Bait (Wake, #1)(32)

Me: Haggard by way of ruggedly handsome? I agree.

Honeybee: Something like that.

We bantered back and forth for over an hour. We covered random topics, it was becoming a ritual for me.

Eating. Drinking. Breathing. Blake.

I acquired the ability to time how long it would take her to be my Blake—well the Blake I knew anyway—through our messages. They would typically start in a very platonic tone, but before the end of the night, I'd get her flirting back with me and it was like I was chatting with the fun girl in the coffee shop, the girl she called Betty. I could almost hear her reading her text messages to me with that ridiculous pretend Southern accent.

She was my Blake a little quicker than normal that night. I regretted having to go to dinner with Aly, but I also knew I should. The better she got at this travel thing, the better for the brewery. The better the brewery did, the more money I'd make.

The more money I made, the better chances I had at showing up this guy who was fast becoming my arch nemesis. I really had nothing too negative to dwell on about him though. We didn't talk about him. Ever. Sometimes because I didn't want to bring him up and turn her back into his Blake and in part because for some reason, she didn't seem keen on bringing him up either.

But in my mind, I was the good guy and he was the bad guy. However, my mind wasn't really the picture of reality. He was her boyfriend and I was a guy trying to steal her attention and…and what? Make her my girlfriend? Did I want a girlfriend? I might have if it were her.

But hell, what did I really have to offer her? I was working damn hard to get ahead in my career. Would I even have time to be the kind of boyfriend she deserved? Not that anything in my made-up scenario was close to likely.

What if? What if? What the f*ck if?

For now, it was flirty text messages and hopefully crossing paths in a hotel again sometime.

Oh, we were going to cross paths. I'd make sure of it.

But that night, I just wanted to come while I listened to her voice, or at least while I was imagining her voice while she sent me dirty pictures.

I had a big to-do list for my plans later on.

Keep my Blake chatting.

Get some much-needed visuals in the form of another picture. The ball game one was great, but I wanted to see more of her.

Possibly call her on the phone.

Then have phone sex.

It was a tall order, but I aimed high.

So while she was still being playful and sweet, I needed to solidify my pseudo-date for later.

Me: You're fun.

Honeybee: I know.

Me: You're pretty.

Honeybee: You are, too.

I wasn't expecting that. She was really sweet that afternoon.

Me: I'm going to get a shower and go get something to eat. Will you be up later?

I'm going to take a shower and cum all over the wall like it's your mouth and then go to dinner with a woman who isn't fun like you.

Honeybee: What time?

Me: I don't know 10 here, 8 there?

Honeybee: Okay. Let me text you first.

Let me text you first, I learned, was code for I'm going to be with him. I hated let me text you first. It hated every second of waiting for her, as minutes ballooned into twice their actual span of time waiting for Blake to text me first.

Me: I'll wait. You could call.

Honeybee: I might.

Me: All right. Later, then.

I thought about turning my phone off, but I couldn't. I threw it on the bed, stripped down to my boxers, and walked into the bathroom for a shower.

The water was hot. My hand was slow. My eyes were screwed shut. My mind was with her.





Wednesday, July 2, 2008


MY MIND WAS WITH him. He was taking a shower.

I needed a shower. In some small way, I wanted to get into the shower because it made me feel like I was closer to him. We'd just finished sending messages back and forth like telephonic Ping-Pong. I could hear his chuckling at some of them. That was weird, right? That I could hear him laugh at my texts?

Well, I could.

Every time he replied with an LOL I let my mind hear it. The best part about my memory was it did this funny thing with his laugh. It wasn't the same laugh every time. My imagination would invent laughing sequences for a guy who I'd only met briefly. It was the strangest and most wonderful thing.

I stood there running the hot water about to get in, when I thought about Grant. Which I did a lot when I was thinking about Casey.

I'd become accustomed to comparing the two.

Casey was devilishly playful and crass. Grant was sweet and smart and thoughtful. But both were genuine.

Casey was low maintenance. We could text, stop for a while and then hours later pick up our conversation. Or we’d start a new one. It didn't matter. He was easy.

Grant was higher maintenance. He liked a schedule. He'd admitted that me taking the new job was awesome and that he was proud, but he was so minute-to-minute. He wanted to know where I was going, what I was doing, and did I like it so far? All things a boyfriend should. And even though I was excited about all the things he'd asked me about, everything always fell flat when he asked. It felt a little suffocating at times. It was probably just me, though, right?

Every girl wants the man with a steady job and a huge heart. Everyone wants the man who would spend time with your parents and—to the best of your knowledge—enjoy doing it. Grant wanted a family and home, a good life, which I was sure I'd have with him. The perfect, traditional life.