Here is an excerpt from Across the Line. Becca lives in Ithaca, N.Y. Calder lives in San Diego, California. They are going to the wedding of one of his teammates in a week or so.
Ding ding.
Calder got a text
message from Becca around ten, just as he was brushing his teeth. It was pretty
late in New York, so he was curious. The text came with a picture. He hoped it
was a naked picture, but didn’t think he’d be that lucky.
It turned out to be a
snapshot of a red-faced, blurry-eyed Becca in a bar with Savannah and a couple
of women he didn’t recognize. They all had half-empty martini glasses in their
hands.
Wish you could have been here, hunkman.
His toothbrush sticking
out of his mouth like a cigar, he laughed and texted back, Are you drunk?
In the picture? Yes. But that was an hour ago.
What about now?
Pretty much.
Worry furrowed his brow
as he pictured her crappy little compact car crumpled against a telephone pole.
Call me when you get home so I know
you’re safe.
Home already, she replied.
He was typing in a reply
when another text from her arrived. And I
went shopping today. I got pretty stuff.
Pretty stuff. Whoopee. What
did that mean? Shoes, probably. Or nail polish.
Something for the wedding.
He put his phone down,
rinsed and spit. Ding ding.
A dress and…unmentionables!!!!
Holy fuck. That got his
attention.
Are you impressed that I can spell that in my condition?
He ignored the question
and was in the middle of typing “Picture or it didn’t happen” when she texted, I’ll send you a picture. Hold on.
What followed was the
longest minute of his life.
His dick got hard during
that minute. He paced in his bathroom, eager and anxious. He hoped it was
taking a long time because she was putting said unmentionables on. The tension
was as high as when he was taking a face-off.
Ding ding.
His phone had gone dim.
He cursed as he woke it up.
You know, never mind. I think I’d rather surprise you.
“FUCKITY FUCK, FUCKED-UP
FUCKERY.” He inhaled hard through his nose and fought for calm.
Please? He wasn’t above begging. Doesn’t
have to be a full-body shot. Just the bra. On you, of course. Please please
please.
A long pause.
He counted to five,
breathing deeply like a Buddhist priest trying to meditate.
No picture.
Nothing.
The screen timed out
again.
FUCKITY FUCK—
No. I really want to surprise you at the wedding.
He wanted to cry. Is there nothing that I can bribe you with?
Money? Jewelry? A car?
No. You’ll just have to wait!!! Hahahahahahaaaaaa!!!! But it’s
all red.
Fuck. Becca in red
lingerie.
G’night.
Even in an extreme state
of arousal and an even more extreme state of frustration, he chuckled. He was
going to get back at her, somehow, some way. Just because she was tipsy during
this texted mind fuck didn’t mean she was off the hook. What goes around comes around, baby. When pranked by a teammate,
Calder always reciprocated. It was a matter of pride. One-upmanship was not a
game he usually lost, not even with girlfriends.
He’d spend some time
devising a suitably devilish plan, maybe involving handcuffs, but he had to get
rid of his pesky hard-on first.
Photo credit: Chris Corwin and Wonderlane via Wikimedia
