Private Message (3 page)

Perfect timing. But I think I'm going to call it a night. I'm no longer in the mood for a clingy girl right now who whines when I leave right after sex. Besides, I have that article due tomorrow morning. I am so fortunate to have landed a job at Tones, the leading music magazine. It's even more amazing that I get to go to shows for free and interview my idols. So I don't want to fuck it up by having a late night. I reply in the open chat:

Big_Ben:
Well that depends, so why don't you get up and walk to the bar and I can check out what we're talking about on display?

Just to make her go out the door so I can make myself look good and no leaving alone. Hey, I do have a reputation to uphold. If I can just get her to leave, then I'll follow out the door and explain to the girl how I just remembered I have some place to be and make my escape on my bike. Yeah, that'll do.

I make it a point to walk past this new creature, just to let her have a full look at the package, to moisten those panties. I strut right in front of her, and oh yeah, she noticed. I stop at the door, and for some reason I feel the need to look back, and when I do I see her staring at me. Her face just seriously turned red. Yeah, watch this, inducing panty-dropping smile in 3…2…1…
Oh yeah. And I am out.

I pop in my headphones and click on one of my favorite playlists, throw on my helmet, and throttle off.

At my place, I suddenly feel lonely. I don't feel lonely that often, but thinking about my mum tonight kind of did me in. It's too late to call my baby sister to see how her day went. After mum passed away, we were always together. I like watching over her. I fish out my cell and log back into Chatz and create a private message. I'm breaking my one rule when it comes to girls, but she's not like any other girl I have seen in a long long time.

Oh my God. Who is banging around at this hour of the morning? What time is it? And why do I feel like I want to die? I roll over in my bed to look at the clock on my nightstand. 11:53. "CRAP!" I am so going to be late to work. I cannot afford to be late again or Susan, my boss, will fire me for real this time. Yeah, she has been trying to fire me for the last six months, but she loves me too much for that. But I don't want to keep letting her down either...

I take the world's fastest shower, dress with wet hair, grab my bag and keys, and I am out. Time: ten minutes, thirteen seconds! OWNED!

I stumble on one of the stone steps leading up to the coffee shop door. Yup, epic frailer and walking disaster, all rolled up into one short package. It doesn't go unnoticed, but most of the customers know that I am a walking calamity. They just shake their heads. I look behind the counter at Dave, my co-worker.

"So how's my short stuntman doing this afternoon? I say afternoon, because you are twenty minutes late when you were supposed to be here at noon." Dave states matter-of-factly, while purses his highly glossed lips, seriously dude, gloss? Dave can be a bit personal and pushy sometimes, always wanting to get together to hang out with me after work or the status update on my love life YEAH, WHAT LOVE LIFE? But he makes work interesting by offering up random challenges. Whoever loses has to do the most complex order brought our way. You know the order I am talking about: the "I'll need two café lattes, one large with an extra shot, caramel, non-fat, no whip, the second is a medium decaf soy, no room for foam and cinnamon." My unspoken retort: You'll get what I give you and I'll say I got it right.

My shift goes by pretty quickly, probably because I keep refilling my triple shot macchiato more than a few times. I feel like I need a padded room, because I am about to start bouncing off the freaking walls!

"So what are your plans for the rest of your evening, baby doll?" Dave asks as we are about to lock the doors. He asks me this after every shift we work together, and honestly is getting tiresome, but I like him so I deal. Dave and I have been working together for about two years now and have gotten somewhat close. We tend to talk a lot about his love life and his male flavor of the week. Sometimes he acts so stereotypically gay that you would have to think he MUST be acting, but what straight man in his right mind would pretend to be gay? Let alone for the last two years I have known him?

I wrap my jacket close around me, because it's so freakin' cold out. "I'm just going to head home, crank my stereo and paint all night, that's just what I do every Saturday night, unless there's a good rock show going on."

"Oh yeah? That's cool, I'm more of a country kind of guy myself," Dave admits. Huh, did not know that, and wouldn't have guessed by looking at him. Dave is about five-eleven, very slender, with moppy blond hair.

"Look, I am heading to this club a few blocks away tonight. YOU should meet me there," he suggests.

I scrunch up my face. "Not much of a club girl. I'm a 'go home, read, paint and crank the tunes' kind of girl." I hate the idea of clubs: small dance floor crowded by sweaty horny people, rubbing up on each other. I don't think so.

"All right. Maybe another time, something more 'Tess.'" Dave sounds hopeful. "How about we just hang out at your place instead? I'll bring something you can refuse." His tone is off by this point and frankly I just want to get home.

He waves a weak goodbye and walks off. I hop to it and walk fast to my car, with my keys in between my fingers in case anyone decides to maul me. I am ready to go all Catwoman on their asses…
yeah right I'd probably scream like a girl and drop
. As I unlock my car door and open it, I drop my keys, and I feel the buzz of my cell phone in my back pocket, I look around, because I have seen enough movies to know that when a girl drops her keys in a parking lot, she gets attacked as soon as she bends to pick them up. So I look around first.
That's right, Tess, stay one step ahead
. I get, in close my door and fish out my phone. It's a text from Erin.

Erin:
"Hey! What are you doing tonight? Do you wanna hang?"

I reply:
"I'm not in the mood to go out night, I just got off work, but you are more than welcome to come by my place, I'll order a pizza."

Erin: "
Sounds awesome! Send me your address."

After I text my address, I click to get off of my messages and there it is, the message I forgot all about from last night. Damn rum. "Big_Ben: '
I've never seen you at Chatz before,'"
I read out loud. What am I supposed to do? Do I message him back, even though it's been nearly twenty-four hours? Maybe Erin can help me figure out this mystery.

