Glitch (Next Level #1)(6)

Shutdown.

Damnit.

I hate using my laptop, so I refuse to even consider it again. At least Glitch is willing to look at my computer. I hope he can fix it. Speaking of—

I snatch my cell and see he’s sent a reply.

Glitch: I’m going to wrap my hands around your throat and squeeze until you see God.

Wow. I… I’m not even sure what to say to that. Maybe this is a joke? Fuck knows Carson and Trey are always talking shit. Blame it my post-orgasmic haze, but his reply about choking me out throws a curve ball to my imagination. One I’ll happily catch and lob right back.

You want to play, Glitch? Let’s play.

Biting my lip, I punch in my response.





Chapter 3


Glitch



I glare at my phone so hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t incinerated in my hand.

Ara: Sounds fun. Does this service cost extra?

I accidentally sent her a text about strangulation, and she sends me this back?

I’m in so much trouble.

The smile on my face gets ten kinds of wicked. I should have known she wouldn’t get offended. As bad as I want to respond with something dirty, I don’t. I’m already in my head too much with this woman. Have been since game one. In fact, every skit I’ve written for the past six months has been with her in mind. I’ve never let anyone hear them, but I enjoy the Kitty Series I’ve started on nights when I can’t get Ara out of my fucking head.

I clutch my phone, imagining what it would be like to collar her throat with my hand. Make her purr.

My dick is so hard it hurts.

Stay focused, asshole. I need to respond with something non-dirty. Because if I’m going to use my words, I’ll say them with my filthy fucking mouth, not a text.

Glitch: I have a shop in Huntington called the Computer Cave. Is that too far for you?

Shit, I don’t even know where she lives. Trey’s a couple hours away from me, does she live by him? Or maybe she lives in an entirely different state. No, wait. Trey wouldn’t have set this up unless it was doable.

Ara: I drive by that place all the time!

My heart thuds in my throat. She must live close to me then. Holy shit, what are the chances?

Glitch: You can drop it off anytime and put my name on the ticket.

I have a lot of customers roll through my store daily, and this might make me sound like a possessive caveman, but I’m not going to tolerate anyone else touching her things. It’s me or no one. If my name goes on the ticket, no one will even think about touching it.

I see the little dots appear and hold my breath, awaiting her answer.

Ara: I’ll do that. Thanks. Good night.

I’m left deflated. Not sure what I thought was going to happen there, but my cock tents my gym shorts and it’s pouting. I might have missed an opportunity with this exchange, but I’m not the kind of guy who communicates through text well. I fucking hate it. Tones are misconstrued, meanings are taken wrong, and winky faces are annoying.

She’ll drop off her computer at some point and we’ll go from there. Maybe I’ll ask her out for coffee. If she’s freshly broken up with her boyfriend, does that mean she’s rebounding? I feel sick thinking someone else might comfort her instead of me. Rebound or not, I’ll take my chances. It’s been torture playing games without her. Shit. It’s been torture playing games with her. I’m making my fucking move when I see her at the shop.

But I still want to strangle Trey for this set up.

I’d have worked the nerve up to make a move on her eventually, without his help.

Maybe.

Aww, who am I kidding? I’ve spent months obsessing over her and I still haven’t tried to take things beyond the generic, safe conversations we have on Discord. I’m being a coward, which isn’t like me at all.

Hey, I’m great once the ice breaks. I’m shit at breaking it first. Trey was always better at that than me. I get too in my head because no matter who it is—the bartender, the waitress, the eighty-five-year-old librarian, my nephew’s teacher, shit, even my Uber eats delivery driver—people can’t not make a face or have some reaction to my voice when I speak. It makes me uncomfortable when they turn red or gawk or have something to say about it—like ask if I do porn (yes, I’ve been asked that a lot) or sometimes a woman will ask me to say something specific, which is awkward as fuck when you’re just trying to order a coffee and donut. Flirtations get weird. And making the first move has never been my strong suit.

Taking the reins afterwards is.

In fact, I’ve had women hand me control and get on their knees without my asking. Which means my voice is as much a weapon as it is an incentive.

One I rarely use.

Feeling inspired, I decide to make another recording. Usually, I type out a skit and tweak it until it’s up to my standards, but tonight I don’t have the patience for it. Heading into my closet/recording booth, I sit down and prime a new track. Rubbing my hands together, I realize I’m a little juiced about this. Smashing the record button, I close my eyes and drop into a scene.

“Heyyyy, Kitty.” I wet my lips and smile. “Why don’t you crawl over here? That’s it. Nice and slow.”

I imagine Ara dropping to her hands and knees and crawl to me like a cat. Her tits spill out of a pink, lace bra and jiggle just enough to make my balls ache.