Page 32 of Untangled
“I think this messy middle is pretty perfect too. Finish this another time?” I ask.
“Any time you want. See ya in bed, wife.” The wink he gives is subtle. Flirty. Intentioned
And while it’s not our wedding night, I have a feeling tonight will be better.
Day 20
Spend the day sexting.
You’d think, after all the filth I’ve heard and said over the last three-ish weeks, that putting something in writing would be easy.
You’d be wrong.
While Violet babbles in the seat of the grocery cart, I wrack my brain to find something sexy to say. Should I be doing this in the canned veggie aisle? Probably not, but the day’s errands can’t be skipped on account of needing to drafta slutty SMS.
Daniel started the day easily, texting me immediately after getting into his car (while still in the garage—the door hadn’t even opened yet):
I can’t wait to get my hands on you tonight.
My first instinct was to say, “Same!” or give the message a thumbs up, but that’s a cop out. I went with the slightly better,
I can’t wait to have your hands on me.
There. I did it.
Violet and I stroll through the dairy aisle where I shiver against the cold. “Let’s get you some yogurt,” I say to my happy babe, who smiles back. God, I can’t wait until she can talk. There’s something maddening about narrating the world aloud for your baby’s benefit while they can’t respond, but I do it anyway, because I read that hearing more words during the first 1000 days of life is associated with better test scores, or something.
Buzz.
My heart rate spikes with the vibration of a text message. Maybe it’s Mom, wanting to know if we’ll come over for dinner on Sunday.
It’s not.
Just my hands, or you want my tongue too?
Suddenly, the chill emanating from the open refrigerator door dissipates. A creeping warmth splashes pink across my neck and chest—I can feel it.
Both. And more than that, too.
I debated adding an eggplant emoji for effect.
Are you feeling shy, baby? You can tell me you want my cock. I know you do.
I slap my phone facedown against the handle of the cart before anyone might see. Violet flaps her hands in imitation, smacking them against the cart. “That’s right, Vi,” I whisper to her, “We’re all done with that for now.”
I don’t hear anything from Daniel for the next several hours, either because he’s waiting for my response or he’s tied up in meetings. When my phone buzzes during Violet’s second nap—early afternoon—I set down my book and grab it from the ottoman.
Youdidget shy on me. Wasthat too much?
His ability to prioritize my comfort is one of the best things about him. It’s endearing.
No, just been busy with errands and getting Violet down.
It feels strange to follow up that text with something sexy, so I try a different tactic. Leaning forward on the couch, I place my elbows on my knees. Bringing my upper arms to press against the side of my breasts, I create some surprisingly substantial cleavage and practice angling the phone to maximize the impact. The shirt I’m wearing isn’t meant for this kind of exposure—it’s a V-neck sweater from JCrew I’ve had forever—but with a tug at the hem, I pull it down just enough to frame my tits beautifully. After no less than fifteen shots I deem unworthy, I take one I like and text it to Daniel before I get sheepish.
Hot DAMN, mama
Fuck
