Her: Can I have a pic?
I text Tuck, Can she have a pic?
Him: Of what?
Dear God. This is a ridiculous game of actual telephone.
Me: Tucker says: of what?
Her: Face, abs, ass. No dick I take yet another screenshot and shoot that off to Tucker. While he considers the request, I wash my face and brush my teeth. By the time I climb into bed, there’s a message waiting for me. A picture of a gorgeous dark-haired guy flipping Tucker off fills my screen.
Wow. It’s incredible how hot these Briar hockey players are. Is that a requirement of making the team? Be able to slap the puck a hundred miles an hour and also star in the calendar?
I forward the picture to Carin, who sends me a thumbs-up emoji in return. Then I text Tucker again.
Me: We’re good to go.
Him: Time/place? Srsly can’t read this thing.
Me: Tomorrow. 8 p.m. Carin says there’s booze.
Him: K
I’m about to put my phone away when three dots appear. And then disappear. And then re-appear again. Finally, the message comes through.
Him: Dick pics that bad?
I smother a giggle. That’s his question?
Me: Why? RU going to send me one?
Him: Feel like that may be a trick question. Do u want one?
Me: Depends on context. Random dick pics = no. Otherwise? I dunno. I haven’t gotten one that I’ve really liked. U’ve sent one? Or several?
Him: My thumbs are tired. Hold on.
The phone vibrates in my hand a second later.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Hey.” He pauses. “So what made you change your mind about the date?”
“My friends said it would be good for me,” I admit.
“Your friends are right.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Anyway, I feel like this is a conversation we should have in person so I can see your face. Eggplant emojis don’t have enough nuance.”
This makes me laugh. “True.”
“But you’re in Boston and I’m in Hastings, so we’re going with the phone call. I may have sent a pic once, but it was solicited. She sent me one first.”
“Really? I’m not a fan of that. Too many revenge pics online.” Besides, I never really hung around a guy long enough to want to send him a picture, but I don’t share that with Tucker. “So there are pics of Tucker’s mighty wang on the internet?”
“I haven’t been tagged on Instagram yet, so I’m hopeful they aren’t out there. But thanks for calling my dick mighty. We appreciate that.” Amusement colors his words.
“We? As in you and your penis?”
“Yup,” he says cheerfully.
I snuggle deeper under the covers. “You have a name for your penis?”
“Doesn’t everyone? Guys put a name on everything that’s important to them—cars, dicks. One of my teammates in junior hockey named his stick, which was dumb because sticks break all the time. He’d gone through twelve of them by the end of the season.”
“What were the names?”
“That’s the thing. He just kept adding a number to the end, like iPhone 6, iPhone 7, except in his case it was Henrietta 1, Henrietta 2, et cetera.”
I snicker. “He should’ve used the hurricane naming convention.”
“Darlin’, he wasn’t smart enough to come up with two names, let alone twelve.”
Darlin’. My heart trips at the endearment. When he used it before, it seemed like a throwaway. But now? After he just said guys name things that are important to them?
I quell my fantastical interpretations before they lead me to a dangerous end. We’re flirting. Keep the tone light. “What’s your dick’s name?”
“Uh-uh,” he scolds. “That’s wife knowledge. I can’t tell you until the honeymoon.”
I wait for the inevitable sense of discomfort to start tickling my neck, but it doesn’t come. Apparently the offhand jokes about marriage no longer bother me.
“So what makes a good dick pic?” he asks. “Not that I’m sending you one.”
“Is that also wife knowledge?” I tease.
“I’d consider it engagement stuff.”
I put that thought aside and consider his question. “Completely graphic doesn’t do it for me. I need context, like I said before. Your fist around it would be hot. You have good hands.”
There’s a rustling sound, footsteps, and then a door latch clicking shut. He’s gone somewhere private, and that knowledge makes certain parts of my body pulse excitedly.
“I had to leave the living room. We’ve got people over, and you thinking about my dick is hot as fuck. I’m too hard to be in public.”
My breasts feel so heavy that I’m finding it hard to breathe. As I shift underneath the blankets, I hear his breath catch.
“What are you thinking about?” he murmurs.