Number of times I thought about Levi Brooks throughout the day: approximately one billion.
Number of times I read through our sext thread: at least one hundred.
Number of times I got myself off in my post-walk shower thinking about him: just one.
But it was a good one—I was glad the bathroom window was closed.
Afterward, I was putting my pajamas on when I heard my phone buzz on the nightstand. I glanced at it—Levi Brooks calling.
I tugged my shirt over my head and accepted the call. “Hello?”
“Hi.”
“Hi. How are you?”
“Good. You?”
“Good. I just got out of the shower.” Thanks for the orgasm. I jumped on the bed and criss-crossed my legs, which were clad in blue and pink plaid flannel pants. “I was a little sweaty after a walk.”
“Do you have a dog?”
“No, it’s just me here. What about you? Dog? Cat? Potbellied pig?”
“Nope. Just an eight-year-old boy and a thirty-two-year-old man here. That’s enough animal for one house.”
I laughed. “Maybe you’re right.”
“How was your day?”
“Good. I had brunch with my family at Natalie’s this morning. Took Skylar and Sebastian to the airport. Did some work this afternoon. How was yours?”
“Really good, actually. Church and then the park, where there was only one minor meltdown over an ambulance siren and he actually played on the swings with a few kids. Then a few errands. I am a little tired today, though. I went to bed kinda late last night.”
I smiled. “I’d say I was sorry, but…”
“Don’t you dare. So what are your plans for this week?”
“The usual. Work.”
“Are you busy on Friday evening?”
My heart thumped a few hard beats. “I don’t think so.”
“Can I take you out for a drink?”
“I’d like that.”
“Is six at Low Bar OK? I wish I had time for dinner too, but I like to be around here at bedtime.”
“I understand.”
“Should I pick you up?”
“Actually, I’ll probably have to meet you. I don’t get out of the office much before that time. Unless you’d be able to do Saturday night instead?”
He paused. “Probably not. Scotty and I have movie nights at home on Saturdays, and I missed it last night because of the wedding. I’m sorry.”
“That’s OK. Friday will work fine, really.”
“OK. Thanks.” A little silence. “I thought about you a lot today.”
I fell onto my back and smiled at the ceiling. “You did?”
“Yeah. I reread our texts from last night in church.”
I burst out laughing. “I’m surprised you didn’t burst into flames.”
“Me too. Every time I heard the word God, I imagined you screaming it.”
Gasping, I put a hand to my stomach, which felt like I was cartwheeling downhill. “You are so bad.”
“I know. Because then I thought about all the things I could do to make you scream it.”
It was a moment before I could speak again. “You did?”
“Yeah. Mass was over way too soon today.”
I exhaled slowly, my eyes sliding over to my nightstand drawer. I needed to recharge Magik Mike right the fuck now. God, I loved the way he talked. If only I could record it!
“Silence. Have I shocked you? Told you I was an animal.”
I laughed gently. “Um, no. I was just thinking that I wish I could somehow record this conversation, so I could hear you talk to me like that later on when it’s just me and Magik Mike.”
“Who the hell is Magik Mike?”
My face burned. Had I actually just admitted I had a vibrator? There was feeling at ease with someone and then there was TMI. What if this turned him off? “It’s, ah…a toy.”
“A toy?”
“Yes.” I sighed. You might as well own it now, Nixon. “For grown-ups.”
He laughed, that deep throaty sound that melted my insides. And my panties. “I wish I could come play with you.”
“Well, then I wouldn’t need the toy, silly.”
“Oh no, I’d put that toy to good use on you.”
My jaw dropped. Sweet Jesus. “You would?”
“Definitely. And there wouldn’t be a thing you could do about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’d tie you to the bed first.”
“Oh, God.” I fanned myself as heat rose in my body, prickling on the surface of my skin.
“See? It works. Only I imagined it louder.”
“It would be. Trust me.”
He exhaled. “I don’t want to, but I better go. Scotty’s iPad break is about up, and it’s time to get back to math.”
“Ah, math homework. Can’t say I miss it. How’s it going?”
“It’s OK. He’s actually pretty good at math, he just struggles with directions. If a problem has more than one step, it’s tough. He also hates any kind of writing because he doesn’t have good fine motor skills. He gets frustrated and feels bad about it.”
My heart ached a little. “You must be so patient.”
“I try. Sometimes I need these breaks just as much as he does.”
“I’ll bet. Does he like school?”
“He did last year. He had a very understanding teacher who made him feel safe and capable. This year has had a rough start.”