Sender: Dominic Perry
Subject: Phone Number
Maddie,
Give me your phone number.
Sincerely,
Dom
Sender: Maddie Sanderson
Subject: RE: Phone Number
New phone. Who dis?
I never claimed to be mature.
In fact, I am often extremely immature for my age. However, I also have a full-time job, pay all my bills on time, and schedule regular dentist appointments. So, I think that balances out my childish response to Dom. Especially after I attacked his face at the airport yesterday, despite him already rejecting my advances twice.
“I’m just going for the trifecta,” I mutter as I pace around my condo while a comfort grilled cheese sandwich browns in the cast iron. “Can you even say you fucked up if you haven’t done it three times in three different ways in three different states?”
My email pings again.
Sender: Dominic Perry
Subject: RE: RE: Phone Number
Maddie,
This is the man you are going to spend multiple days in a car with and who would like your phone number for emergency reasons.
Sincerely,
Just Give Me Your Goddamn Number Already
Two messages and no mention of the kiss. That’s got to be good, right? Maybe he convinced himself it was an accident. I was in a hurry to board the plane and his mouth got in the way. Or we could blame alcohol. The gin made me do it!
To appease Dom, I could give him my phone number.
Or I could continue to evade his attempts to have a direct connection to me.
Email is safer. It’s a boundary I need.
Sender: Maddie Sanderson
Subject: RE: RE: RE: Phone Number
What kind of emergencies? Are you planning on forgetting me at a rest stop? Because I think I could entertain myself with snacks and nudey mags until you realized your error and turned around.
Sincerely,
I Don’t Give Scrubs My Number
Besides, I already have his digits saved in my contacts from that first email he sent. If some terrible—unlikely—emergency arises, I can call him. Until then, emails will have to suffice.
I need to maintain a sense of separation. Getting close to the man scrambles my common sense. Every time I decide I have the maturity to be around him, my hormones and needy emotions get in the way. Some overly romantic corner of my brain decides the best way to interact with Dom is a passionate embrace.
Why do I make the same mistake on an endless loop?
I’ve replayed that night on the porch swing far too many times, and through those many dissections, I realized that I initiated everything. I kissed him. I took off my shirt and kicked off my shorts. I covered his hand with mine and nudged it between my legs.
Sure, Dom participated. “Like this, Maddie?” he would ask. “You like it when I touch you like this?” And damn it, I did, moaning his name.
Thank the universe my mouth was pressed against his shoulder when I eventually came, because I’m pretty sure “I love you” wanted to force its way out on that final wave of pleasure.
And I did. I loved him. He made it so easy.
And he left me easily, too.
I sink onto my couch, cradling my head in my hands as an ache starts up a slow pounding in the base of my skull.
I was supposed to be establishing a platonic friendship with Dom. Working on becoming the person who made sure he never took life too seriously. Josh wanted me to look out for his friend, not rediscover a pointless infatuation.
Too far. I went too far in the other direction.
My email pings.
Sender: Dominic Perry
Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Phone Number
Maddie,
I wasn’t aware you enjoyed viewing porn in public gas stations. Is this a trip requirement? How many times will we need to stop to get you your fix?
Sincerely,
Not a Scrub, A Responsible Accountant
I bark out an unexpected laugh after reading Dom’s response. I can hear the words spoken in his dry, sarcastic tone, while a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. A lot of people who meet Dom assume the man is all serious scowls with no sense of humor.
But he just needs to be pushed. And prodded. And poked. And only then does he give himself permission to make a joke.
My fingers creep to the keyboard, the act of typing a response easing the pain in my skull.
Sender: Maddie Sanderson
Subject: Travel Budget
Dear Responsible Accountant,
What percentage of the funds that Josh left us do you believe he intended for the purchase of smutty magazines? 10%? 15%?
I hope you’ve budgeted for this.
Sincerely,
Never Settle For Cheap Smut
Sender: Dominic Perry
Subject: RE: Travel Budget
Dear Expensive Smut,
I will add “Maddie’s Gas Station Pornography” as a line item. Please make sure to submit your receipts so you can be properly reimbursed.
Or you could text me a picture of them. Using your phone.
Sincerely,
Give Me Your Phone Number And I’ll Send You An Embarrassing Picture Of Myself
Oh.
Oh no.
Now, that is a tempting offer.
My mind buzzes with the possibilities of what that picture could be. What would Dom consider embarrassing? And why would he keep the photo?
Dom seems like the kind of guy who would delete all possible evidence of him ever making a mistake.
Maybe giving him my number would be okay. It’s not like I can spontaneously make out with him through the phone.
I’m weak.
Sender: Maddie Sanderson
Subject: RE: RE: Travel Budget
(206) 555-6501
If the next message I receive does not have a mortifying image of Dominic Perry, I will block the number.
Try me.
Sincerely,
Show Me Your Shame
Perched on the edge of my couch, I wait for his response. On the tab of my browser, I see notifications for my work email, but I ignore them, too focused on whether I made a massive misstep.
My phone vibrates and I snatch it up. Mr. Responsible Asshole flashes on the screen.
This is a mistake. I know that before I make it. Still, I swipe to open the message. At first, I don’t know whether to be furious or thankful.
The asshole sent me a thirst trap.
In the image, a shirtless Dom lays on a beach towel, skin glowing with the start of a tan, beat-up baseball hat shielding his eyes from the sun, body on full display. My eager eyes trace the lines of muscle on his chest and the light coating of hair across his pecs. The column of his throat tempts me, that dip at the base tantalizing me.
What I wouldn’t do to lick that V marking his hips.
Fuck you, Dominic Perry. This is the opposite of embarrassing.
But my frustration allows me to focus on the whole image, and I realize he’s not the only one in the picture.
A dog stands beside the towel.
Leg lifted.
I’m admiring a photographic masterpiece that shows a sleeping, sunbathing Dom receiving a golden shower from a Doberman.
Mr. Responsible Asshole: Josh thought it was more important to get a good shot than to shoo the dog away.
I laugh.
I laugh so hard I roll off my couch, fall to the floor, and curl in the fetal position as my body shakes with giggles. The cackles are never-ending, so I grab my phone, swipe to start a voice message, and let Dom hear exactly what I think of my brother’s choice.
Mr. Responsible Asshole: Glad I could amuse you.
Once the chuckles finally trail off and I wipe the tears of hilarity from the corners of my eyes, I decide not to let myself worry about giving Dom my number. As I said before, I can always block him.
This can be a good thing, I decide. The first true step in becoming friends. I can practice conversing with Dom on a regular basis without the distraction of his handsome face and all the memories attached to it. With the delay between typing new messages, I can apply a filter to my words. I can take a moment to rein in the harsher comments I’ve been throwing at him that he doesn’t deserve.
Maybe this could work.