Page 14 of Teach Me
I glanced behind me reflexively, but there was nothing there. “What?”
Jesse frowned again. “You said he passed you the number. Did you use reverse lookup? Jeez, I should’ve thought of that first.”
“It was the first thing I did. I was also into Hardy Boys. But it’s a dead end. It’s a TextFree number. Anyone can get one using their real number to?—”
“Mask their identity,” Jesse filled in, his frown deepening momentarily. “What if he’s married or something?”
“Shit.” I scraped my lower lip with my teeth. I hadn’t thought of that. I’d feel awful if that were the case. He was tech savvy enough to create an anonymous number, after all.
“Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s a politician or something. A judge.”
“Is that supposed to be better?”
“I’m not sure. Or, he could just be a guy who’s protective of his identity, an extra-cautious type.”
“We did use condoms both times, so he is into safety,” I pointed out, feeling a little reassured.
“I still think you should contact him. You can ask some questions, kinda feel him out, and if your gut starts getting edgy at any point, you can bail. If he’s using a fake number, maybe you should, too, though? So the anonymity goes both ways?”
“Good idea.” I took two minutes to download the TextFree app and create a new number, then added my stranger’s information. I’d put him in as Mr. Mystery, though I’d considered Glory Hole Guy for a hot second before deciding that it would be embarrassing if someone accidentally got ahold of my phone and decided to go through my contacts. That was a long shot, though. I was pretty sure I was the most boring roommate in the house, except for maybe Ansel.
“Okay, here goes nothing.” I opened the messaging app, typed out “hi,” and sent the message before I could overthink it. “I said hi,” I told Jesse, and we both snickered like jackasses. Itfelt really good, though, to have friends to talk to and be stupid with again. Even though Jesse was more of a new friend than old, I’d felt immediately comfortable around him—maybe more so because he wasn’t so tangled up in the stupid shit I’d done sophomore year and had spent the last couple of years paying for. I’d never once felt like Jesse had judged me.
We both eyeballed the screen expectantly, but no response came through.
I stuffed my phone in my back pocket and gave Jesse the kill sign as Sam barreled through the back door. The guy was huge and even off the football field gave the impression he’d run you over if you got in the way, unless you were paying attention to his face and the way it lit up and became all dopey when he spotted Jesse. Sigh. True love. Living with a bunch of guys who had boyfriends was hard enough, but I was glad Jesse and Sam were the only couple I cohabited with. Chet was here with Mark often enough that he might as well live here, though. Ansel kept his shit locked down so tight that no one had a clue who he was hooking up with, if anyone.
“’Sup, Cam?” Sam flashed me an infectious smile as he wrapped his arms around Jesse and squeezed him comically tight. Sam’s hulk-like size was matched only by his genuine kindness. He was legit the first person to offer someone a hug in any situation, and I’d never heard him raise his voice off the football field or outside of the bedroom—the latter fact I only knew because, unfortunately, my bedroom was across the hall from his, and Jesse said Sam’s bed was more comfortable.
“Oof,” Jesse grunted before I could reply, and then, when Sam relaxed his hold, said, “We were just making fun of people who send ‘wyd’ texts.”
Sam’s brows knit. “I send you ‘wyd’ texts all the time.”
“You do,” Jesse agreed happily.
“You don’t like it?” Sam’s frown deepened.
“No, no, I love it fromyou!”
Sam chuckled. “I get away with it because of my?—”
Jesse slapped a hand over his mouth, finishing for him. “Because of your exquisite cuddling abilities.”
“Speaking of, wanna go play with my, ummm, ‘cuddling abilities’ before my next class?”
I flashed them a peace sign and beelined out of the kitchen before it became the site of their next video.
Once in my bedroom, I closed the door behind me and dropped to the bed, opening the text I’d sent again and staring at it for a beat before facepalming. All I’d fucking said was, “hi.” How was the guy supposed to have any idea who was messaging him?
I typed out: “I should have mentioned I’m the guy from last Saturday night” and then paused, considering my wording. Maybe I wasn’t the only guy. Or maybe he’d danced with someone or bought a drink for someone and given them his number. As much as I wanted to say, “I’m the guy whose mind and cock you blew recently,” that didn’t sound quite right.
The irony of debating how to message a glory hole stranger wasn’t lost on me.
After a moment, I erased what I had and typed a new message.
Cam:I should have mentioned I’m the guy from Saturday night. One stall over. I enjoyed it.
There. Clear, concise without being overly effusive. Sounded like someone who had their shit together, right? I tossed aside my phone, but within seconds, it pinged with a reply. I scrambled to flick the screen to life, excitement clutching my chest as I saw the message.