Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
"Still. Don't you think Imogen should know you have feelings for another woman?"
I don't have feelings for her. But that's bullshit. I do. "No. It's the same thing."
"That's just sex."
"Yeah, and your boyfriend is a man. He'd want to know."
She shakes her head no way.
I nod yes way. Though I don't have the confidence I normally do. I don't like the idea of Imogen reading some guy's online journal, falling in love with him through his words. I hate it. "We're not serious. It doesn't matter. But I appreciate you looking out for her."
She shoots me an incredulous look. "You do like her?"
"Don't spread the news," I say. "She's been clear about what she wants."
"Your dick and only your dick?"
"Basically."
"And you're really okay with that?"
"With a fling with a gorgeous woman? Yeah."
She looks at me like she doesn't believe me, but she doesn't call me on it.
My cell buzzes in my hand.
"I have to take this," I say.
"Casual, huh?"
"Phone sex date."
She blushes. "Here?"
"Where else?"
"I'm not listening to you come."
"Then turn up the music."
Chapter Twenty
PATRICK
A Billie Eilish song flows through the bathroom door. It's not my idea of sensual, but it feels right all the same. Besides, I'm not here for me.
I'm here for her.
Imogen: It's not as sexy as it sounds.
She attaches a picture of her, dripping wet, in her practice suit. A shot by a friend, teammate, coach. I don't know, but I adore it, instantly.
Not because it bares skin, though it does (the swimsuit is cut way up her thigh, showing off her long legs).
Because it's an insight into her life.
I do like her. A lot. And I don't care what that means tomorrow.
I need to do this now.
It's different than with other women. I don't want to stay on the sidelines, unwilling to lose myself in the absurd experience of talking someone off, participating without really participating.
I don't want a moment of detachment or inhibition.
I want to feel every second of this.
Patrick: Agree to disagree.
Imogen: You think I look sexy in my practice suit? Really?
Patrick: I prefer you out of the suit, but yeah. You look hot.
Imogen: With the swim cap?
Patrick: You're not wearing it.
Imogen: I'll show you my true form, but it might be a boner-killer.
Patrick: Not possible.
Imogen: Is that a dare?
Patrick: If you want to see it that way.
She sends another photo.
A selfie in her blue swim cap and goggles, from the top of her head to the bottom of her chest.
It's not sexy in a traditional sense, but the insight into her life?
Patrick: Hot as fuck.
Imogen: Really?
Patrick: I guess I have a fetish.
Imogen: We don't need a lot of roleplay skill for that one.
Patrick: You want to roleplay?
Imogen: Maybe. I haven't thought about it.
Patrick: Do you have a scenario in mind?
Imogen: Do you?
Patrick: A few. But I want this, now. Me and you.
Imogen: Me too.
Patrick: Is that from today?
Imogen: It is.
Patrick: How often do you swim?
Imogen: During the season, five days a week. Sometimes six. In the off season, I swim after class every day. Well, every day I have class.
Patrick: How many days is that?
Imogen: Three, right now. I'm not sure what I'll do in the fall. I won't have as much time. I won't have as many chances to hit the water.
Patrick: But you need it?
Imogen: I do.
Patrick: What do you love about it?
Imogen: I can't put it into words. It just feels right. It feels like home.
Patrick: I know what you mean.
Imogen: So many of my teammates don't go to the pool or the beach. A lot of people on my high school team went to college, stopped swimming entirely. I can't imagine that. I know life gets in the way, but when I have to go a few weeks without a pool or a large body of water… I don't feel like me. Do you have anything like that?
Patrick: Sketching.
Imogen: You can do that anywhere.
Patrick: Yeah, but to really get into it, fall into the zone? That's different.
Imogen: And you have to make the mental effort. You have to let your guard down and be honest with yourself.
Exactly.
How does she know that?
Imogen: It's the same when I write. I try to journal every day, to keep up with my thoughts.
Patrick: You seem to have a lot.
Imogen: I do.
Patrick: I like that about you.
Imogen: Thanks.
Patrick: Sorry. You didn't text asking for conversation.
Imogen: As long as you don't leave me waiting.
Patrick: Are you alone?
Imogen: In my room.
Patrick: Show me.
She sends a picture of her legs stretched over the sheets. It feels different than last time. Deeper. More intimate.
Patrick: What are you wearing?
Imogen: Uh-uh. Your turn.
Patrick: I'm at work.
Imogen: Can someone see?
Patrick: Do you want someone to be able to see?
Imogen: Yes. But it's scary.
Patrick: I'm somewhere private. I can change that.
Imogen: Where?
Patrick: Your turn.
She sends a picture of her pajamas—a UCLA tank and the matching blue shorts—on the ground.