Page 8 of Silver Fox Daddies

“There,” she says, shoving the phone into my chest.

Why isshepissed?

“What the fuck?” I explode. “You have no right to?—”

“Tough love,” Natasha says, already on route to the drinks table. “This is for your own good.”

I grind my jaw, the booze filtering into my veins. My blood feels supercharged. This isn’t regular anger. It’s anger on steroids. I want to punch a wall. Punchher.How dare she do that without my permission? It’s embarrassing.

Parts of the monologue return to my memory.

It makes me want to shrivel up to the size of a prune.

I want to spread my legs and welcome all three of you into my pussy…

What the fuck?

My heart is beating so fast I feel like I’m gonna drop dead any second. Anger continuing to surge through my veins, I race outdoors and scream, hands clamped over my ears.

I feel slightly better afterward, but not much has changed. The voice note has still been sent.

I slip out my phone and bring up my messages.

Delivered 3 minutes ago.

I hold down the sent message to bring up a list of options. One of those is delete, but the annoying I know things can’t be deleted from the receiving end.

I clamp my eyes shut.

Fuck, this is so humiliating.

I snap them open a few moments later to:Read 11:38.

No.

They’re listening to it now.

Feeling the need to explain myself, I bring up the keypad and type as fast as possible.

Me: Don’t listen to that. I’m at a college party. It was a dare. Whatever I said, it’s not true.

The message bubble starts rippling.

Oh, fuck.

(775) 375-6825: That’s a real coincidence. We’ve been thinking how much we want your pussy. It’s a shame this was all a dare…

My heart lurches out of my chest.

Is this a joke?

They’ve actually been thinking about me too?

Like it’s a surprise. I may be inexperienced in the bedroom department, but everybody knows that motorcyclists are dangerous, not just when it comes to riding bikes. They have huge sex drives. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. They’re riding their bikes out in the desert all day, doing all kinds of damage. When they return home, they’re exhausted. Seeing nothing but sand and comrades all day, they’re eager for female company.

I shouldn’t feel flattered, because they probably left their number for like, ten other women today.

But I can’t help the surge of adrenaline that rushes through my veins as I reread their message. They’ve been thinking about me too?