Page 13 of Text Me A Kiss

K_Kitten: Just got back from the store. Making orange chicken tonight!

L’Art_of_Illusion: You cook?

K_Kitten: Sometimes. I’m too busy most of the time, but I’ve got my girl here tonight!

Why did every single picture Kitten sent me take my breath away? She wore ordinary, lounge-around-the-house sweatpants and sweatshirt, her tangled, damp hair hung heavily about her shoulders, and a blonde girl in a similar state of undress wrapped her arm around Kitten’s shoulders with a wide grin. Of all the pictures Kitten had ever sent me, this was probably one of the most innocent.

But, it made me smile. Every single thing she did made me smile.

L’Art_of_Illusion: Does she know about me?

K_Kitten: Yep. She thinks you’re handsome.

L’Art_of_Illusion: Is that what she said

K_Kitten: ….Not exactly. She’s got a dirty mind.

K_Kitten: She asked if you’d sent me a dick pic yet.

L’Art_of_Illusion: Blunt blonde.

K_Kitten: I told her it’d be more impressive after I put my mouth around it and teased you for a while before riding you.

I shifted in my chair. Kitten didn't need her lips to tease me.

L’Art_of_Illusion: Someone’s horny today.

K_Kitten: I really, really love orange chicken….

That drew a loud, genuine guffaw of laughter out of me. Kitten always made me laugh, even when she couldn’t reply for hours at a time and all I could do was dream of her.

* * *

Tuesday, I had told Kitten I had business in NYC that weekend. Friday was the day I’d finally boarded my private jet, the hum of the powerful engines a mirror to my own jittery impatience.

That was okay. I knew how to calm myself, how to leave three evenings of sleepless nights induced by an overactive, excited mind in the past. I clicked on Kitten’s last sent messages.

L’Art_of_Illusion: Can I have your phone number? So we can coordinate?

K_Kitten: Sure, but I do have practice Friday afternoon. I won’t be able to meet you until later.

L’Art_of_Illusion: But I want to see you…. I don’t want to wait.

K_Kitten: Same, but too bad. I’m too young to die.

L’Art_of_Illusion: What?

K_Kitten: My ballet instructor will kill me if I skip practice. Promise I’ll text you right after and we can meet somewhere. Anywhere. Okay?

That was her last message, except for her phone number, which I had immediately added to my contacts under “Kitten”. I managed to kill half an hour of time looking for my favorite photo of Kitten and updating her profile picture under my contacts, then I scrolled even farther back through our messages and reread conversations until my pilot announced that we would be landing shortly.

I want to see you. I don’t want to wait.The driver of the car waiting for me on the airport runway loaded my luggage into the car, then asked, “Are you ready, Mr. Emerson?”

“Can you take my bags to the hotel and put them in my room for me? I have something else to take care of.”

“Sure, if you sign here—”

I practically snatched the form from the man, read about seven words total in my swift skim of the document, and signed. “Thanks.”