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Fuck Mercury and her retrograde.

I pulled out my phone to text Gunner. I hadn’t spoken to him since that night. I didn’t know how to process what I felt when he was around. And rather than dive into that emotional pool, I’d chosen to disassociate from life with a romance book and my vibrator for the rest of the weekend.

My fingertip hovered over the send button like I was a fucking middle schooler working up the courage to talk to her crush. What was my issue? This was a business deal; I was used to these. I slammed down on the send like it had personally offended me. Thank Santa Muerte, this didn’t need to be a FaceTime call. I would be here all fucking day.

“Oh, but you can shoot someone in the knee, no problem. That’s real normal,” I muttered to myself, rereading the groundbreaking message I’d sent.

Me: We need to meet today.

The three dots indicating he was typing appeared almost instantly. I was trying to ignore the butterflies bouncing around my uterus while waiting for his response.

Gunner: We meeting at your place or mine?

I was about to respond when another text came through.

Gunner: If we meet at yours, I need to know if you have XL condoms, bc if not, I’ll have to bring them.

What. The. Fuck? Was he sexting me? I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, gnawing at the skin, trying to work out how I felt about his message. Blowing out a breath, I decided I needed to keep it professional. My fingers flew across the screen, typing out a response before he sent more dumb shit, and my resolve cracked.

Me: We aren’t meeting so we can fuck, Gunner.

Gunner: Gotcha, don’t want to go for the home run yet. How do you feel about 69, then?

Gunner: I have been dying to taste that pussy of yours…

Gunner: You left a wet spot on my back the other night. What I would have given to get you off while on my bike. Do you wear underwear under those leggings of yours? I bet you don’t. I could have just ripped a few seams and had access to that pretty pussy. I haven’t seen it yet, but I bet it’s pretty.

Gunner: Did I mention that it’s sexy how bloodthirsty you are?

I didn’t know what had gotten into him, but he wasn’t giving me any time to wrap my brain around the fact that he was sexting me. I bet Dex dared him into this. The problem was the words on my screen were turning me on. My thighs were clenched, trying to move in just the right way so that the crotch of my jeans rubbed against my clit.

“What am I? A horny teenager?” I grumbled. “You text him back right now and tell him to cut this shit out…” My pep talk didn’t do shit. The moment another message came through, I devoured the words on the screen.

Gunner: Send a picture.

My face contorted in confusion. “The man must be drunk or have a concussion or something,” I said to myself.

Me: What? Why do you need a picture of my face?

Me: I’m not even going to bother responding to the rest of your messages.

Gunner: I don’t want a picture of your face. I want a picture of your pussy. Weren’t you paying attention? My dick is hard just thinking about seeing it. Fuck it, send a picture of your face too.

Gunner: Think you can take the picture while bent over your desk? Bc that’s the image I jacked off to all weekend. Fuck, Ryan. You have me trying to hide my hard-on, and you haven’t even sent the picture.

Gunner: If I bought you a butt plug, would you wear it? Bc fuck, that’s the picture I want.

I was back to biting my lip, rereading his messages. Why did I not have a vibrator stashed in my desk? For two seconds, I considered playing along. But a bucket of ice water was poured on me when my office door opened, and Mario poked his head in.

“Have you set up that meeting yet?” he asked.

I could feel my cheeks flame like I’d just gotten caught doing something naughty. I hoped Mario couldn’t see the color from where he stood.

“Doing that now, Mario,” I called back, clearing my throat before answering.

The moment the door closed, I relaxed, but only slightly. That was a reminder that I needed to keep my shit together. Don’t let the hot man distract you, Ryan.

Me: Not the time for sexting, Gunner. Go rub one out and get your ass to Lotería. Mario is here.