Текст книги "Step by Step"

Автор книги: Natalie E. Wrye

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Natalie E. Wrye

 

Copyright © 2015 by Natalie E. Wrye.

This novel is an original work. It is a fictional writing, a work entirely derived from the author’s imagination. All characters and events are entirely fictional and not based in fact, nor based on any real person(s) living or deceased. Any resemblance or similarity to any real person(s), alive or dead, or event is purely and clearly coincidental. This book contains adult language and in some instances coarse language and, due to its content, should not be viewed by children.

All Rights Reserved.

 

No part of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form or by an means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without the written permission of the author (except for the use of brief quotations in a book review).

Cover Design :

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Table of Contents

Place Your Bet

Rolling the Dice

Playing the Odds

In Times of Stalemate

A Rook-ie Mistake

Double or Nothing

Poker Face

All Bets are Off

To the Reader

Acknowledgements

More about the Author

Place Your Bet

 

The thrill is in placing the bet. Once the race is run or the match is played, you'll either win or lose. Until that happens, you're caught in this wonderful, agonizing sense of expectation… – Kenneth Cranham

 

 

LUKAS GRIFFIN

 

I may not be the smartest guy around, but I’m certainly not the dumbest—I know how to fucking count to three.

And right now, only three things are registering to my barely-conscious brain.

I can’t process where I am or how I got here; what time of day it is or why I feel like shit.

Just three—three simple, seemingly insignificant things.

For one thing… my phone is buzzing incessantly on the nightstand beside my head.

Two: I’ve got a massive, splitting headache that won’t go away.

And three—probably the least simple of all: a blonde bobble-head seems to have permanently attached herself to my cock, and right now… I’m not in the fucking mood.

Three minutes, she said. Three minutes, and I’ll be gone.

But it’s long past three minutes later… and I still haven’t come.

I’ve never been a heavy drinker, but I guess you can call me one now. I’ve been stuck in this routine for the past eleven weeks—ever since I realized I was losing all of my closest friends.

The person that I now talk to the most… hates me, and I’ve been trying to find some sort of happiness in the bottom of a liquor bottle since she came into my life.

Same story—different Saturday.

I binge—I fuck—I come… until I come to my senses.

It’s a three-part process, and it’s usually simple… but tonight, those former three things are all fucking up the sequence.

When my eyes adjust to their surroundings, I notice large, ornate black curtains by the windows, pristine white sheets on the bed—plush, rust-colored furniture at my sides.

The room is nice—neat… but it’s not mine…

I readjust the pillow, removing my hand from underneath my head.

I don’t know what to reach for first: the glossy head of hair performing a slip-and-slide on my dick or the vibrating phone on the glossy nightstand beside my head.

I grapple for the one shiny thing, bypassing the other… for the moment.

I press the button on the phone to pull up the screen. I groan, rubbing the stubble at my jaw.

If it isn’t my number one hater now. What the hell does she want this late—early… or whatever the fuck time it is—anyway?

I open her text.

I called you earlier today. I need your help. Whenever you get a chance to extract yourself from the arms of whatever flavor-of-the-night you’ve decided to pick up, call me. I’ll be up late.

I grunt when I read the final words, but the small gesture is a mistake.

Sharp pain shoots through my temples, its effect the product of my moan, the phone’s bright light and some God-awful stench streaming to my nose.

It’s the girl, her perfume.

The blonde bunny is more Energizer than Playboy, and despite her best efforts, I just can’t get off. I only want her to get off—of me.

The other nine million texts in my phone are from one of my best friends, Chris, who I abandoned several hours earlier at the bar, when my “one shot” turned into ten.

In my alcohol-inspired stupor, I took off, gallivanting with some buxom, Hugh Hefner-praising nymph that I met outside of the restrooms.

One Uber car led to the next, until we finally crash-landed outside of the Marriot.

The Marriot. That’s it. I’m in a hotel room.

I turn to place the phone down when my equilibrium shifts, turning my vision topsy-turvy.

My stomach lurches, and I swallow a mouthful of tequila-flavored bile.

What the fuck is this?  I’ve never been a sloppy drunk.

The nymph lifts her head up, taking note of my sudden jerking.

“Oh, what’s the matter, baby? That pill not sitting well with your stomach? I thought a big boy like you could handle it?” she says, smirking. Her mouth returns to its previous position.

I knew something was wrong. This cocksucking nutbag slipped me a drug. I become belligerent.

