Page 29 of Reply All
Why don’t we put a pin in what happened last night so we can talk about your good news.
That’s more important.
A slow smilespreads across my face after a quiet sigh.
Safe. I feel safe.
Bridget
Will you at least give me five minutes to brush my hair and make myself look presentable?
Will
Two minutes, though I’m sure you don’t need it, and I certainly don’t care what you look like. ;)
I runover to my bathroom and splash cold water on my face, gently patting it dry. With no makeup, my freckles stand out—but I don’t mind. Growing up, I used to hate them. As an adult, I’ve grown to love them and see them as something that sets me apart, that makes me unique.
With impressive speed, I pull my hair out of the satin scrunchie it was in and brush it until it looks perfectly detangled and soft down to my waist. Exhaling once, I look at myself in the mirror with a determined expression, and whisper, “You’ve got this. It’s just a phone call. Just a video call with a man you’ve never seen though you’ve been crushing on him for weeks.”
I settle into the center of my bed under my favorite teal, cozy blanket, fluff my pillows behind me, and, with a deep breath, click the FaceTime video call button on his contact profile.
It barely rings before the call is accepted, and I’m rendered speechless by the most handsome, sexy man in the world when he pops on screen. For a second, I swear I’m hallucinating because there isno waythat the man I’ve been texting for weeks, the man I haven’t been able to stop thinking about, looks like a hotter version of Theo James. I’m not that lucky. And who even thought that could be possible? With high cheekbones and a perfect bone structure that rivals Ancient Greek sculptures, lips that look soft and demanding at the same time, dark, curly hair begging to have my fingers tangled in them, and brown, smoldering eyes that feel like they can read my soul in a split second, Will knocks the wind out of me.
Holy shit.
Suddenly, I want to curse myself out for not listening to my gut instincts, for not putting on normal clothes and at least adding a bit of foundation to cover up the insane blush creeping up my neck and face. The side effect of being a redhead, no emotion goes hidden—and I think the extreme blush I feel heating every inch of my skin is very clearly revealing my thoughts:Damn, he’s hot. More than I can handle, I think. So much so that it takes me a minute to process his shocked face before it morphs into the most heartbreaking, face-splitting smile.
“Hey, Bridge,” he breathes.
His voice…
And I am officially a goner.
“You’re…” Will swallows once on the other end of the line. “You don’t look the way I imagined.”
His voice. God, his voice.
I bite back a moan because something about it, something about its depth and tone, has me suspectingthingsabout how he is in bed. I hate that it’s the first thing I think about, but I can’t help the immediate attraction.
“You imagined what I looked like?” I ask in a small voice, which is, admittedly, dumber than any question anyone has ever asked ever. It would be odd to be talking to someone for just over a month without imagining at leastoncewhat they looked like. It would be especially odd to sext with someone, say you imagined eating them out on all fours, without having once thought about it. Even if Will had thought about me only a fraction of the times I’ve thought about him, he must’ve wondered about my physical appearance.
“I…” Will hesitates. “Kind of? I don’t…” He bites the inside of his mouth and runs a hand through his hair, unable to meet my eye.
“Are you…nervous?” I try not to tease him. To be honest, though, there’s no denying I’m genuinely shocked a man who looks likethatwould ever?—
“Oh. Now I get it.” I nod, somber. I’ve never been too concerned by what my body looks like. No, I’ve been much too focused on fashion and clothes my entire life for that. Pulling an entire outfit together that was able to express how I feel or who I am in that moment is what I think of when getting ready in the morning. Besides my initial aversion to my freckles when I was younger, I didn’t concern myself with what my body looked like (I had much bigger problems to contend with for that). Tonight, though, for the first time ever, I feel the most self-conscious I ever have in my life. It’s odd, this feeling, going from extremely comfortable with who I am with Will to almost afraid to show myself on camera. And I know why.
“You’re… You’re disappointed.” I wince as the other shoe drops, as I realize I actually said that out loud. I mean, it’s evident that he is, but I shouldn’t have put him on the spot like that.
Horrified, Will brings his phone closer to his face. “What? No.No. That’s not what I meant. How can you even say that? I just… I don’t know what I imagined when I thought of you, but you were never…” The way he sputters his words, the anxiety clear on his face, is what causes me to take pity on him.
So he doesn’t find me attractive. So what? That’s not what this was, anyway. Right? Not necessarily. At least I made a friend. At least now I know that this weird relationship I’d been in with my work pen pal can progress through the friendship route. And I wouldn’t mind having another friend, I guess. It’s not like I have many these days.
“A redhead. You never imagined me as a redhead,” I say, cutting him off while trying to hide my disappointment.
Relieved I gave him an out, Will nods. “Right. That’s what I meant. I never imagined you as a redhead.”
And maybe there’s some truth to that, too. A lot of guys aren’t into redheads.
