you work with your hands? When you’re marking things for others?
Seven: I do. But you’re still avoiding the question. Are you comfortable sharing your work with me? If you’re not, that’s okay, but I’m kind of desperate to see it. I kept thinking about it, and you, all day.
Fourteen: Actually, I just finished doing the line art on a piece I was having some trouble with. About to start the color rendering. But I’m not sure it’s appropriate to send you.
Fuck, that was fast if she’d already finished the drawing. I knew she worked quickly, but she must have really been motivated. I know I’d felt almost inspired all day with how it had begun. Spending any amount of time with her lately seemed to get me amped up.
Seven: Screw appropriate. I asked. If I wasn’t prepared to see it, I wouldn’t have asked.
Fourteen: Why does everything seem to revolve around sex with us?
God, how I wished that were true. I’d been imagining what might have happened this morning all day when I had any kind of break.
Seven: Does that bother you? That we seem to have some intense chemistry? You can tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable.
Fourteen: I’m just worried when you meet me, you’ll be disappointed at how inexperienced I really am. I may talk a big game, but I don’t have the record to back it up.
Seven: Experience doesn’t always make you more attractive to someone. I’m okay with taking things in the real world at your pace, but I find I have trouble holding back when we’re chatting like this. I wish we didn’t have to wait to meet.
Fourteen: Maybe it’s better this way. Because I feel the same urges toward you. This level of attraction without even seeing you seems dangerous. I don’t want to get hurt by investing too much into this and then getting burned when you realize I’m not what you’re thinking.
Seven: I won’t hurt you. Not intentionally, at least.
But I couldn’t promise that. Because I had no idea how she would take me being the man she was talking to at the reveal.
Fourteen: Don’t judge me.
Seven: Never.
The three little dots showing she was typing danced across the screen while I waited for a response, stopping briefly, but then starting back up again. She was second guessing herself, and I hated that I’d made her feel that way. She was so closed off sometimes it made me ache.
Maybe that was why I was throwing myself into getting to know her like this. I missed her. The way things had been before she caught me with that girl. Back when we spent late nights sketching together and talking about our futures in her parent’s basement while everyone was asleep. Before she froze me out of her life, and I became a spectator when I’d once been considered a friend.
My phone buzzed, and I picked it up, my cock surging to life when the image she’d sent me loaded.
The first image I’d seen on her tablet was a sketch—a hot sketch—but it was unfinished and unrefined.
This…this was not that. While it was uncolored, crisp black lines outlined a woman who was in the throes of passion, with one hand holding a bare breast and the other digging into her flowing hair. But between her legs and extending behind this sensual woman was a man with shaggy hair like mine, with his face buried between her legs. The detail on his hair, despite the fact it was line work, was kind of insane.
My eyes eagerly traced every outline, from the subtle peek of his tongue to the way his knee was bent in the background, his hard cock protruding from between his legs. As I scanned the detail of his fingers flexing against her thighs, I couldn’t help recalling how it’d felt to have Hazel hovering above my face—the overwhelming scent of her driving me insane—and the way I’d instinctually dug in my fingers when she’d tried to pull away from me .
Despite the throbbing pain when she’d slipped and put down her entire weight, I’d wanted to keep her there, nuzzling her until she couldn’t take it anymore, and begged me to rip off those tiny fucking shorts.
Fourteen: That bad?
Fuck. Just the opposite. How was I supposed to resist telling her I was currently palming my cock and convincing myself it was a wildly bad idea to go bang on the door to her apartment right now so I could give her some proper source material to work from?
Seven: You’re insanely talented. Thank you for sharing this with me.
Fourteen: That was a very polite response.
Shit. Even through text, I could tell she was disappointed with me.
Seven: Fine, you want the impolite response?
Fourteen: Well…
Seven: Your work is incredibly arousing. I’m sitting here palming my hard cock, trying to resist the urge to fuck my hand while I stare at your artwork. You’ve got a gift. Seriously, this is fucking hot…
The dots danced again, and I tried to think unsexy thoughts.
Fourteen: I may have made myself aroused by drawing this…
Seven: And what did you do?
Fourteen: I got out my vibrator and fucked it in my tiny bathtub while I thought about you.
Goddammit.
Seven: You shouldn’t say things like that to me. My willpower is not that strong.
Fourteen: Should I go back to asking you more innocent questions? So we can get to know each other?
Seven: As much as I want to say no, and have you send me a detailed account of your time in the tub today, we probably should. I don’t want you to think I’m only messaging you because I want to fuck you in a few weeks.
