Chapter 13 Royal
ROYAL
NOT A BOOTY CALL
Dinner ran late, so by the time I get back to my lair, it’s after ten o’clock. While I know the rule is that nothing good happens after midnight, is now too late to text Leticia back? Probably.
Answer is always no if you don’t try. My wolf pushes, thinking about my phone. We talked to her late into the night before. Maybe she’s a night owl like us.
It’s not like he doesn’t make a solid point.
Royal:
Sorry it’s so late. Dinner ran long. I promise, I wasn’t trying to stand you up.
The shower I wanted to take before dinner is now screaming my name. I head into my bathroom and bring my phone into the glass-enclosed shower, sticking it to the magnetic clip where it always goes.
It’s not that I’m addicted to technology, but the shower has some really good acoustics for listening to music. With a few clicks, I turn on a playlist of relaxing tones, trying to flush the frustration and exhaustion out of my system.
But I’m halfway clean when my phone beeps with a message.
Maybe it’s her. My wolf presses.
I keep rinsing, but he keeps nagging.
I turn and tap the screen. It’s definitely Leticia.
Leticia:
Ooooh, standing me up . . . I thought we were JUST friends.
Just friends? My wolf snorts. You have to tell her. She needs to know.
It’s been literally four days since we started talking to her. There is no way in hell I’m telling her we’re mates. That’s not happening. Now shut up about it. I push hard, trying to shove him out of my front-of-brain consciousness.
I type out a message about how we never said the word date, but I was pretty sure that’s what it was, before deleting it. I go with something a little more tame.
Royal:
Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say JUST friends. Friends are a pretty big deal.
Regret hits when I send that message. It’s not rational to want Leticia like I do. The mountain of shit standing between me and her is too high to contemplate climbing for the chance to be together. I should stop messaging her and let it go.
But I can’t. This is what happens with me . . . I can’t pull myself away from her. Maybe it’ll be a hyperfixation, and I’ll lose interest, but when this level of obsession sets in . . . and my wolf calling her our mate? I doubt Leticia will ever leave my mind.
Leticia:
Well, that’s true. Seeing as how I have one . . . it is kinda important to keep him.
What are you doing right now?
I snort, looking at the shower around me.
Royal:
Right now? I’m about to get out of the shower.
Leticia:
Pictures or it didn’t happen.
Holy fucking shit. That was not within the possibility of any answer I expected from her. I can’t believe she said that. I wipe the overspray water off my phone screen and look at it again.
Leticia:
I can’t believe I said that. IGNORE IT. Delete that message, it NEVER happened.
I step back under the stream. What if I don’t want to ignore it?
Angling the camera just right, I take a picture. Droplets cling to my hair and trail down my chest. But I make sure there’s no trace of the family jewels in the photo before I send it to her.
Then I send one more message before I lose my nerve.
Royal:
Is there anything else you want to see?
Please reply. Please reply. It’s only been two days of serious talking with her. I probably pushed this too far. My phone is quiet, and I turn off the shower and start to dry off.
Leticia:
Well, you definitely are not good at following directions. Should I feel weird that the first pic I’ve gotten of you is naked and in your shower?
Royal:
Well, I’m out of the shower now. Would you feel better if I sent you one while I was wearing clothes?
A message comes through at the same time I send that out. It’s an image file.
In the photo, Leticia is lying down. With her phone above her face, a shadow is cast across her jaw and some of her blonde hair, which is fanned out over her shoulders and the bed around her.
Those soft, kissable light pink lips are centered in frame, and it’s a perfect look right into her blue eyes. She’s the definition of beauty.
“Hello, gorgeous,” I say to myself while I try to come up with a witty retort, but I don’t have one. And then an idea hits.
Royal:
New game if you’re up for it? Picture for picture. Whatever you’re comfortable with and the first thing that comes to mind when the other person sends.
Leticia takes a minute but responds.
