Chapter Two
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Rayne
Oh my God this guy was such a jerk. He showed up drunk and couldn't keep his hands to himself. Tonight was horrible. I'm done! Guys are so stupid! All he wanted to do was try to put his hands on my tits.
I pick up my phone and read the message sent to me. It's from the girl I sent the dick pic to the other night. I'm pretty sure this message isn't meant for me but I can't seem to put my phone down and ignore it.
Uh, I'm sorry that you had a bad date? I'm by no means an expert on handing out good dating advice as you are aware but I'm pretty sure if the man is trying to feel you up you should get the hell out of there.
Oh shit, I am so sorry I bothered you. I...your number was the last one I texted.
Now that's interesting. I thought most eighteen-year-olds had tons of people they talked to through text messages. Meanwhile, I'm a complete spaz when it comes to the fads of social media and memes and all that nonsense. And I just made myself sound like a god damn dinosaur.
No worries. Now we're even at least. Lol. Hopefully you got rid of the drunk and got home safe.
The little bubble thing pops up and tells me she is typing again. If I understand right, she's an eighteen-year-old girl but other than that I don't know anything else about her. She seems to be having a rough time of it like I am though. I mean the girl I went out with gave me the wrong number for fuck's sake. Then ask me through 'a friend' to send her a dick pic and I did.
Yeah, I did leave the restaurant. Not home yet though so the night is still young. I might still have a gargoyle fall on me before I make it inside the way my luck is going.
I laugh out loud causing the men around me to look over. Assholes, they gossip like a bunch of old women so the fact that I'm on my phone laughing has all of them standing to attention.
"Whatcha laughin' at boss?"
"None of your god damn business, Andrews. Keep your mind on work."
Another one of the men on shift with me asks, "Is it Heather?"
"No." I snap. "She stood me up."
Well, at least you didn't send a picture of your junk to a complete stranger. You’ve got that going for you.
She sends me a smiley face with a tear coming out of one eye.
I guess there is that. Please don't worry about it. I realize it was an accident. I'm sorry if I sounded judgy yesterday.
You didn't sound judgy. No worries. Are you home yet?
Almost, why?
Why indeed?
Because I want to know you're safe. Even if you are a total stranger. If you need me to come pick you up I will.
It's a little while before I get a reply and I start to think I may have overstepped my bounds with her. I go back to filling out paperwork and watching over my men. After five minutes though I hear a ding. I have to wipe my hands on my jeans before I pick the damned phone up I'm so excited. What the hell is wrong with me?
One, we don't even know if we live anywhere close to one another, and two, I'm inside safe. No need to worry now. Thank you for caring. I understand we don't know each other but it's nice to know someone out there would miss me if a date dragged me to a cabin and killed me.
Anybody would do that for another. Besides if you go missing I would probably be the prime suspect considering I sent you a picture of my...stuff.
I'm sent another smiley face before two of my guys come in and take my attention off my phone. It takes me three hours to make it back to the text messages and another four before I have the chance to reply, but by then I'm sure it's too late to text this girl. She's right, I don't know where she lives or even what time zone she might be in so who knows if I'm bothering her. People usually go on dates at night, don't they?
I'm not sure why I even keep texting this poor woman. The last thing she needs is someone like me bothering her. Hell, the woman I was trying to date didn't want anything to do with me. Why would this girl be any different? I don't even know what she looks like. I can tell she's funny and she's forgiving of someone who fucks up since she didn't turn me into the police for sending her a picture of my cock.
On my way home I can't stop thinking about the person on the other end of the messages. Is she in high school still or college? Does she work around here? I can't even be sure if she's in the same fucking state I'm in and it's kind of killing me wanting to find out. I have to take her word for the fact that she is an eighteen-year-old girl. She could be a forty-year-old man living in his mom's basement for all I know.
I grab my phone once I'm finally home and can get comfortable. I shouldn't text her again.