and pulled it slowly up toward him as his face
lowered. But his lips didn't press down on mine. They hovered above
mine for a long time before pressing down, a whisper of a touch that
lasted no longer than two seconds before pulling away. I felt myself
waver slightly, horrifyingly, on my feet when he stepped back.
“See
you around, Sixteen,” he said, giving me an odd look.
“See
ya, Fourteen,” I called as the door slammed.
Alone,
I curled up on my bed, wrapping my blankets tight around me like they
could keep all the bad away. I laid awake thinking about nothing and
everything. My father. My mother. My brother. My burning thigh. But
mostly, Hunter.
Because,
damn it all to hell, I think I was falling for him. Just a little.
And maybe it was just all the pent up sexual frustration. But a part
of me knew it was more than that. That it was deeper. That maybe my
frozen little heart was thawing a bit.
Thirteen
My
phone woke me up. My work phone with it's absurd seventies porn theme
song. Bow-chicka-wow-wooow. I fumbled blearily out of bed, looking
for it on my nightstand where I usually left it. But as the sleep
cleared from my brain, I realized it was coming from the living room.
I stumbled around, looking at my door with it's makeshift patching
and noticed my phone on the tiny table I kept my mail and keys and
wallet on. Which was weird. Because I would never put it there.
I
reached for it, noticing the time with a squint. Most of my callers
knew not to call before eleven. And it was barely after ten. I hit
the call button. “It's a little early, darlin',” I said,
sounding chipper if maybe a little tired. Every man was darlin' or
honey or love. Every man was a sweet, sweet nothing.
“I
thought you might make an exception for me,” a familiar voice
said.
You've
heard that knocking over with a feather expression. Well, you could
have knocked me the fuck over with a feather as I realized who was
calling on my work line. On my phone sex line. That's why my phone
was out of place. He had moved it last night. Probably after going in
it and figuring out my number.
I
brought a hand up to cover my eyes, not acknowledging the big, silly
grin that was on my face. Oh, Hunter.
“You
there, Sixteen?” he asked after a moment, sounding perfectly at
ease. Like it was totally a normal thing he was doing.
“Yep,”
I said, shaking my head.
“Why
don't you walk back to your bedroom,” he suggested and my feet
were moving.
“Okay,”
I said, looking at my bed like it was foreign.
“And
get into bed,” he suggested, his voice sounding almost amused.
“Okay,”
I said, settling my head back on my pillows. I swear I could feel his
presence behind me. Through the wall. But only six inches away.
“What
are you wearing?”
“You
know what I'm wearing,” I said, laughing.
“How
would I know that? I'm Dan... from... Vermont. I've never seen you
before in my life.”
I
snorted, smiling at my ceiling. “Right,” I said. “Well,
I have on huge baggy, ratty sweatpants and a housecoat.”
“Come
on, Sixteen,” he groaned.
“Fine.
I'm wearing pink panties and a black and white crop top.”
“That
doesn't match at all,” he teased.
“Well,
I wasn't expecting your call, honey. I didn't get a chance to dress
down for you,” I cooed in my usual tone I saved for callers.
“Thongs, isn't it?” I asked, knowing it was.
There
was a low, deep chuckle. “Yup. And I want a pair. I noticed
that was a new service. Green thong. To match those gorgeous eyes.”
Oh
like hell. No fucking way was he getting a pair of my panties. “You
don't seem like a panty sniffer,” I said.
“I'm
not,” he agreed. “I was just seeing if I could get a rise
out of you. You're very professional,”
he said and it sounded like a compliment.
Little
did he know, I was a swirling mess of anxiety inside. Which was new
for me. I never felt nervous on a call. Not even my first call. I had
stood in front of a bathroom mirror for days
lowered. But his lips didn't press down on mine. They hovered above
mine for a long time before pressing down, a whisper of a touch that
lasted no longer than two seconds before pulling away. I felt myself
waver slightly, horrifyingly, on my feet when he stepped back.
“See
you around, Sixteen,” he said, giving me an odd look.
“See
ya, Fourteen,” I called as the door slammed.
Alone,
I curled up on my bed, wrapping my blankets tight around me like they
could keep all the bad away. I laid awake thinking about nothing and
everything. My father. My mother. My brother. My burning thigh. But
mostly, Hunter.
Because,
damn it all to hell, I think I was falling for him. Just a little.
And maybe it was just all the pent up sexual frustration. But a part
of me knew it was more than that. That it was deeper. That maybe my
frozen little heart was thawing a bit.
Thirteen
My
phone woke me up. My work phone with it's absurd seventies porn theme
song. Bow-chicka-wow-wooow. I fumbled blearily out of bed, looking
for it on my nightstand where I usually left it. But as the sleep
cleared from my brain, I realized it was coming from the living room.
I stumbled around, looking at my door with it's makeshift patching
and noticed my phone on the tiny table I kept my mail and keys and
wallet on. Which was weird. Because I would never put it there.
I
reached for it, noticing the time with a squint. Most of my callers
knew not to call before eleven. And it was barely after ten. I hit
the call button. “It's a little early, darlin',” I said,
sounding chipper if maybe a little tired. Every man was darlin' or
honey or love. Every man was a sweet, sweet nothing.
“I
thought you might make an exception for me,” a familiar voice
said.
You've
heard that knocking over with a feather expression. Well, you could
have knocked me the fuck over with a feather as I realized who was
calling on my work line. On my phone sex line. That's why my phone
was out of place. He had moved it last night. Probably after going in
it and figuring out my number.
I
brought a hand up to cover my eyes, not acknowledging the big, silly
grin that was on my face. Oh, Hunter.
“You
there, Sixteen?” he asked after a moment, sounding perfectly at
ease. Like it was totally a normal thing he was doing.
“Yep,”
I said, shaking my head.
“Why
don't you walk back to your bedroom,” he suggested and my feet
were moving.
“Okay,”
I said, looking at my bed like it was foreign.
“And
get into bed,” he suggested, his voice sounding almost amused.
“Okay,”
I said, settling my head back on my pillows. I swear I could feel his
presence behind me. Through the wall. But only six inches away.
“What
are you wearing?”
“You
know what I'm wearing,” I said, laughing.
“How
would I know that? I'm Dan... from... Vermont. I've never seen you
before in my life.”
I
snorted, smiling at my ceiling. “Right,” I said. “Well,
I have on huge baggy, ratty sweatpants and a housecoat.”
“Come
on, Sixteen,” he groaned.
“Fine.
I'm wearing pink panties and a black and white crop top.”
“That
doesn't match at all,” he teased.
“Well,
I wasn't expecting your call, honey. I didn't get a chance to dress
down for you,” I cooed in my usual tone I saved for callers.
“Thongs, isn't it?” I asked, knowing it was.
There
was a low, deep chuckle. “Yup. And I want a pair. I noticed
that was a new service. Green thong. To match those gorgeous eyes.”
Oh
like hell. No fucking way was he getting a pair of my panties. “You
don't seem like a panty sniffer,” I said.
“I'm
not,” he agreed. “I was just seeing if I could get a rise
out of you. You're very professional,”
he said and it sounded like a compliment.
Little
did he know, I was a swirling mess of anxiety inside. Which was new
for me. I never felt nervous on a call. Not even my first call. I had
stood in front of a bathroom mirror for days
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