Bait: The Wake Series, Book One(38)

Me: Good. Traveled most the day. Lost a few hours in the process. I've got a meeting in the morning. I'll probably call it a night early. You know. Beauty sleep. LOL.

Honeybee: You need it. From what little I remember of you, you look pretty haggard in general.

That was how she flirted. She insulted me. It was her way. She was becoming easy to read. If she thought things one way, then she'd admit to the complete opposite. It was her tell. At least via text. The other night when I told her I was going to brush my teeth and go to bed she told me she could still smell my dragon breath and that I better floss and rinse while I was at it. Since I'd already caught on to her exaggerations, I interpreted this as she thought about my mouth and liked it.

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?