Kayla Cumsalot 1844-33-CANDY Ext 357
I met a guy online, and we’ve been heavily flirting. However, he lives really far away, and I kind of just assumed it would never turn into anything—until last night. Was it just a dream?
I was getting ready to head out to the bar for the UFC fight when he texted me to ask what I was wearing, if I’d be driving, and who I was going with. It was typical boyfriend stuff, you know, the caring, protective questions men ask to take care of you. I supplied all the answers, and teasingly, he said he didn’t like my choice in underwear and wanted me to change into a set he’d seen before.
Was It Just A Dream?
Maybe some girls would consider it controlling, but I skipped back to my room while my friends waited. If a man wanted to pick my panties, it would just ensure that I soaked them thinking of him for the rest of the night. I snapped a picture to show him I was a good girl, and his response was to make sure that I sat in the back of the car. Because that’s where baby girls sit. Yes, I swooned so hard, and my poor panties were already getting damp.
My friends and I got to the bar and ordered food and drinks. I kept checking my phone but he must have assumed I’d be too busy to text. I missed him more every time I looked at his last message and felt silly for swooning for a man I’d never even met.
My drink was empty, so I slid off my stool at our high-top table and leaned into the bar. A voice to my left had my head wiping to the side. It sounded just like him. Was this a dream? Or is my brain somehow making up voices and hearing what I wish to hear? I scanned the faces in the crowd and then realized how insane I was being. He didn’t live even remotely close to me, and he was at home. He’d asked all those questions just because he was caring, not because he was going to show up tonight. That’d be impossible, right?
I pulled my focus back to the bartender, and as I ordered for my table, I felt a warmth behind me. My chin lifted as my nose inhaled a mix of engine oil and a sharp cologne. Instantly, I knew it was him! It had to be. I whipped around, frantically looking for the man who’d been teasing (and pleasing) me via my phone. My head bobbed this way, and my neck craned that way. There!
There’s No Way
There he was! That had to be him. I saw the profile of his face and forgot about the drinks at the bar. Pushing through the crowd slowed me down, and I lost him. He just disappeared, it seemed. Searching for someone who wasn’t there made me feel silly. It felt like I was in a dream, so I made my way back to the bar, and as soon as I leaned into the counter and rose up on my toes to yell over the noise, a voice in my ear stopped the sound from leaving my throat. “Not too many, baby girl.”
It was his voice! I’d know his accent anywhere! I spun again and met no one. What was happening? I shook my head and took the drinks from the bartender then headed back to my seat. Then I opened my phone and sent him a text. “Where are you right now.” Normally, he responds right away, but there was nothing. No text bubbles that came and went. Radio silence. I tucked my phone back in my pocket and looked up to watch the fight, but he was standing on the other side of the table. I swear, he winked at me and turned. He was wearing the hoodie he wears in all of his photos, and it HAD to be him.
I jumped off my stool, my friends asking what I was doing or where I was going, but I wouldn’t let him escape again. So, I followed the man I knew was my online boyfriend and watched as he stepped out the bar’s doors. Really, I should stop; it was unsafe to follow men outside, but my feet kept going. As soon as I burst through the doors, panting in my effort to navigate the crowd, there he was. His hands were in his pockets, and his adorable smile was on his face. “You.” I gasped, then leaped into his arms.
It’s Really Him
Of course, he caught me, one hand finding my lower back and the other cupping my jaw. His nose brushed mine, and he chuckled. “Me, ” he said, then pressed his mouth to mine in the sweetest, softest kiss I’ve ever experienced. My knees buckled, but he held me to him and deepened the kiss.
Minutes or hours later, we parted, and he smoothed my hair back from my face. “My hotels are not far. You wanna come back with me?” He didn’t even have to ask. I texted my friends I was leaving and let him lead me to his big truck. Inside, I couldn’t keep my hands off of him as he drove through the dark streets. He was here; how was he here? This felt like the sweetest dream, and I didn’t want it ever to end.
Kayla Cumsalot 1844-33-CANDY Ext 357