After I leave Glitch’s shop, I drive home on autopilot. I can’t stop shaking. I’ve never been so tongue tied, nervous, turned on, and flabbergasted at the same time before. I legit had an adrenaline rush and he didn’t even touch me.
To know I’ve been talking to this man for months and he looks like that? Fuuuuuck.
I’m not worthy. I’m too fluffy for a guy like that. Too broke. Too everything-that’s-not-good-enough.
Stop it, Ara. You’re better than that. Self-deprecation isn’t cool.
I lip-stalled back at the shop with him. I couldn’t make words come out of my mouth for the life of me. He probably thinks I’m a tool.
All the bad thoughts start creeping in and it’s hard to force them out, but I do because I saw the way he looked at me. There was no disappointment in his expression when he saw me. He actually looked hungry. And talk about matching energies. His shop had some of my favorite anime painted on the walls. I wonder who the artist was? Did Glitch paint too?
How much do we actually have in common?
Look, after my last attempted relationship, life’s gone downhill. Beyond the sex drought, I barely leave my safe spaces anymore. I’ve poured all my energy into my art. And what little bit of sex life I have is with me, myself, and an imagination full of Glitch.
I’m not sure what this says about me.
Could he tell I get myself off on fantasies I conjure of us together? Oh god. I feel so seen. So transparent and stupid.
Well so what. Maybe he should be flattered that he drives me so wild. Bet I’d make him blush with all the dirty thoughts I have of him and then he’d be the one all hot and bothered, sweating in his shop.
I drive the whole way home, imagining us together—even for one night—and it makes me feel like a dirty girl. I like thinking dirty thoughts. I like doing dirty things. But seeing Glitch in real life has added a new element to my imagination.
Oh my God. He’s probably married. If he was mine, I’d put a ring on it. One on his finger and another on his motherfucking cock.
Guys as hot as Glitch do not stay single for long. Unless he’s a player.
Ugh. He’s probably a player.
But a player would have flirted with me online by now, and Glitch never has.
Pull yourself together, Ara. I take a deep breath before heading up to my apartment. Unlocking my door, cool air hits my face and I’m suddenly not interested in running more errands today. I came home to change my outfit—because yes, I’m telling you my panties were that fucking soaked—but now that I’m here, I don’t feel like doing anything except touch myself.
I sit on my bed and eye my side table drawer.
My sex drive is out of control and it’s all Glitch’s fault. If he read the alphabet backwards, he’d make butter melt. I’m softer than butter. And now my fantasies are going next level.
Get a grip, Ara.
I can’t.
Pulling my phone out, I text Trey.
Ara: Is Glitch with someone?
I regret my decision to text the instant I send it.
Trey: You mean now or in general?
I roll my eyes.
Ara: Is he in a relationship with anyone?
I watch the little dots appear as he types his response and my pulse races.
Trey: Nope.
Ara: Okay. Thanks.
I know he’s going to press me, but I really hope he doesn’t.
Trey: You interested?
Damnit.
Ara: I was just curious.
Trey: K
He leaves it at that, thank God.
I glance over at my laptop. I’m totally tossing it out the window to get Glitch to look at it next. The fact that he can fix shit is another turn on for me. Guys with big brains are even hotter than guys with big dicks. Glitch, I’m pretty sure, has both.
Jesus, I stared at his cock earlier in the shop. I legit gawked at his fucking package and I’m pretty sure he caught me doing it.
Get it together, Ara. Distract yourself.
I chew on my lip and check my email for the tenth time today. I’ve been hoping to hear back about a commission piece soon. It takes me three seconds to see they haven’t responded yet. Damnit. It’s just as well. My muse is still hiding. Has been since before my breakup.
My cell rings, and I frown at the screen. Unknown.
It can’t be Glitch already, could it? This isn’t his cell number, but maybe it’s the shop? “Hello?”
Heavy breathing on the other end makes my blood run cold.
“Jason. If this is you, you have to stop.”
More heavy breathing.
I hang up. I’ve blocked him, but he finds ways around it. So far, he hasn’t shown up at my studio, but it hasn’t stopped me from jumping whenever I hear a knock on my door there or at home. The problem with Jason is I’m not sure he’d knock before busting his way inside.