“That’s enough. Get the fuck up. Your three minutes are up.”

She looks up at me, releasing my cock from her pink lips with a pop. Despite my brusqueness, she’s all smiles.

“Hold your horses, honey,” she mutters. “I’m not done yet.”

“Actually, yes… you are.”

I clutch her shoulders, rolling her roughly to the side of the bed. I reach for the white duvet, pulling it over my nakedness, sinking my head back into the pillow.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, stuffing her fake tits into the nearest shirt.

“So that’s it?” she huffs.

I roll over. “That’s it.”

“You’re going to throw me out? What about fare for a cab or car? A tip?”

“Here’s a tip, sweetie. Learn how to suck better cock. You set my expectations way too high.”

She finishes dressing, and I’m almost asleep by the time she hits the door.

“Good night, asshole,” she cries over her shoulder.

“Good night, flavor-of-the-night.”

***

Waking up two days later is a chore. Monday morning has never been a friend of mine, but on this particular day, she is an icy cold bitch.

I still haven’t recovered from my weekend binger, and the constant ringing of phones is driving me bat-shit.

I’m too old for this shit. At twenty-eight, the hangovers are more brutal than they’ve ever been, and I just can’t seem to rebound from the partying like I used to.

Chris chewed my ass out this morning when I arrived for work, and despite us owning the company together, he was ready to kick my ass out the second I stepped foot inside the door.

Foxx, my other best friend and third partner in the company, is too preoccupied to even notice. He’s probably in his office, bending his fiancée, Kat, over his desk right now.

He thinks Chris and I are too oblivious to catch on. Yeah, right. Lucky bastard gets to have sex at home and at work. Must be nice dating a woman you work with.

Kat has had a hold of Foxx’s ear—and cock—since she started working at our magazine, Tripping Out!, and while I like Kat and admire the hell out of her talent, I can’t help but to feel shafted.

Foxx has Kat. Chris has Tripping Out!

And me? I have the fires of Hell burning up my ass in the form of a flame-breathing dragon named Elena—which reminds me…

I have to call her before what’s left of my ass gets handed to me.

I start to walk to my office from the break room when the ringing of a phone from Kat’s office grabs my ear.

I check my watch. It’s about lunch hour… and I’m willing to bet that it’s the devil herself on the other end of Kat’s line.

I amble into Kat’s office, snatching the phone off of the receiver.

“Tripping Out! offices.”

“You really should work on your tone, Lukas. You sound bored over the phone. That can’t be good for business. Where’s Kat?”

I scoff, switching hands. “You’re not business, Elena. And I am bored—bored with your admonitions. Kat’s… well, Kat’s occupied right now.”

She laughs. “Ah. And what better substitute for Kat than one of the premier voices of this company?”

“I’m not a voice of this company—just a partner. A very, very silent partner.”

“Ok, silent partner, I’ll cut to the chase. Here’s the deal…”

She continues on for the next five minutes, barely taking a breath while I listen intently. She’s taken care of this. She’s taken care of that. And I can’t lie; she’s good—meticulous, but what’s the hurry?

“Nice,” I respond when she’s finally done. “I think I like it… but what’s the rush? What couldn’t have waited two nights ago?”

“The venue. I had to make a decision first thing this morning. I booked it.” She pauses. “Why? Did I interrupt something?”

Her octave has deepened, her tone infusing with curiosity. I sigh wearily.

“I apologized for that before, Elena. I didn’t mean to pick up while…”

“Please,” she stops me. “Spare me the details of your skanky-ass sexcapades, Lukas.”

I laugh. “Trust me; I’m not interested in giving you a blow-by-blow of my sex life. You couldn’t handle it, anyway… I’m just saying that you won’t have to worry about interrupting anything else… nor will you have to expect any interruptions of your sexcapades from me.”

“I would never be dense enough to allow you to interrupt me during sex.”

“It seems to me that you never really have any sex to interrupt.”

She stops short. “Fuck you, Lukas.”

“Good day, Elena.”

I barely get out the “El-“ before I hear the dial tone. Figures. That girl needs the stick pulled out of her ass and one in her crotch.

“Phone sex?” Kat quips from the doorway. Her stunning blue eyes are smiling. “Sorry. I heard the word ‘sex’ and took a guess.”

I shake my head, chuckling at the irony. “This is better than phone sex.”

She grins broadly, shaking a head full of wavy brown hair from the other side of the room.

“This is the third time she’s hung up on you this month, Griff. I don’t think there’s anything sexy about that, “ Kat says, strolling towards me. I wink at her.

