Page 55 of Roommate's Guide to Love

Maeve draws that short straw, and I dip my sandwich into the puddle of ranch on my plate when I feel my cell phone vibrate in my back pocket. Since all of my siblings are here, and no one from my old school district has bothered to reach out since I sprinted out of town, I have to assume it’s Porter.

I grab my phone and stand from the booth, turning away from my siblings so no one can see the hopeful dirty text my now-permanent fuck buddy has sent.

Only when I open the text, I’m very confused by the contents.

Porter:

What in the emoji word scramble filter is this shit?

“Quinn? You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, though I trail off as I try and decipher what the hell Porter just texted me.

Quinn: Care to translate?

I stare at my phone, but Porter doesn’t type anything back, which only leaves me staring at the screen and confused as all hell.

Okay, the winky face, the spicy pepper make sense. A little flirty intro.

I’m pretty sure the next one is a trench coat. Does he want me to come over wearing only that? Do I even own one?

Moving on to the eggplant. That’s easy.

Peach? I hope that means he wants to spank my ass again. Because if the eggplant before the peach means what I think it means, we need to have a conversation about out holes and in holes.

If all of that is correct, the devil face makes sense. But the poop emoji? That one is really throwing me.

“You look confused,” Stella says. “Who is it?”

“Porter,” I say without thinking, so I hurry and cover. “He needs me to come relieve him at the bar tonight.”

“Everything okay?”

I nod to Ainsley’s question before I help myself to a to-go box. “I’m going to go upstairs and get changed. I’ll text you guys tomorrow.”

Simon starts to say something before I finish. “And I’ll make sure to use the all-siblings chat and not just the sisters chat.”

“Thank you,” he says. “You were always my favorite.”

“Hey!” Stella yells. “I run your life. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

The voices fade of my squabbling siblings as I head to the back of the diner and up the stairs to my temporary apartment. I check my phone again to see if Porter texted me back. Still nothing.

Turtle meows at me as I walk into the apartment, but can’t be bothered to do much else. It’s why we get along so well. We both like our space. He does his thing. I do mine. Occasionally he cuddles with me.

Holy shit, I have a situationship with my cat…

I can’t think about that right now as I dig through my underwear drawer for the one piece of lingerie I own. I can’t help but think that this whole thing feels a little off. We were already planning on meeting tonight. Dirty texts had been sent. And I know the bar can be slow on Mondays, but sending me this now is confusing. Does he mean that I should come now? Or is this a message for later and I should come over at the previously agreed upon time?

Porter:

Okay then. Message received. We’re starting earlier than planned. And I guess at his place?

“Porter McCoy, be ready for a night you’ll never forget.” I adjust the royal blue lace one piece that leaves nothing to the imagination. I take the extra few seconds to slide on the thigh highs and straps that came with it.

I only bought this to go under a dress I wore to a coworker’s wedding. It was sexier, and more expensive, than I needed. But it had a halter neckline and a low back, and when you’re a 42DD, bra and lingerie options are far and few between. And it came with thigh highs and fasteners. I told the saleswoman I didn’t need them. She told me to take them just in case.

I don’t know her name, but I could kiss her right now. I barely recognize myself. I feel sexy. I like my body—well, now. It took me a while to get here. But even though I’m comfortable in my skin, rarely do I use the word “sexy” to describe myself. But the way this lingerie is snatching my waist, while also pressing my boobs together in a way that I know is going to drive Porter insane? I’ve never felt better about myself.

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