Like
Page 13
“No, you said you’d never marry—which is disturbing, if I’m honest, but that’s a conversation for another time. Just open them.”
I pull out the first heavy glossy folder and read the logo. “Front Range Fosters. I don’t get it.”
“It’s a charity, what’s not to get?”
“No, I mean, why did you giftwrap me a folder with this company’s info?” I pick up the folder underneath. “Or the Denver Foster Kid Alliance Scholarship Fund?”
“Because I wanted to give you choices.”
“Choices for what, Asher? Just speak plainly, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Donations. You said you didn’t want the money, you’d probably do something stupid with it, so I figured I’d channel that anger into the right direction. So pick one, and I will give that money to the charity of your choice.”
I swallow down the tears as I look at all the charities in this package. They are all for foster kids until I get to the last one for the Colorado Sibling Fund, and then I almost can’t breathe. “How?” I ask him as calmly as I can. “How did you come up with these charities?”
“Is it more of a transgression to admit to stalking or hacking?”
“Asher,” I growl.
“Fine, I might’ve peeked at your charitable donations for the past five years.”
I close my eyes and let out my breath, calm returning. “OK,” I say, taking one more moment to gather myself. “Well, that was very nice of you. I’d like to split it then, and give each one the same amount.”
“I’m smiling, Grace. I’m smiling very big right now.” It sounds genuine too, like he’s a little boy giving a grownup something that came from his heart. And maybe for the first time since I met him, he is speaking from his heart and not his dick.
I smile back, but I don’t tell him.
“OK, so we’re still on for Twitter sex in an hour. I sent a gift in the box—”
I check the box, and sure enough, there’s another gift-wrapped box in there with the same pretty ribbon.
“—but it’s to be opened after we’re finished. Be online as @mrsinvsman at eight. And be naked.”
The line goes dead before I can even answer. I’m a little bit stunned. He sorta stuns me. He’s overpowering, and controlling, and bossy. But at the same time, he’s got this charm about him. And he’s very confident. Like he’s in charge of things. Like he takes care of things. Makes everything OK. And I have to admit, he took the money back graciously and made me feel important at the same time.
It was a brilliant move and suddenly this day is exciting. Like it should’ve been all along.
Vaughn did that.
The movie star I’m secretly tweeting with has made my day and it’s got nothing to do with the dirty sex I want to have with him.
Vaughn Asher might, just maybe, be a decent guy.
Chapter Seven
KiddingNotKidding
THE summer wind is just enough to make the low eighties temperature perfect as I sit outside on the terrace and sip a glass of Cuvée Elisabeth Salmon, 2002. Champagne is a drink I not only enjoy, but appreciate for the complexity of flavors and scent. And as I highly doubt Grace has had the pleasure of the 2002 vintage of this particular house, I’d like her opinion on it.
I check my watch and notice the lights that are strung up along the exterior of the terrace. It’s pretty. Romantic even. Perfect for our Twitter date.
I have to chuckle to myself. Is that strange? To be excited about a Twitter date when the sole purpose is to get her to open up to me sexually?
Why not, though? People communicate in all kinds of ways in this age. Twitter is just another method of making a personal connection. One hundred and forty characters and a well-placed hashtag might just change my life.
And I have to admit, just the idea that Grace has been stalking me for so long, thinking about me as she’s touched herself… well, it’s more than a compliment. It’s a turn-on.
I check my watch again. What is she doing? Preparing? Is she naked yet? Probably a more apt question would be will she actually accommodate that request?
I pick up my phone and find the note app. I’ve been composing filthy tweets all day. Tweets like:
My fingertips are dragging up and down your calf as my head dips between your legs.
But that’s too much like phone sex and I don’t want this to be like phone sex. I want it to be… different. I like the thought of my head between her legs, and I’m sure, from what I’ve read of her dirty tweets about me over the years, it’s definitely one of her fantasies. But it needs something more. A hashtag, for sure. That’s Twitter sex 101. Are there rules for Twitter sex? I don’t think so, but maybe there need to be? Guidelines to challenge and excite at the same time. Am I too competitive?
I’m sipping from my glass as that thought crosses my mind and I almost choke on the expensive champagne.
Is this a competition? What am I really trying to accomplish with this night? Her one-hundred-and-forty-character orgasm? A next date? Something else? The NDA contract and six months of dirty sex at my whim?
All of the above?
None of the above?
Some of the above?
Yes on the written orgasm. That makes me grin like a fool. I don’t even know why it’s so damn hot, but it’s making me hard just thinking about it.
Yes on the date too. I’ve seen her sexually, now it’s time to see her in other ways.
Do I like her? Like, for real like her? Or do I just like her body?
That I can’t answer. It’s a step ahead of what I’m capable of knowing at this point. I know only what I’ve dug up on her life. And I have to admit, there are some sketchy things about her past that have thrown up big question marks. Her childhood for one. It’s missing. If she went to private school, then that would explain her missing school records. Hell, my childhood school records are pretty scarce as well. But I was trailer-tutored on set most of the time. The one year I did attend a real school, it was super-private and only for the elite.
Grace doesn’t seem to come from money, but what do I know? Her parents were named Kinsella but they were a much older couple who died a year apart while she was in high school. I had Felicity do a property search for real estate records in the Denver neighborhood Grace said she grew up in, but it came up blank. So I’m not sure if she’s lying when she says she sold their house, or I’m just missing something about her past.
