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Okay, yes, I craved the usual things. Candy and freedom and beautiful women. But I never craved a specific, beautiful woman. And once I was old enough to flirt, well, I didn't have any trouble attracting women.

Add the tattoos and the freckles and the ability to cop my grandmas' accent (a lot of women have a thing for Irish guys, for some reason), and, well… I always knew I could find someone if I was so inclined.

Even when I had girlfriends, monogamous relationships, I knew those women were interested in me. I knew we'd get together and enjoy each other soon enough. I didn't crave them. Or savor their touch. Or feel an intense need to text them right away, to demand pictures.

With Imogen?

I need to respond to her offer, to tease her, to test her, to adore her.

All morning, my cell burns a hole in my pocket. I make it all the way to work, and through set up, before I give in to my desire to reach her.

Patrick: Not tonight. Today. Text me when you're ready.

She replies right away.

Imogen: I don't see the word please.

Patrick: Are you free?

Imogen: Leaving class.

Patrick: Going to swim laps?

Imogen: Maybe. Maybe not.

Patrick: A picture of you in your practice suit says yes.

Imogen: What if I'm not going? What do I get?

Patrick: A picture of me in your practice suit.

Imogen: You'll stretch it out.

Patrick: Brutal.

Imogen: Do you have any idea how quickly I run through these?

Patrick: Are you always this pragmatic?

Imogen: Yes.

There's another side to her too. The girl who wonders about my dog-eared copy ofThe Bell Jar.

But, hey, I'm not going there.

This isn't a time for ugly things.

This is the most beautiful thing in the world.

Patrick: How about a picture of me in my swimsuit?

Imogen: Deal.

Patrick: Deal.

She sends a handshake emoji.

I reply with one.


Tags: Crystal Kaswell Romance