Chapter Sixteen
Weston
Bashful: I’m going to kick your ass! Darren was here when you texted. He walked in and could tell something was up.
Me: What were you doing? All I did was make a joke. It wasn’t like we were sexting unless…wait…were you…? *stroke, stroke*
Bashful: What? No. Of course I wasn’t. You think really highly of yourself, don’t you? You make a joke, and I can’t help but whip it out and start jerking off?
Me: You’re the one who made it obvious. I’m betting it was that damn blush of yours. You seriously don’t know what it’s like to see a muscled, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man flush the way you do. So hot. Darren was probably jealous.
Bashful: No, actually he wasn’t. He’s straight, and even the thought is gross. He’s my best friend. And I’m two forty.
Me: Two hundred and forty pounds. Sorry! You didn’t mention the sexting…is that on the table?
Bashful: If you’re trying to make me uncomfortable, it’s not working.
Me: Nope. Totally serious. You can show me what you like, to get ready for our night.
I waited with a smile on my face to see what Anson would say in return. He was too fun for his own good—or maybe for my own good. I liked teasing him and playing around with him and talking to him too. The wait to have him beneath me was killing me. I needed to get him out of my system.
Me: Cat got your tongue?
Bashful: Sure…
“What the fuck?” I sat straight up in my chair, eyes probably bulging out of my head. I hadn’t expected that, but it was a pleasant development. I really needed to get back to my place so we could get started and… When was the last time I’d gotten excited for a phone jerk-off session? Not that I’d had many. The last thing I needed was for something like that to get out. But I would do it with Anson. I trusted him.
Bashful: Oh, wait. Sorry, I thought I was talking to someone else. Yes to him, no to you.
Ooh, that meant war. Still, another smile tugged at my lips. Goddamn bashful football player.
Me: You’re mean. You’re more than mean. You’re an asshole, and there is seriously something wrong with you. I was already hard.
Bashful: Nah, you like me. I keep you on your toes. Have fun with your hand!
I chuckled. He was right, the dick. I did like him, maybe more than I should. He did keep me on my toes because, while he was no doubt confident on the field and in his personal life, he was sometimes timid with me. Obviously that was because he’d never done what we were doing, but I loved that he still found a way to give me shit, that he broke out of his shell to give me a dose of my own medicine.
Me: I’ll send you photos! Your very first dick pic!
The intercom on my desk came to life. “Senator Calloway, your meeting starts in ten minutes. Bob Thompson has already arrived.”
That didn’t sound nearly as fun as jacking off with Anson. “Thanks, Tamara. I’ll be right out.”
I had a busy afternoon of meetings at my office. I shouldn’t have flirting on my mind, nor jacking off for or with Anson—I wasn’t picky either way; if he just wanted to watch me, I’d let him.
Me: Don’t freak out. I never send unsolicited dick pics. Not looking for a scandal. Also, heading into meetings that will keep me until late my time. You’ll probably be in bed when I’m done.
Not something I had to tell him. I hated that I had. We weren’t in a relationship. I didn’t owe Anson anything, but I did know him. If he messaged and I didn’t respond, it would make him worry something was wrong.
Bashful: You don’t owe me that. I would be fine without you, ya know?
His response didn’t surprise me at all.
Me: Lies!
With a smile, I stood and pushed my phone into my pocket.
I had a lot of constituent work to deal with, some budget issues to figure out, and meetings that did, in fact, keep me busy until late. When I was done, I saw I had one more text from Anson.
Bashful: Don’t work too hard. Sleep well.
It was… Fuck, it was sweet and made me feel a little bit like a marshmallow inside.
I never felt like a marshmallow.
At least I hadn’t until that damned football player had come into my life.
The next couple of weeks were going to be the longest of my life…
And they were. I hadn’t been lying when I’d told Anson I had a lot going on. There were endless meetings, a town hall, and so much travel that if I never saw an airplane again, it would be too soon, but a part of me loved it. I thrived on that shit.