Leticia:
Deal
Unfortunately for her, I’m absolutely going to cheat. With my towel wrapped around my waist, I head to my bedroom. Flicking my wrists, I straighten the covers on my bed and fluff the pillow so it looks inviting and not like I rolled out of it this morning without straightening the sheets.
With the bedroom light’s adjustable controller, I make the space seem warm and cozy, then I send off a picture.
I pull on a pair of boxers and sweatpants before turning on a computer screen and bringing up her room’s camera feed. Leticia is pushing up on her bed and looking around at her room. She raises her phone and takes a picture, I’m guessing of the room facing the camera.
Before the image comes in, I start grabbing food wrappers and unnecessary items off my desk, binning or putting them away appropriately.
Leticia’s photo comes in, and it’s exactly what I expected. A partial tour of her room. And I scour the image, looking for where that camera is hidden. I know it’s there, because I have the feed, but even with my trained eyes, I’m not seeing it.
Frustrated with not being able to figure it out, I start turning on monitors and set them to my winter-blues setting, essentially turning my wall of monitors into a panoramic forest.
I send her another picture, adding a message shortly after.
Royal:
Welcome to my office.
Leticia:
Well, hardly fair. I’m not going down to the kitchen right now. You’ll have to settle for this.
I flick the monitor with her room back over to see her opening a bureau. The camera doesn’t get a good look, but it’s okay because Leticia sends me a photo of its contents.
There are phone cases, laptop cases, and piles of folded fabric. Everything is organized by color and type.
Royal:
What am I seeing, other than kick-ass organization?
Leticia:
All my phone and laptop cases, my aprons, and my hair ribbons. I really like to coordinate. Berto calls it frivolous and obsessive.
“Berto is a fucking dick,” I mumble.
The only problem is . . . what I want to reciprocate with drastically changes the innocence of this game we have going. Then again, maybe it isn’t so innocent after all.
Royal:
I don’t think it’s frivolous and obsessive. I think it’s creative and kinda sexy that you put so much thought into the mundane. I’ve had the same case for probably a year. I like that you change it up.
I want to send you another picture, but I want to make sure you’re okay with things getting more intimate and that this is a judgment-free zone.
I glance over at my dresser before turning my focus back to the screen. Leticia is closing the bureau doors. Her lips move as she reads the message, and I turn the sound on to hear her.
“— would I start judging you now?” She types back a message.
Leticia:
Judgment-free zone.
Like every piece of furniture in my bedroom, the dresser is completely custom. The top raises up on hydraulics, and the drawer pulls out, with power cords set up in the back. It’s probably overkill. I know it’s overkill.
I open it up, and the LED lights illuminate the area where I keep all my toys. The different sex toys include cock sleeves, dildos, plugs, and vibrators of various shapes and sizes.
Part of me knows, given my moderately Catholic upbringing, that I should feel some shame for this collection.
But my belief in God doesn’t align with the Christians who somehow find prejudice in the messages of love and acceptance of the Bible.
And the whole no-sex-before-marriage thing was clearly designed to stop the spread of disease among humans. Not applicable being a wolf.
I’m all about not following rules, especially those that don’t apply to me.
But does Leticia feel the same?
I hesitate. I could send her a picture of my servers instead. They’re equally organized.
If she doesn’t appreciate this, then she’s not our mate. My wolf surfaces a bit, encouraging me.
Hesitantly and with squinted eyes, I take a photo of my toy drawer and send it to Leticia.
No reply comes through right away, and I wait a few more seconds to see if maybe she’ll respond.
Tension coils in my stomach, and I close the dresser and flop backward onto my bed. I’ve ruined a good thing.
I check my phone again. Still no new messages from Leticia. I turn on the overhead projector to view the night sky before turning off the rest of the lights in my room.
It’s been almost five minutes, and I’m giving up on Leticia messaging me back, so I decide to look and see what she’s doing.
On the monitor across the room, her bedroom is empty. Her phone is on her bed, but Leticia isn’t in the room.
I scramble off my bed to the monitor wall and flick on a few others. I scroll through different camera feeds until I find her.