“I do. She wants me… She just doesn’t know it yet.”

I hop off of the top of Kat’s office desk, replacing the phone on the receiver before my feet even touch the floor.

Kat saunters past me on her way to her desk, swatting me with a manila folder.

“I’m sure my sister doesn’t want you, Griff, and I’m positive that she wishes you’d stop picking up when she calls my work phone.”

Kat sits behind the desk, grimacing at the countertop.

“And I’d wish you’d stop sitting on my desk when you do it. You’re going to leave an ass imprint on it.”

“What?” I respond innocently. “You mad that it’s better than Foxx’s?”

She shuffles the papers on her desk, standing them into a neat pile with a thud. She grins slyly at me.

“Trust me, Griff,” she says. “Nothing is better than Brendon’s ass.”

“What’s this about my ass?”

A footstep thumps across the threshold, and I turn around to find Foxx leaning against the doorway, his blonde eyebrows raised in wry amusement.

He fakes a punch to my gut as he passes me and stops directly in front of the wooden desk before bending down to kiss Kat.

They start grinning like two Cheshire cats and I step away from the affectionate pair, attempting to slink out of the office before Kat can goad me any further.

Good thing she only caught the tail end of that phone conversation. She doesn’t know… and I don’t want her to know.

Elena and I are sneaking around behind her back.

Our impromptu conversations? A ruse.

Well, Elena hanging up on me is not part of the ruse but I digress. Every Thursday, while Kat takes lunch with Foxx, Elena calls our offices and I pick up.

We have a “no-cellphones” policy at the Tripping Out! headquarters.

Normally, Elena calls my work phone, but on the off chance that I can catch her calling Kat’s phone, I pick up, discussing updates with her on the party—the surprise party that she and I are throwing for Foxx and Kat.

The surprise engagement party for Mr. Brendon Foxx and Katarina Lexington. Soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Foxx.

I can’t believe Foxx is actually going through with this thing: this whole tying the knot, “till-death-do-us-part” bit.

And I like Kat. I like Kat a lot. But a marriage? A contract? Forever? I’m not so sure I buy into it.

Still… ever since Kat’s signed on as a writer with the travel magazine that we founded, she and Foxx have been inseparable. And I’ve never seen him so happy.

Maybe it will last… as long as anything really can, anyway. Maybe they’re as perfect a pair as it gets—which is a far cry from what Elena and I have.

I’ve been talking to this girl steadily on the phone for more than two months now, and all I want to do is strangle her most of the time.

Every time we speak, we wind up aggravating the fuck out of each other until I talk enough shit to piss her off and have her hang up on me.

I chuckle to myself as I waltz into my own office, closing the door behind me.

Ok, I admit it. Part of me spits a bunch of bullshit just to fuck with her a bit, but it’s only because she’s so tightly wound up.

She takes herself way too seriously, and she’s controlling as hell. We clash about every single detail of the party: from the décor to the attire to the location.

Honestly? I couldn’t give two fucks about what color lighting we’re going to have at the party, but Little Miss “Can’t Be Wrong” always insists that we talk about more than just the food and booze (which is all I really care about, anyway).

The party hasn’t even started, and already, I can’t wait for it to be over.

Christ. I scramble to get a good look at my watch again, nearly knocking over the cup of lukewarm coffee on my desk. I’m late.

I’ve got even more of this party shit to attend to.

Rolling the Dice

 

It's like gambling somehow. You go out for a night of drinking and you don't know where you’re going to end up the next day. It could work out good or it could be disastrous. It's like the throw of the dice… – Jim Morrison

 

ELENA LEXINGTON

 

“What’s up, Elle?” Kat says on the other line when she picks up.

I balk, almost tripping over a moving box at the sound of her voice. Her cheery tone is still so shocking to me, and I can’t get over how much she’s changed in such a short amount of time.

My little sister is happy… and I’m over the moon about it.

“I, uh… Nothing, I guess… I... can’t really remember…” I stammer. “Kat, I don’t know… I just got thrown off. I can’t believe how fantastic you sound.”

She giggles—actually giggles—on the other end. “That’s because I am. I am fantastic. How are you, Elle?”

“Me? I’m fan-fucking-tastic. Mom has been calling me all day and night about what we should do for Ana’s graduation celebration, and you know how much I love it when she does that.

“Ted has been sending me letters, threatening to kidnap our dog because he’s still bitter about our break-up.