Fourteen: You don’t want to fuck me in a few weeks? How disappointing…
Seven: You’re a bad girl, Fourteen. What am I going to do with you?
Fourteen: Should I start a list? I might be inexperienced, but I have a very active imagination.
Seven: Fuck, yes. Save that list for me. I want to check every damn item off it.
Fourteen: What’s your favorite color?
Seven: Well, that was one way to jump topics. Blue. You?
Fourteen: Aubergine.
Seven: Mine sounds awfully plain next to yours. You like eggplants?
Fourteen: Now you have me giggling. Trying to keep my mind out of the gutter.
Seven: I was asking about the vegetable, naughty girl. Aubergine is the English name for an eggplant.
Fourteen: Yes, I’m aware. And no. Ew. Even breaded and fried, I’d rather have a piece of meat. Put all the meat in my mouth instead.
Seven: Now I’m the one trying to keep my mind out of the gutter.
Fourteen: Do you want to put your meat in my mouth, Seven?
Seven: Desperately. Would you like a pink, meaty hunk?
Fourteen: Of what?
Seven: Steak. Do you like steak? Or are you more of a chicken girl?
Fourteen: Give me your pink meat, you hunk. Lol. I like my meat medium rare. Are you going to cook for me?
Seven: If that’s what you’d like. How does a quiet night in with steaks and wine sound?
Fourteen: Sounds like a…date?
Seven: Definitely a date. I wish we didn’t have to wait. I’d bring you home with me tomorrow if I could.
Fourteen: Maybe we could both make the same meal and eat together? Have any favorite recipes?
Seven: I like your style. We can still date without seeing each other. I’ll text you a recipe in the morning. Maybe we’ll run into each other at the grocery store. I go to the one on Fort Street. Would that be cheating?
Fourteen: I’ll just steal the ingredients from my brother. I live above his bar.
Shit, she’d expect a response to that.
Seven: Dangerous for you to tell me that. Now I’m going to be hunting down every bar in town trying to figure out which ones have apartments above them.
Fourteen: Not that many bars in town.
Seven: It’s not time yet, Fourteen. Despite how much I want to see you, it’s better if we wait. I’m sorry if I started this with talking about running into each other at the store. I was just teasing.
Fourteen: I don’t want to cut you off, but I’m yawning. I’d rather say good night to you than accidentally fall asleep and leave you hanging.
Seven: Sweet dreams, Fourteen. Mine will be filled with you.
Fourteen: Night.
My heart soared, and I felt like a fucking sap, but I couldn’t help it. I was down bad for this girl, and she didn't even realize her effect on me. But a vibration showing another text came through, and my heart flipped as I read it.
Hazel: If you’re serious about helping me, I’m going to need your motorcycle. And you to be wearing leather pants. Do you own any?
Reid: Yes, to the pants. And in what context do you need my bike in?
Hazel: Is there somewhere indoors we can set up with it? It’s supposed to be freezing for the next week, and I can’t wear what I need to for the shot outdoors.
Reid: Color me intrigued. And yes, I can use Jayden’s warehouse at the distillery. What time?
Hazel: He won’t be there, will he?
Reid: He skis with Colette most mornings. He’s usually gone until noon. But I can make sure.
My cousin was best friends with her cousin, who was a ski instructor at a resort in the next town over. Those two had been joined at the hip since middle school. But their relationship was completely platonic, because he’d been fucking Annie, the bartender at Hudson’s, on and off since high school. We really did live in a small town where everyone was connected to each other.
Hazel: Is eight too early?
Reid: Not for you. Are you sure that’s enough time for you to get a decent night’s sleep? You looked tired this morning.
Hazel: Thanks for reminding me how unattractive I was when I answered the door.
Reid: That’s not what I meant, and you were adorable.
Hazel: Just what every woman wants to hear.
Reid: Eight is good. You riding with me?
Hazel: Can I? I don’t have a helmet or anything.
Reid: I’ve got an extra one from when I first started riding. Should fit you. You gonna be my backpack in the morning?
Hazel: I don’t know what that means.
Reid: A backpack is a passenger on a motorcycle.
Hazel: Gotcha. Then yes, I’ll be your backpack .
I liked how that statement looked entirely too much.
Reid: Dress warm and wear boots.
Hazel: Can’t wait. Thank you again.
Reid: My pleasure, trust me.
She didn’t respond, but that didn’t matter. I needed to get some fucking sleep so I could survive whatever setup she needed my bike for. I had a feeling that it was going to be one I dreamed about for a long fucking time.