Not So Nice Guy(19)

There’s a break in conversation and my thoughts tiptoe right back to her vibrator. I want to know if she was telling the truth.

“How long have you had Ian?”

“Why do you care?”

“Call it boredom.”

“If you’re so bored, I have some papers you can grade for me.”

“Okay then, call it curiosity.”

Silence follows. Her footsteps echo through the phone. I wonder if she’s in her room now. A door closes and then she sighs. “A few years.”

“So he’s probably in need of replacing?”

“I don’t use him all that often.”

“Poor little Ian.”

“Don’t you worry about him, he’s doing just fine.”

“What about you? Are you doing just fine?”

“Ian…” she chides.

“Sam…” I taunt.

I swear I hear her open and close a drawer on her bedside table.

I smirk and imagine her slipping out of her pajama shorts and panties.

Now I want to say, Poor little Sam. Using a vibrator in lieu of the real thing? She deserves better.

“Where are you?” I ask.

She sounds nervous when she replies, “In my apartment.”

“Obviously. Where in your apartment?”

“Does it matter?”

“You’re on your bed, aren’t you?”

“You know I don’t have any other comfortable seating in this place. When your furniture is all from Craigslist, you end up just lounging a lot.”

“You’re living in delusion, Hot Lips.”

“Don’t call me that.”

She sounds pissed—pissed and turned on.

Sheets rustle on her end of the line.

I want to FaceTime her. In fact, I don’t question the urge. I do it.

“Why are you trying to FaceTime me?!” She sounds extremely distraught.

“Why aren’t you answering?”

“I’m not decent!”

“Just like I thought,” I gloat. “We’re best friends, which I thought meant we don’t hide anything from each other. Answer it.”

“No.”

“Then it’s a pretty easy guess for what you’re doing. Tell Ian hi for me.”

The FaceTime connects immediately and her frazzled appearance hits my phone’s screen. She’s sitting up against her headboard. Her cheeks are pink and her mouth is so soft and feminine I have a sudden overwhelming urge to feel it wrapped around me.

She’s wearing a tight cotton tank top, no bra. She’s holding the phone so I can only see the top half of her: her creamy shoulders and chest. Her nipples are pebbled and I want to take each one into my mouth. I’d be gentle, giving. I’d trace my finger beneath her collarbone and make her blush everywhere. Poor little Sam is right—she’d crumble for me.

“See?” she says with a got-you smirk. “You’re not decent either.”

She’s referring to the fact that I don’t have my shirt on. I didn’t bother after my shower.

“Yes, but unlike you, I’m wearing pants.”

It’s a guess, but when her eyes go wide and her blush blazes even harder, I know I’m right.

“Yeah…well…” She clears her throat and averts her gaze to something off screen. “It’s really hot in here—stuffy.”

“Well yeah, I imagine things heat up when little Ian is on the prowl.”

“That’s not why I’m hot. I just worked out.”

Who the hell does she think she’s fooling?

“You’re such a bad liar.”

“So what?!” She’s exasperated by this conversation. “I’m a liar and you’re clearly horny as hell. Why don’t you call one of the Freshman Four? I’m sure they could help you out—y’know, give you a refresher course before tomorrow morning. You clearly need it.”

“You’re right, I do.”

She swallows slowly. The phone wobbles in her hand.

“Do you?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. “Why do you think I’m on those dating apps? It’s not to meet friends. Now are you going to suggest you can ‘help me out’ like this is a low-budget porno?”

“You’ve clearly never had phone sex. You’re pretty bad at it.”

Her blue eyes hit mine. “What?”

“This isn’t how it usually starts. I ask you what you’re wearing and you tell me, but I already know: white tank top, panties, nothing else.”

“Ian.”

My name is a warning, a buoy telling swimmers to turn back now, but I’m sick of warnings, so I head out to open waters. It’s time to test a theory.

“Want to ask me what I’m wearing?”

“I bet I can guess: black workout shorts, Calvin Klein boxer briefs.”

Interesting. Maybe Sam does watch me when I change.

“And…I have had phone sex before. Don’t think you can intimidate me with this weird game you’re playing.”

One of her hands disappears from the screen and I know she wants to touch herself. Maybe her hand is on her thigh. Maybe she’s barely spreading her legs, trying to convince herself she’s only adjusting her underwear. I bet soon, her fingers will skim along the hem of her panties, brushing the silky material against her wetness. She can’t take them off or I’ll notice. No, she’ll just have to tug them to the side if she wants to feel skin on skin.