Riverrat69: They should make straight boys take a class on pussy. I remember back when my brother hit puberty and cornered me with questions . . . God bless him, he was trying to figure it out, but I lost sleep for weeks worrying about the poor girl he got to third base with the first time.

Tink24: What would they teach in your proposed pussy class?

Riverrat69: Not to jab at the clit like it’s a primer, for starters. You’re not drilling for oil, for Christ’s sake. Pussy 101 would focus on foreplay, technique, patience, and execution.

Tink24: If you put this on Kickstarter, women everywhere would donate to the cause.

Riverrat69: It’s a matter about which I care very deeply. Very.

I look up at Connor again, and his brow is wrinkled as he watches me. I hurry and close out the chat application and pull up my email. God, I haven’t even been here a week and I’m already having risqué chat conversations on the clock. Not that I’m getting paid by the hour, or much at all for that matter, but still. I want to keep this job.

The email with the suggested speech revisions is waiting for me, and I put my head down and get to work.

Chapter Eight

Liz

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” I tap on my screen wildly as if there’s some magical swipe-tap-hyperventilate combination that can take the text back. Or, more specifically, the picture. Nausea rolls over me and I drop my phone to the counter and press my hands to my hot cheeks. It’s over. It’s done. The picture is out there.

“Liz?” I look up to see my mom standing in my kitchen, frowning at me. Her hair is extra coifed tonight, and her frown extra condemning. Which, if you know my mother, is saying something. If a frown can say, “Anything that’s wrong in your life, you brought on yourself,” Mom’s does. She doesn’t mean to be a judgmental harpy where all of her daughters are concerned, kind of like clowns don’t mean to be creepy. Intent is pretty much irrelevant.

I drop my hands from my cheeks. “Hi, Mom.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. It’s just hot in here. I’m feeling a little woozy.” I’m not about to tell my mother that I accidentally sent a naked picture to Sam Bradshaw.

I want to meet River in person. I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind since he suggested it. But given my complicated history with Sam, I decided that River/probably Sam needed to know exactly whom he was meeting. When I sent the picture, I was so busy thinking about what Sam’s reaction would be, I sent it to Sam via text message, rather than to River via Something Real chat—a picture of myself in nothing but a purple lace thong, black heels, and a smile.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.

It shouldn’t matter, but now instead of the picture being the way I tell River/probably Sam that I am Tink24, the picture is on its way to Sam’s phone from my phone. Even if it’s really the same thing, it’s not the same thing at all.

“You’re not wearing that, are you?” Mom asks. She narrows her eyes so disapprovingly at my fuzzy candy-cane sleep pants and white tank that, for a moment, I consider it. Just because it would get Mom’s hackles up, I want to wear my pajamas to Hanna’s wedding rehearsal. Hanna wouldn’t care. She’s so sleep deprived from taking care of the twins while Nate’s been on tour that she probably wouldn’t even notice.

“I’ll go change,” I mutter, turning toward my bedroom.

The second my bare feet hit the carpet of my room, my phone buzzes, rattling against the kitchen counter. I spin and run all in one motion and reach for the phone at the exact moment as Mom’s fingers wrap around it. “I got it.”

She lifts a brow but doesn’t release my phone. “Are you hiding something? If you’re doing something you don’t want your mother to know about, you probably shouldn’t be doing it.”

“I’m not a little girl anymore, Mom. There are plenty of things I do that I don’t want you knowing about.” With a tug, I snatch the phone away and tuck it into my pocket. If she knew what I did moments before she’d arrived, she would be so disappointed. Of course, I don’t think she’d be less disappointed if I’d sent it to the anonymous stranger it was intended for.

“We’re going to be late,” she scolds.

I rush into my room, close the door behind me, and lean against it before withdrawing the phone from my pocket.

Sam: Nice shoes.

That makes me smile. Damn. I needed that.

I click into the text box and stare at my phone, but I can’t think of a reply.

Instead of texting Sam, I pull up the chat application I use to talk to River. I already depleted my short supply of courage sending that picture the first time, so I’m not going to send it again.

Tink24: Do you still want to meet me?

Riverrat69: More than anything.

Tink24: When? Where?

Riverrat69: Can you get to Brown County tomorrow night?

I put my hand to my mouth. I’ll be staying in Brown County tomorrow after Hanna’s wedding. And so will Sam.

It really is him. It has to be.

Tink24: Yes. It will have to be late. I have an event.

Riverrat69: 5429 Water Pointe Blvd. I’ll wait up.

Tink24: I’ll see you then.

Riverrat69: I’ve never actually ripped a woman’s clothes off before, but I might have to with you. I don’t think you’ll make it past the foyer before I bury my face in your pussy.

The thrill that buzzes though me at his words settles hard and hot between my legs.