The man either had the slickest game on the planet or he was seriously horrible at reading the opposite sex.
That’s a no.
Though, she was the one who kept engaging, so what did that make her? Rolling her eyes, she turned on Do Not Disturb, placed her cell on the bedside table—for the final time—and then cuddled back under the blankets. She had to get up in four hours. She was going to sleep, and that would happen right now.
Right. Now.
Right—
Fuck it, she was going to look.
Flipping to her side, she reached for her phone, tilting it up just enough to see the screen. A response was there. Of course, it was. But nope. She was not opening it. No way. No how. No—
Oh, look. Her Face ID magically unlocked the screen and loaded her messages.
Please?
She snorted.
Nope.
Pretty please with sugar on top?
What are you? Five?
I’m thirty-five, actually. And totally helpless when it comes to women.
I can see that.
Ouch.
A beat before he sent,
So now will you show me your face?
She shook her head. This man was persistent, if nothing else.
Going into the creepy territory, Mr. Thirty-Five.
Victory!
*thinking emoji*
I’m no longer helpless. I’m creepy.
Lori couldn’t help it. She outright laughed. Oh boy, this man was something else.
You do realize it’s almost three in the morning, right?
You’re the one responding to my messages.
You’re the one who sent the filthy dick pic in the first place.
She asked for it!
Her lips curved. Now, this was a story she had to hear. Lori sat up, tucking her fuzzy purple comforter under her arms as she went. A moment later, she’d fluffed the pillows up behind her back and then flicked on the light. Only once she was comfortable did she send a reply.
How exactly did she “ask for it?”