I pull out the first heavy glossy folder and read the logo. “Front Range Fosters. I don’t get it.”
“It’s a charity, what’s not to get?”
“No, I mean, why did you giftwrap me a folder with this company’s info?” I pick up the folder underneath. “Or the Denver Foster Kid Alliance Scholarship Fund?”
“Because I wanted to give you choices.”
“Choices for what, Asher? Just speak plainly, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Donations. You said you didn’t want the money, you’d probably do something stupid with it, so I figured I’d channel that anger into the right direction. So pick one, and I will give that money to the charity of your choice.”
I swallow down the tears as I look at all the charities in this package. They are all for foster kids until I get to the last one for the Colorado Sibling Fund, and then I almost can’t breathe. “How?” I ask him as calmly as I can. “How did you come up with these charities?”
“Is it more of a transgression to admit to stalking or hacking?”
“Asher,” I growl.
“Fine, I might’ve peeked at your charitable donations for the past five years.”
I close my eyes and let out my breath, calm returning. “OK,” I say, taking one more moment to gather myself. “Well, that was very nice of you. I’d like to split it then, and give each one the same amount.”
“I’m smiling, Grace. I’m smiling very big right now.” It sounds genuine too, like he’s a little boy giving a grownup something that came from his heart. And maybe for the first time since I met him, he is speaking from his heart and not his dick.
I smile back, but I don’t tell him.
“OK, so we’re still on for Twitter sex in an hour. I sent a gift in the box—”
I check the box, and sure enough, there’s another gift-wrapped box in there with the same pretty ribbon.
“—but it’s to be opened after we’re finished. Be online as @mrsinvsman at eight. And be naked.”
The line goes dead before I can even answer. I’m a little bit stunned. He sorta stuns me. He’s overpowering, and controlling, and bossy. But at the same time, he’s got this charm about him. And he’s very confident. Like he’s in charge of things. Like he takes care of things. Makes everything OK. And I have to admit, he took the money back graciously and made me feel important at the same time.
It was a brilliant move and suddenly this day is exciting. Like it should’ve been all along.
Vaughn did that.
The movie star I’m secretly tweeting with has made my day and it’s got nothing to do with the dirty sex I want to have with him.
Vaughn Asher might, just maybe, be a decent guy.
Chapter Seven
KiddingNotKidding
THE summer wind is just enough to make the low eighties temperature perfect as I sit outside on the terrace and sip a glass of Cuvée Elisabeth Salmon, 2002. Champagne is a drink I not only enjoy, but appreciate for the complexity of flavors and scent. And as I highly doubt Grace has had the pleasure of the 2002 vintage of this particular house, I’d like her opinion on it.
I check my watch and notice the lights that are strung up along the exterior of the terrace. It’s pretty. Romantic even. Perfect for our Twitter date.
I have to chuckle to myself. Is that strange? To be excited about a Twitter date when the sole purpose is to get her to open up to me sexually?
Why not, though? People communicate in all kinds of ways in this age. Twitter is just another method of making a personal connection. One hundred and forty characters and a well-placed hashtag might just change my life.
And I have to admit, just the idea that Grace has been stalking me for so long, thinking about me as she’s touched herself… well, it’s more than a compliment. It’s a turn-on.
I check my watch again. What is she doing? Preparing? Is she naked yet? Probably a more apt question would be will she actually accommodate that request?
I pick up my phone and find the note app. I’ve been composing filthy tweets all day. Tweets like:
My fingertips are dragging up and down your calf as my head dips between your legs.
But that’s too much like phone sex and I don’t want this to be like phone sex. I want it to be… different. I like the thought of my head between her legs, and I’m sure, from what I’ve read of her dirty tweets about me over the years, it’s definitely one of her fantasies. But it needs something more. A hashtag, for sure. That’s Twitter sex 101. Are there rules for Twitter sex? I don’t think so, but maybe there need to be? Guidelines to challenge and excite at the same time. Am I too competitive?
I’m sipping from my glass as that thought crosses my mind and I almost choke on the expensive champagne.
Is this a competition? What am I really trying to accomplish with this night? Her one-hundred-and-forty-character orgasm? A next date? Something else? The NDA contract and six months of dirty sex at my whim?
All of the above?
None of the above?
Some of the above?
Yes on the written orgasm. That makes me grin like a fool. I don’t even know why it’s so damn hot, but it’s making me hard just thinking about it.
Yes on the date too. I’ve seen her sexually, now it’s time to see her in other ways.
Do I like her? Like, for real like her? Or do I just like her body?
That I can’t answer. It’s a step ahead of what I’m capable of knowing at this point. I know only what I’ve dug up on her life. And I have to admit, there are some sketchy things about her past that have thrown up big question marks. Her childhood for one. It’s missing. If she went to private school, then that would explain her missing school records. Hell, my childhood school records are pretty scarce as well. But I was trailer-tutored on set most of the time. The one year I did attend a real school, it was super-private and only for the elite.
Grace doesn’t seem to come from money, but what do I know? Her parents were named Kinsella but they were a much older couple who died a year apart while she was in high school. I had Felicity do a property search for real estate records in the Denver neighborhood Grace said she grew up in, but it came up blank. So I’m not sure if she’s lying when she says she sold their house, or I’m just missing something about her past.
