All except one were good women. I tend to be a decent judge of character, but things never really clicked. I couldn’t picture myself with them decades from now, happily hanging out and still chasing each other around the room to get frisky.
I don’t even really know Kat yet, but something tells me that she’s worth getting to know to see if she has potential to be the one.
There’s a shy sweetness to her, even as she stands strong against a shitty boyfriend and says dirty things to me. It’s an intoxicating combination. It’s been a few days since our late-night session, but even with our conflicting schedules that have her working days and me working well into the evening, we’ve found time to text. A lot.
There’s an anonymity to sitting behind a small screen, a disconnect that somehow lets you feel like you really know someone while simultaneously making it easier to spill your guts because there’s no eye contact. There’s always that built-in safety net of stopping the texting.
But we’ve never stopped, and sitting at my desk now, I’ve got my phone out, tapping away.
Hey KK, I text, my shorthand for Kitty Kat. What are you doing?
It’s only moments before the reply pops up, making me feel good. Work stuff. Nothing fun like you.
I smirk, dipping into the naughtiness that’s become a regular for us. Oh, you want to do me?
Funny . . . I meant your work is fun. She sends back after a moment. Mine’s dry & I’m rushing to my latest deadline.
Dry, huh? Well . . . I bet I can change that. I could distract u. Maybe make things a little less . . . dry. Maybe even slick and wet.
So tempting . . . so very tempting, but I need to get this done. What’s tonight’s topic? Should I tune in?
Message received. You want to talk but can’t afford to get naughty. That’s okay, there’s later. Always. I like knowing you’re listening. I don’t remember what the show is about tonight. We do the whole week’s schedule at once & I forget. Languages of love? BDSM kink? One of those.
LOL . . . those are very different topics.
Almost as if she were here, I shrug as I type out my reply. Not really. Both about open communication & respecting ur partner’s wishes.
If you say so, Kat sends back. I guess I’ll have to listen.
I glance up and see the clock, hissing at the time. Gotta go. Pre-show meeting has probably started without me.
I see her kissy face emoji as I slip my phone into my pocket, smiling as I enter the conference room. Susannah raises an eyebrow as I sit down. She’s always one to dress nice, especially nicer than my usual jeans and t-shirt, but she’s dressed even better than usual in a creamy silk blouse with understated gold jewelry at her neck and ears. Wonder what’s up with that, who she’s trying to impress? This is radio, after all. We could do this in our pjs and listeners would be none the wiser since they can’t see us. “Nice of you to join us, Mr. Love Whisperer. Something more pressing than tonight’s show?”
She’s scolding me like she’s my boss. There’s even a thinly veiled trace of anger in her voice, and I wonder why she’s so upset and behaving like a snarky child. Shit, I’m less than five minutes late for the meeting, and beyond a refresher on the topic, I don’t need any more prep. I’m ready to roll like I always am. I attempt to defuse, showing I’m on board. “Nope. Here and ready. What’s tonight . . . love language or BDSM?”
She clucks, obviously surprised I knew what was on the agenda and disappointed that she doesn’t get to ream me out. Looking down at her checklist, she makes a mark with her pen. “Technically, it’s called Languages of Love tonight. Remember, we’re doing an on-air interview with the psychologist who wrote the book. She’s hot shit on the Amazon market and there’s talk she might end up on New York Time’s Bestselling list by year end. So we’re basically a big commercial block for the book without sounding like an infomercial. Here’s the monologue for the top of the show explaining it all, along with a background on her so you don’t stumble into any issues. I picked emails to highlight each of the points she wants to cover so we need to hit those as a priority over phone calls.”
I take her typed notes, skimming the psycho-babble descriptions contained in each section. Boring as fuck, honestly. It takes me fewer than ten seconds to realize that whatever this lady has to say, it could be summed up in two paragraphs written in really little words. Ah well, guess my job’s the same. “Letters are the priority. Got it. Hey, Susannah?”