Page 3

Micki

Fuck... FUCK! Shit! That wasn’t the plan! Why can’t I stick to my plans? Not even once? Why?

Because he didn’t play along. Or rather, because he played along too well. Because he was nothing like I expected and because he was everything that excites me in a man.

Yes, he’s arrogant, but it’s because he doesn’t want to let anyone get close to him. It’s his way to keep people at a distance. Women – to keep women at a distance.

Nika said he has three girls on each arm and yes, he could have them, but he doesn’t want them. He wanted me. He was hard for me. No stop, he wasn’t hard for me, he was hard for the person he saw, for someone who is still me, but not in the way he thinks. Fuck. I have to stay away from him, to protect us both.

***

“Hey Micki, remember me?”

Damn it... after two weeks I felt safe, sure he wasn’t going to reach out. Shit. The wedding was almost six weeks ago and now I get a message on Instagram?

Of course I remember him. Vividly. Too vividly, for my taste, too vividly for something I can never have. “How did you find me?”

“I had hoped for a friendlier reaction, but élias is following you. It wasn’t too hard.”

Of course he does, I could have thought of that on my own. Stupid question. “Sorry, I’m just surprised. It’s been six weeks since the wedding, I didn’t think I’d hear from you.”

“Oh, believe me, neither did I, but I can’t get you out of my head.”

He can’t be serious, right? “Because I spread my legs for you?” I can’t resist the pun.

“I can’t tell you how many women have spread their legs for me. None of them has been in my head any longer than absolutely necessary, until you.”

I shake my head with a grin. Because while that’s a compliment to me, it’s a disrespectful slap to the face to all the other women. Before the wedding, a statement like that would have upset me. Now, after meeting Mathéo, after experiencing how these women besiege him, even when he’s obviously not interested–and he isn’t–not so much anymore. I watched him for a long time that night. He’s aloof, dismissive, and certainly didn’t send any mixed signals. I didn’t see him smile once... well, except with me. Shit.

“Talk like that isn’t really what wins people over.”

“It’s been a while since I had to win someone over. Apparently I’m a bit rusty.” And again, his answer feels incredibly arrogant, but his look is etched in my mind and I’m sure he isn’t playing, this is just his truth. This is his reality, unfiltered and straightforward. And somehow I feel sorry for him.

“Try again.”

Nothing happens for a long time, then the three little dots dance in the chat. “You’re different.”

Oh my God, how right he is. More than he’ll ever guess and more than he’ll ever like. But...? I look through the pictures on my profile and scroll through a few comments. Yes, he knows, he has to know. Everyone knows. I mean, this is me, it’s not a secret.

“Is that so? Tell me more.”

The three little dots come and go, but nothing happens. I’m just about to put my phone away when a new message pops up. “Please don’t play with me. I don’t want to play. I’m so tired of playing.”

I swallow hard as his next message appears.

“I can’t get you out of my head. I’d like to know more about you, get to know you. I thought it’d pass, but the more time passes, the worse it got. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

What kind of person does it make me if I admit that I never in my life expected something like this? Not with Mathéo Gaillard, especially? I hate it when people judge me just because of what they see. When people think they know everything about me. But apparently I’m not a bit better than them.

“Why me?”

“Because you are you. You didn’t care what I thought about you. You were with me like you were with everyone else. I loved your scent. And you have beautiful eyes.”

Wow... that’s a far cry from what I usually hear from men. It’s usually about my cute little ass, or my flat belly, or my full lips. It’s never about me as a person, about what makes me me.

“Thanks... that’s sweet. Okay, what do you want to know?”

The three dots come and go again. It feels like an eternity before his message gets through. “How old are you?”

Did it seriously take him so long to come up with that? That doesn’t fit his reputation at all, but I’m curious to see what happens next. “I’m 24.”

The next message pops up quickly. “Thank God!”

“Huh?” I don’t understand what he means.

“You looked so young at the wedding. I was a bit worried you might be under 18.”

I have to laugh, really laugh. Though I do have to show my ID all the time and for everything, so it doesn’t seem that far-fetched. “What does it say about you if you reached out to someone you thought was underage?”

“No! I did not! Oh God! No! You just looked really young, but the way you spoke, I was pretty sure you were over 20. I just wanted to be safe.” I can literally hear the panic screaming from his message and I find it funnier than I should.

“So you like your catches young and juicy?” I can’t help it.

“Not necessarily. It’s so difficult to connect when they are really young, when they are still at university or don’t know what to do with their lives. I feel like I’m already through that. But somehow there aren’t that many singles my age anymore.”

I meant the question as a bit of a joke, as a challenge, what I got was a totally serious answer that makes me think. “It almost sounds like you’re looking for more than just sex.”