IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)
Lucy Lennox & Molly Maddox
Acknowledgements
We’d like to thank the following:
Leslie Copeland, Sloane Kennedy, Shay Haude, and Chad Williams for invaluable beta feedback.
Diana Peterfreund for the cosplay help.
Cate Ashwood for fast, talented design work.
Eric Battershell and Johnny Kane for a stunning cover photo.
Sandra Dee for speedy, thorough editing.
Our husbands for their general aptitude in all things geek and gamey. Gamery. Whatever. You’ve spent decades in the gaming chair for a reason, and we applaud you for your diligence.
Our parents for raising us to be readers and for bragging about us to all their friends. And, finally, our Other Sister. Yes, there’s a third sister, and our friends always ask “do you mean the author sister or the other one?” Sorry, Jen. If it’s any consolation, you’re more than The Other Sister to us. If the pressure to write “like your sisters” ever becomes too much, just let us know. We’ll put you in charge of the sex scenes since you’re the only one of us who took anatomy.
Lucy’s Dedication: For Molly.
I would have never taken the leap had it not been for one sunny day spent with you in the pool talking about writing to the id. You told me to write with the door closed, be indulgent, write what I wanted to read.
So I did.
Molly’s Dedication: For Lucy.
I know it’s weird to dedicate this book to you since you co-wrote it and all, but this series wouldn’t exist without you and I’ve loved every minute working on it together! See, I told you that one day you’d appreciate the fact that I tried to mimic you in all ways growing up, white Gap t-shirt and all.
1
Conor
I’d never sent a dick pic before.
Correction, I’d never intentionally sent one. I did accidentally one time send my best friend a pic of my inner thigh with a tiny slice of cock shaft in the corner, but that was because I didn’t realize the camera was open on my phone while I was quickly changing for my after-school job at Taco Bell. It had happened over ten years ago, but the asshat still brought it up whenever it was convenient.
It was frequently convenient.
But this time was intentional. Or, as intentional as you can be when you’ve had four Sex on the Beaches… Sexes on the Beach… hmm… too many somethings and are horny and hard in a hotel room hundreds of miles from home with nothing else better to do.
An hour earlier, as I’d been in the hotel bar drinking my nerves away about an upcoming business presentation, I’d gotten hit on by the bartender. The man was cute but young. A little on the skinny side, but he had a gorgeous smile. Every time he’d smiled in my direction, I’d felt my face ignite and had to look away. Unfortunately, I also had to throw back the rest of my drink and ask for another to quell my nerves. When the bill eventually came, so did his phone number.
After paying my tab and pocketing the number with an embarrassed nod, I’d run away. And spent the next forty-five minutes stroking myself to fantasies of sex with a stranger and trying to talk myself into doing something crazy for once. Hmm.
Click.
There. Anonymous dick pic. Sent.
I felt a thrill of nervous excitement. I’d actually done it. Actually hit Send. I let out an adrenaline-fueled laugh in the empty hotel room at my unusual boldness and grinned at the image on my phone. That wasn’t just a dick. It was a fabulous phallus. Tall and proud. Robust, really. Good light, healthy coloring… As long as I didn’t go back to that hotel bar all week and see the guy in person again, I was golden. I’d done it. I’d come to New York and gone a little wild.
Then the second thoughts started crowding in.
I should not have had that much to drink. I’ve never sent a dick pic before, much less to a stranger.
212-555-0160: And how much was that?
I blinked at my phone. Had I texted my thoughts…? Ah, yup. Seemed I had. My thoughts had gone right through my fingers and into the text message screen. Fuck.
Should I respond? Why the hell not? It’s not like I was going to see him again unless I went back to that bar.
I began typing.
Conor: Dude, don’t you remember? I was nervous about tomorrow’s big presentation? You’re the one who served them to me.
There were a few beats of nothing before the response came.
212-555-0160: Did I? I don’t think so.
I did a double take at the screen. He had though. The bartender had been the only one working. And he’d been the one to slide his phone number across the bar on a sticky note.
Before I had a chance to argue with him, he texted again.
212-555-0160: I’m still at work, but I certainly appreciate the eye candy you sent.
My head was fuddled from the alcohol. Of course he was still at work. I’d left him down there only an hour before, too chickenshit to take him up on his wink and offer of a late-night visit to my room.
Conor: I changed my mind. Come to my hotel room.
I blinked, surprised at how easily I’d sent that invitation. Then a slow panic began to boil in my stomach. What if he actually took me up on it? Shit, I’d never had an anonymous one-night stand. It wasn’t my style. And as much as I’d used the excuse of being a little tipsy to send the dick pic, I was sober enough to know that sex with a stranger was definitely outside of my comfort zone.