Huxley: Depends on what good is.
He’s so much more playful through text. Makes me wonder—does he feel as though he doesn’t have to maintain his fa?ade when texting, like he does when we’re in person? Most likely he feels as though he can be more himself. Hide behind the comfort of his phone like a protective shield.
Lottie: Stop avoiding. Tell me all the naughty things you’ve done.
Huxley: You want naughty?
Lottie: Not that kind of naughty . . . well . . . huh, now I’m curious. Are you a naughty man?
Huxley: Are those your two questions for the day?
Lottie: You drive a hard bargain, but I kind of want them answered, so, yes, those are my two questions. I’d like the jail-time question answered first.
Huxley: For the record, we never went to jail, because we were never caught. But we were bored assholes and would fuck with our neighbors, stealing stupid shit from lawns and putting it in other people’s yards. So, Mr. Galstone on the corner would end up with Mrs. Dreerie’s potted plants, but we would alter them somehow, like spray-painting the planters. Stupid shit, but it got the neighbors talking, arguing. It was entertaining.
Lottie: You little assholes. Man, that would drive Jeff nuts if something like that happened to him. He’s very protective of his yard. He wishes he’d be acknowledged by The Flats yard committee, but we’re one street off from being considered. Jeff believes he deserves recognition. We all do.
Huxley: I noticed the yard was very well manicured. He does a great job.
Lottie: He’d appreciate the compliment. Now . . . ask me a question.
Huxley: You don’t want my answer to your other question right now?
Lottie: I’ll wait. Hit me with a hard one.
Huxley: Okay . . . have you ever been in love?
I stare down at my phone, reading his question over and over again. For such a robotic man, I never thought he’d ask a question like that. When I said hard, I meant something like “Who would you die on a sword for? Team Jacob or Team Edward?”
Side note . . . glitter dick, all day, every day.
But have I ever been in love? Now that’s a heavy question.
Huxley: I’m waiting . . .
And he’s relentless. I guess it’s only fair I answer.
Lottie: Have I ever been in love? Umm, that would be a no. A solid no. I’ve been with a few guys, dated, but no one has ever captured me. I’m pretty sure my heart will wait to fall for someone when I least expect it.
Huxley: How many guys have you been with?
Lottie: Is that your second question?
Huxley: Yes.
Lottie: Throwing away a second question on such a menial subject. I’ve been with five guys, and I’ll throw you a bone, only one of them has made me come. That one guy . . . was you.
My face heats up as I press Send. Dear Jesus, why did I say that? That wasn’t flirting, was it? No, I’m not flirting with him. That was just telling the truth, and knowing the kind of man Huxley is, he’ll be proud he’s the only one, because he’s an alpha and he thrives on information like that. It’ll help him open up to me more . . . hopefully.
Huxley: Clearly, you’ve been with some assholes. Glad I could make you come all over my fingers.
Ooof . . . okay, things are getting acutely sweaty over here.
The back of my neck feels dewy, my upper lip also seems to have a sheen to it. What an “attractive” reaction to a decently dirty text.
Lottie: You’re the only one, other than myself.
Huxley: If I give you one more question, will you give me one more?
Lottie: I’m intrigued. So . . . yes.
Huxley: Ask another question first. The naughty one?
Lottie: No. I’m saving that for last. I want to know if you’ve ever been in love.
Huxley: Never. No one has even come close to making me feel as though I could spend the rest of my life with them, as if I can’t go another day without laying eyes on them, as if I need them in my arms just to get a solid night’s sleep. I’ve only ever had surface-level relationships with the women I’ve been with.
Lottie: I wouldn’t have guessed that would be your answer. From the way you act, your clipped tone, your standoffish behavior, I would’ve sworn someone broke your heart.
Huxley: There was someone who fucked me in the head, but I wasn’t in love. I was more . . . attached for the wrong reasons. For business.
Lottie: Oh, I see. Well, that explains your need to keep everything business related between us.
Huxley: There’s a reason for everything.
Lottie: What’s your third question for me?
Huxley: You said I’m the only one who got you off, besides yourself. Tell me the best way you’ve ever made yourself orgasm.
Cue more upper-lip sweat. Because I know precisely, without a doubt, no question in my mind, which moment. But my answer is only going to puff up his chest more.
Lottie: It was the night you got me off. When I went back to my room, I fucked myself with my purple vibrator and came so hard, just thinking about how you commanded my body only moments before. And I realize how inappropriate that answer is, but it’s the truth. You worked me up that night. There was no turning back.
Huxley: Your body was easy to command.
I set my phone down for a second and take a deep breath. Okay, yes, the man is attractive, he has a way with words, and when he shows it, his personality is actually one I like, but I need to tread carefully here. Even though this is strictly business, a part of me believes if I let him, if I let him into my room, he wouldn’t think twice about it.
Lottie: It’s a thoughtful body, always wanting to include everyone.
Good God, what does that even mean?
Before he can respond to that, I quickly send him another text.
Lottie: Okay, so what’s the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done?
Huxley: Naughty in my eyes probably isn’t naughty in someone else’s. I’ve fucked women in some pretty weird places, but that’s just fucking. Naughty to me means crossing a line, a line that probably shouldn’t be crossed. Something forbidden.
Lottie: I’d agree with that.
Huxley: So then, the naughtiest thing I’ve ever done was undoing your robe and slipping my fingers inside your sweet cunt.
Blinks.
Swallows.
Nearly chokes on own saliva.
Okay, what’s happening? What is actually happening? Is he flirting? Is he just being blunt? What’s going on in that head of his? Inquiring minds want to know, because his answer is blowing my mind right now.
Lottie: There has to be something naughtier than that. Like, you know, taking someone on your office desk, or maybe whips and chains? I don’t know, I can’t be it.
Huxley: I crossed a line that night. You’re forbidden, off limits, part of a business deal, and I lost control. I allowed myself to give in to temptation. Be happy I only touched your pussy, because if I would’ve had it my way, that robe wouldn’t have stayed on. I have a meeting. I’ll see you for dinner.
I set my phone down and slowly look up. How the hell am I supposed to have dinner with him now?
“Steak and arugula salad with candied pecans, fingerling potatoes, peppers, gorgonzola cheese, and a balsamic glaze. Enjoy,” Reign says before leaving us to our plentiful salads. We had steak last night, but this looks different. Thinly sliced steak and potatoes in a salad . . . I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I’ll be honest, I’m here for it.
When I got back to Huxley’s house, I went straight to the tub, where I took a nice long bath and used one of my vibrators to take the edge off from the text messages. There was no way I’d be coming to dinner all worked up. Nope, I edged myself off and then let the warm water soak into my tense muscles until I was utterly relaxed.
By the time I got out, Huxley was rushing me with a text saying dinner was ready.