As I get back to my place with the pizza, Erin is pulling in behind me. I wave her over and we walk up to my studio. When I open the door, Erin pretty much gasps, "You live here?"

"Um yeah…" I say. "I know it's a little small, but it's all I can afford on a barista's pay, but I get all the coffee I can dream of, so it balances out."

Erin smiles as she takes her pea coat off and walks to my teeny-weeny kitchen, and faces out to the rest of the small space. "Are all these paintings and photographs yours?" she asks.

"Yep."

"Wow, you really don't go out often, do you?" she says, shaking her head, but with a smile so I don't take any offense. I like Erin, she's honest and forward, the perfect kind of friend. The kind that won't bullshit you, then turn around and talk behind your back.

"Oh!" I yell. "That reminds me." I show Big_Ben's private message to Erin.

"This is crazy! Seriously, he just doesn't do that!

What did you say?" She's practically screaming at me.

I shrug. "Nothing yet. I don't know what to do or say, if anything."

Erin starts bouncing from one foot to another. "Oh, you HAVE to say something! Here send him a message right now! Find out what he wants!"

She practically throws the phone at me. "But what do I say?"

"I don't know, act casual and leave some mystery. Men love mystery." If that's the case, why do they always go for the girls who show more flesh in a public venue than on a private beach? And are so forward with their come-ons? Yeah, they gotta love a mystery woman.

I roll my eyes, and as I punch at the little buttons I read aloud. "No, you haven't." Send.

"There ya go, girl, put the ball in his court." She winks. "Now we wait."

I open up the pizza box and pull out a couple of plates. "Well, while we do, let's grab some food and pop in a movie."

Erin scans my collection of mostly romance comedies, pulls one out, and pops it in. I come around with the food and drink, and we stretch out on the floor with one of my favorites:
"The Perfect Man."

Erin chats randomly about the guys she's dated, and I chat about my lack thereof. She's been dating since she was fourteen. Her parents didn't really set any rules for her; they apparently thought their little girl was an angel. "Can you believe that they thought I was still a virgin on graduation day? If only they knew how many guys I had blown." She let out a robust laugh and winks at me.
Oh my.

She finally controls her laughter. "So how many guys have you slept with?"

I almost spit out my soda. Man, she doesn't hold back, does she? "Uh…none."

Her mouth gapes open at my response. "Are you serious right now? Never? Ever?"

I just shake my head. I am not used to sex talk. She is still shocked, but continues her game of twenty-one questions. "Fooled around with?"

"None." I am not ashamed to be a virgin, but the way it's so glorified these days, society outcasts you if you have a hymen after the age of fifteen.

"So you mean to tell me you have never screwed or blew a guy?" she asks, kind of crudely, but I don't mind. I like this about Erin.

I straighten my posture and look her dead in the eye. "Never even touched a guy's thing either." And with that her and I both burst out into laughter.

She wipes a tear away from her eye. "God, I hope you at least have a good vibrator!"

I can feel my face go red. "No, I don't have one, never have. I honestly don't masturbate much. I don't know, never felt that strong of an urge to." The look on Erin's face is priceless.

"Oh man, I wish I had your restraint! If I don't get fucked in a day I at least reach for my goodie drawer in my nightstand." She's dead serious. I love her already for being so open about her sexuality.

I look her right in the eye. "Nympho." And she whips the pillow from behind her right at me, almost causing me to spill my wine.

"Hey! What did the wine ever do to you? Don't go hurtin' my baby!" You mess with my wine, caffeine, paint, music, or my camera you better prepare to feel my wrath.

We finally settle back down and get back into the movie.

Just as Heather Locklear's character is chatting to Hilary Duff's soon-to-be boyfriend on the computer, when my phone chimes. Yeah, kind of ironic timing. We look at each other and dive for the phone at the same time, but I beat her to it. HA! I look at the screen and it says
"1 private message"
I click it and read "Big_Ben:
So why haven't I seen you there before?"

Erin is right over my shoulder. "Well, say something!"

Punky_Painter:
Well that's, because it was my first time there

Big_Ben:
Well now why is that?

Punky_Painter:
Because I'm not typically a social drinker.

Erin is practically coming out of her skin, she's so giddy with excitement. I have never felt my heart beat so fast. Well, in a good way, anyways.

Big_Ben:
Well maybe you should stop by a little more

OK, that got me a little leery. I mean, I don't want to openly flirt with someone in a chat room full of scantily clad bimbos.
Well, they say honesty is the best policy so…

Punky_Painter:
Nothing wrong with the place, but I saw your chats with some of the girls there and I am not into a one night stand or to publically embarrass myself.

Yeah, take that. Really, I'm not being unreasonable or hard to get.

Big_Ben:
Well then aren't you feisty, why don't you come on down to Chatz and tell me that yourself, if you're so sure.

Punky_Painter:
Well because for one, I have no intention of having sex tonight and I have company and we are quite comfortable.

Erin hops to her knees and thrusts her hips and moans. Oh my God. Can she be any funnier?

Big_Ben:
Well they can't be very good company if you're not having sex tonight and your sitting on your phone talking with me.

Punky_Painter:
And why is that? I heard you don't do private chats?

I swear if Erin could dislocate her jaw it would be on my floor.

Big_Ben:
I don't.

Punky_Painter:
So what do you call this?

Big_Ben:
Meet me at the bar.

Punky_Painter:
I told you no I have company.