I stretched my fingers as far as they would go to no avail. The text screen lit up and mocked me from a distance.
“I’m good,” I lied, then attempted to sit up so I could grab the phone myself before the masseuse did. In doing so, the very small towel covering my modesty pooled behind my knees and left me entirely, embarrassingly exposed in the small room.
“I’ve got it, ma’am,” the woman said, lifting the towel again to cover me.
“No, no, no. Don’t worry, don’t touch—thanks. Just leave it.” I chuckled nervously as I lay back down. “Distracting thing anyways. Don’t need it in the slightest.”
Our conversation continued well past the hours spent at the spa and bled into the next day. Frankie texted me from a Piggly Wiggly as Natalia and I sorted through racks of vintage clothes at a consignment shop across town.
Frankie <3: Who knew there was a difference between baking soda and baking powder?
Ophelia: Most people
Frankie <3: No fucking way
“Did you even get any sleep last night?” Natalia stole my attention as she held two shirts up against one another in the mirror.
The real answer was no, because even after Frankie and I mutually decided on calling it a night, I scrolled like a psycho through the full day’s conversation with a dumb grin under the covers in the dark.
“Did you know Frankie actually speaks three languages?” I asked Nat.
“English, Spanish, and desperate. Did you sext him after I went to bed?”
“No, Jesus Christ. I told you we’re just chatting.”
“Nobody ‘chats’ that much.” She flung one of the shirts back onto the clothing rack. “Just let me know when I have to plan the shotgun wedding. What are you giggling at over there?”
My lip quivered. “He doesn’t know the difference between baking powder and baking soda.”
Natalia looked at me like I’d grown an extra head and a confused wrinkle formed between her brows. “Holy fuck, Phee. You’ve got it bad.”
After a full day of browsing without the physical distraction that was Frankie, I had thankfully returned to the apartment with all my Christmas shopping done. The hardest part would then be figuring out a way to fit all the extra baggage in my suitcase in two weeks—but that was a hurdle to jump when I got there.
Nat had long since retired with her phone to her ear and a sultry lilt to her voice as her bedroom door clicked closed. I couldn’t help but feel like an intruder on her and Mateo’s relationship no matter how adamantly she shot it down. Maybe I’d never felt the way those two did about each other with someone before, but if it was even a hiccup of the warmth I felt simmering with Frankie, I couldn’t blame Nat as far as I could throw her.
Frankie <3: Tell me something good
When I chanced a look at the time glowing in the corner of my phone I realized it was nearing one in the morning.
Ophelia: Like what?
Frankie <3: When did you lose your virginity?
The metronome of my pulse picked up inside my ears.
Ophelia: Not until college actually
Frankie <3: Who was he?
Ophelia: Don’t laugh at me
Frankie <3: No promises
Ophelia: My childhood best friend’s older brother Frankie <3: I thought that only existed in porn Ophelia: How cliché right? Friend’s older brother/sister Frankie <3: I never had a crush on anyone’s sister Ophelia: What was Frankie Casado’s first sordid fantasy?
Frankie <3: Michelle Pfeiffer, Catwoman
Ophelia: I was secretly hoping it would be embarrassing but that’s a pretty good one Frankie <3: You want to know what my most recent one was?
I worried my lips together, desperate to find out what he was going to say but not sure I could keep true to my word with Natalia once I slipped down that rabbit hole. My thighs slid against one another softly beneath the covers and I felt an embarrassing amount of relief.
Ophelia: I promised Nat I wouldn’t sext you
Frankie <3: I didn’t promise the same, so you can just listen then
I flipped from my side onto my back in bed as I stared down the text bubble idling on the screen.
Frankie <3: Because I haven’t been able to go twelve hours without fucking my hand over the way your pussy felt coming around my fingers
Fuck me. I knew Frankie wouldn’t take it easy, but that one sentence sent me barreling back to the middle of the ocean with his hands all over my body like a brand.
Frankie <3: I have never been so desperate to have somebody underneath me in my life, Ophelia Frankie <3: and I’m laying here in bed right now, hard as a fucking rock over you again, but I won’t touch myself if you don’t tell me to
I turned my head into the pillow, willing my resolve to hold out. The ache between my legs begged for attention my fingers were too eager to give.
Ophelia: Tempting…no
Frankie <3: No?
Ophelia: I’ll see you tomorrow night
Frankie <3: Ophelia
Ophelia: Goodnight, Frankie
I was torturing myself just as much as I was torturing him. It must have been a whole minute of watching the screen flash with three angry dots over and over again before a final text came through.
Frankie <3: Sweet dreams, Trouble
14
When I was twelve years old, Robby Clancy invited me over to his house for a birthday party. My teeth were train-tracked with bright pink braces, and I still hadn’t grown into the freckles on my face. I used my mother’s drugstore concealer that was a shade too pale for my skin to cover them up, and then pat, pat, patted a thick powder over the top. My hair was twisted into pigtail braids, and my wide-leg jeans were shoved haughtily into a pair of cream-colored, fleece-lined boots. Not ideal at all for a winter in Pine Ridge when the snow would undoubtedly seep through the toes and permanently leave dirty water stains on the material.
I’d had a crush on Robby since the moment I saw him in class the first day of seventh grade. He had spiky brown hair and a Broncos jersey on. He sat straight across from me and asked me if I had an extra pencil. I had thought that was so funny of him. Who didn’t have a pencil on the first day of school?
The days Robby forgot his homework, I would let him copy mine, which was most days. When he had football games, I would draw his number on my cheeks in paint and chant his name across the field. When Robby sprained his ankle, I offered to lug his backpack and mine across school from class to class.
Eventually the crush turned into somewhat of an infatuation. I’d expected us to be doing what everyone else was doing in our grade—holding hands, or kissing, or something. But Robby seemed content to keep me in the friend zone.