Page 2 of Playing With Danger

“Holy shit. I’m sorry.” I quickly stepped back, where I hit the display of Kraft grated cheese, knocking some of the thankfully plastic containers off the top. Only to step forward again and slam back into the man in an effort not to knock down the entire display.

“What’s happening?” That was my mother.

“Are you alright?” That was the black-clad chest.

I pulled my forehead off the very hard, muscular chest, and tipped my eyes up to find the hottest man I’d ever seen in my life staring down at me.

“Someone kill me,” I breathed.

“Do I need to call 9-1-1?” Again, my mother.

“No, Mother, please don’t call the police. I’m fine but I have to go.”

Without waiting for a response, I pulled my phone away from my ear. On my way to shoving my phone into my pocket my hand brushed the man’s forearm and hip.

“I promise I’m not trying to be weird and feel you up. I’m just afraid if I move I might do something else embarrassing like say, trip and fall into the jars of spaghetti sauce. And red’s not my color.”

Oh my God.

What was wrong with me?

Red’s not my color?

The man smiled.

It was dazzling and friendly and holy hot potato I wanted to ask him if I could take a picture. Not to do anything weird like pull it up later tonight while I was playing hide the dildo with my vibrator for extra stimulation—the plug-in kind, since I hadn’t had a real penis in so long I’d forgone batteries.

What’s better than one toy?

Two.

Two was always better.

But not two in the vagina at once…that was a little too kinky for me. Like double-penetration toy-style.

What the hell is wrong with me? I screamed in my head.

“Sorry, God, I’m sorry.”

I slowly backed away from the man. When I was far enough away I noticed he was in those black pants that police officers wore with the pockets on the sides, and black combat boots.

Of course he was a hot cop.

He could have a whole IG page dedicated to his hotness.

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

Before I made a bigger fool out of myself, I smiled and dashed away.

It wasn’t until I paid for my pasta and garlic and I was safely in my car that I bust out laughing.

A week later, it was again Friday night, and I was again going home alone to make dinner for me, myself, and I when it happened.

It went something like this…

“We meet again.”

Oh, God, I knew that voice.

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