Page 19 of Sexting the Cowboy

There’s a pause. I picture her on some couch or bed with the light off, the phone lighting her face, hair down or up, jaw still set even when no one’s looking. I’ve met a thousand women on the road and forgotten three quarters of their names. This one sits in my head like a song I can’t stop humming.

Okay,she says.So be honest. Why me?

Because you tried to hate me and failed in under sixty seconds.

That’s ridiculous.

The truth is usually ridiculous.

She sends nothing for ten heartbeats. I grin into the quiet because I can almost hear her snort.

Because,I add,you looked at me like a problem you wanted to solve and then decided you’d rather not. I haven’t had that look in a long time. It’s interesting.

She’s quick-minded, but that gives her pause.Interesting like a lab specimen?

Interesting like a door I want to open.

Her answer is slower this time.Careful. What would you do if you opened it?

I sit back on the bed, one ankle across my knee. The AC kicks on, rattles, settles. I keep my thumbs easy on the glass.First thing I’d do? Listen.

To what?

To what you say when you finally stop being polite.

I can almost feel the way she breathes for that. Doc voice all day, measured and precise, and I want the words that live under Clipboard Annie. It’s not a kink. It’s curiosity.

Though I have kinks too.

Enough pussyfooting around.You really want to know what I’d do with you? I’d learn your schedule first, because you look like someone whose time is regimented. Then I’d find out what kind of coffee you actually like and I’d bring it without asking. Then I’d take you out and not talk about rodeo for three straight hours even if you try to bait me. And when you inevitably get tired of pretending you don’t want me, I’d ask you to invite me in. I don’t do guessing games.

That’s…a lot of planning for a bull rider.

I grin.I’ve been around enough to know what I’m doing in any arena.

A beat. Then,Cocky.

Confident,I send back, because we’ve done this dance once already and I like the repetition.

The dots wiggle. I picture her mouth when she shakes her head at me.Okay, confident. What happens if I invite you in?

I let my eyes close a second.I’d slow everything down until your day is a vague memory. I’d start by putting my phone face down on your counter and asking you to do the same.

Bossy.

Focused. Then I’d ask what you want tonight. Not in life. In this hour. Because I can make a woman generous with herself, but I don’t make decisions for her without that nod.

Her reply is almost a whisper on the screen.And if I didn’t know what I wanted?

Then I’d put you by the kitchen sink and kiss you until your shoulders drop. I’d put my palms at your hips and wait until you lean, because I don’t chase what wants to run. I’d tell you what I’m going to do before I do it so your mind can rest while your body talks. I’d use my mouth until you forgot your own name.

It takes a full minute for her to respond.Brick.

Yeah.

I’m sitting in the dark like an idiot with goosebumps.

I laugh, quiet, because the whole room feels warmer.Don’t turn on the light. I like you exactly like that.