Page 109 of Broken Brothers

“Aww, do you not like having to wait for your favorite man to come back around? Maybe I’ll just wait till tomorrow to tell you how I feel. :-)”

The fuck Chance, you using emojis now? Man, what happened to you?

Of course, I wasn’t really upset with myself for using emojis. It happened frequently when I was drunk. Especially with girls.

Especially with girls as attractive and beautiful as Sarah Hill.

Almost immediately, she began writing back. It was now clear to me that whatever she was doing in New Zealand—and God knew what time it was over there—I had her full, undivided attention. I could say and do just about anything I wanted.

“Fine then. I guess I won’t tell you now what I’m doing thinking about you.”

Woah.

This was… this was getting intense. Far more intense than I had certainly anticipated, and not at all what I had remembered Sarah Hill as.

But then again, what did I remember Sarah as other than the pretty girl in middle school? People changed so easily, it was ridiculous to think that the girl I knew in middle school was the same girl talking to me right now.

“And what might that be, Sarah?”

I could feel me getting hard just envisioning all of the things Sarah was doing. I bet she was looking at my photos the way I would look at photos of her. I bet her hands were moving over her body, caressing and massaging herself as she started out slow and then made her way down. I bet she would be pleasuring herself in no time.

And I bet that in just a few short weeks, I’d be the one pleasuring her with all the time in the world made for her.

“Hmm, I think that might be a bit too scandalous for you, Chance. I don’t even know if you’re single. ;-)”

Well, the winky face definitely told me she was not asking her questions innocuously. The flirtation had definitely become sexual. When I saw here, I had my doubts that I would even make it out in public. I might just make Morgan go on a food run, bring her back to my place, and then tear her clothes off in the middle of my living room.

To have waited a decade for that moment… to have made it through so many frustrations, heartbreaks, and disappointments… to have gone through hell because of things out of my control… only to finally have a chance…

I had to glance up to realize I’d become so engrossed in my thoughts I’d lost track of where I was.

I looked back down at the phone. There was only one answer to her statement, and it was a technically true answer, although it was clearly not a black-and-white, cut-and-dry answer.

Even if in some ways it is. You’re just making it have more shades of gray.

“Luckily for you, I am,” I wrote back with a mischievous grin on my face. “And luckily for me, that means you have to tell me now what you’re doing while you’re thinking about me.”

Again, immediately, Sarah was writing back to me. It made me wonder what time it was in New Zealand, actually—a quick glance at my phone showed they were eighteen hours ahead, which would have put her in the early evening. Perhaps she was waiting on dinner, or perhaps she was bored at her house.

No matter what, though, I was the center of her attention.

“Oh, Chance, you’re so inquisitive,” she said with a laughing emoji. “Plus, I refuse to believe you’re single. A man like you? There’s no way!”

I just laughed but the question put me a little off balance. I checked through my Facebook profile—nothing on there suggested anything with Layla and Claire. In fact, I hadn’t posted anything since before I’d met Layla, let alone anything during everything that had gone down. I wasn’t even Facebook friends with Layla or Claire.

Granted, I had several photos of partying at Columbia with various women, but nothing would have suggested anything other than a college kid having a good time.

“Believe it or not, tis true,” I wrote back. “I suppose that when you know you might get to enjoy the company of one Sarah Hill, you take advantage.”

Before she could respond, I wrote, “But now you have to tell me what it is you’re doing.”

“I suppose you would like to know, wouldn’t you?”

My grin nearly strained my muscles. Again, I looked up and realized I’d missed a turn, and when I pivoted, how drunk I was hit me. I knew when I looked back at this conversation tomorrow I would probably see a dozen or so typos.

“OK, you asked for it, you got it,” she said.

Then, for what seemed like an eternity, the app showed her typing but not actually sending anything. To say this drove me mad was an understatement—the childhood girl of my dreams, the one I’d silently spent ten years thinking about to various extents, was now all but sexting me. Depending on how hot this got, I’d have to just call her and hear her moans.