“Let’s see… Oh, yeah… I’m leaving the only home I’ve ever known to move to a city where I know no one and my sister and her fiancé have to financially support me…

“On the whole? I’d say that life is just swell.”

Kat laughs, recognizing my sarcasm for the humor-laden façade that it is.

“Yeah, it sounds really great.” Her laugh tapers off into a quick, mirthless silence.

“Look, Elle… I know that you’re nervous, but believe me; there isn’t anything to be nervous about. Brendon and I are just here to help until you get on your feet. That’s it.”

She sighs. “There’s nothing left for you in Memphis, and you know it.”

I grow silent over the phone, nearly knocking over another box. I nod as if she can see me. She’s right. There’s nothing left for me here.

Not a job. Not a relationship. Not a life…

It’s all gone to shit.

The dance studio where I worked is shutting down…

My ex-boyfriend Ted is trying to ruin my life…

And my two best friends in the world—my sisters—have escaped to the sunny state of Florida where the only connection we’ve managed to have with each other over the past few months has been through AT&T wireless.

This isn’t the sort of life I’d envisioned.

So, I’m going out on a limb, embarking on a fresh start—heading to Tampa.

I’m selling my house and using part of the profit to open up a dance studio—my own dance studio—where I can dance and teach without worrying about someone else closing down on me.

With all the disappointment happening for me in Memphis, I’m starting to recognize the importance of venturing out, making a change. Kat did it… and look how well it ended up for her.

She’s obtained her ideal… the man, the money and the profession. Now, all that’s left is to ensure that she has the ideal wedding.

And that’s where I come in.

The engagement party—the wedding.

You only get one chance, just one time to do it right. If all goes well, there will only be one wedding in Kat’s future.

And I am going to make sure that my little sister has the celebration of her dreams… if I have to kill myself (or Lukas) to do it.

***

LUKAS

 

“What do you know about Elena?” I say, adjusting my tie.

“Elena? Kat’s sister?

“Yeah. That Elena. Why? You know another one?”

Chris adjusts his sleeves in the mirror, turning around to check out his lapels.

“Nothing much—just what Foxx has told me… which isn’t a lot.”

I stiffen, staring pointedly at Chris. He catches my look, glancing quickly at the other customers in the tuxedo shop.

“What? Griff, I don’t know what you want me to say. I know the same things you know. Nothing.”

I frown, smoothing out my tuxedo jacket.

Chris knows nothing. I know nothing. And I have to come face-to-face with this girl in one week.

I know Chris isn’t lying. Foxx wouldn’t reveal much to me, either. When I asked him about Elena, he blew me off for the most part, warning me to stay away from her.

“Stay away from her.” What the fuck did Foxx think I was going to do? Fuck her from five hundred miles away?

I promptly told him that I wouldn’t touch Elena with a ten-foot pole. And I wouldn’t… but I am curious.

Over two and a half months of talking to this phantom voice—and I have no idea what the face behind it looks like.

Her pitch is deeper than her sister’s. Her laugh is husky and low.

When I first spoke to her on the phone, I was intrigued. I Googled her name. I found nothing. I’ve been in the dark ever since.

I don’t even know her age…

“Hey!” Chris says, snapping fingers near my face. “I’ve been talking to you.”

His face is as red as his strawberry-blonde hair, and he looks huffy and flustered in his pre-tailored tux. I almost laugh at his sudden outrage.

We make an odd pairing, he and I.

Where he has pale skin and red hair, I have a tanned coloring and deep brown hair, almost black. His stature, while not short, appears Hobbit-sized because of his poor posture. I, on the other hand, am built strong and long at 6”1’.

Chris places a hand on my shoulder.

“Get your head in the game, Griff. I need your opinion on this tux. I’ve gotta go. Lunch is almost up, and I’ve got a meeting with an editor at two o’clock.”

I sigh. I wish that Chris were handling this party planning with Elena; I really do.

But with Tripping Out! keeping his hours long and his temper short, I’m the only one left to oversee the party. And if you ask Elena, I’m not doing such a bang-up job of even that.

“So, how’s the party going, anyway?” Chris asks, intuitively.

“Ha.” I unhook the buttons at my cuffs. “Don’t ask. This planning’s turning into a major fucking pain.”

He shakes his head, shrugging out of his own jacket. “You know what’s even more of a pain? Ex-girlfriends showing up…”

I grin. “Which one of your former headaches is showing up to the engagement party?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” he grimaces. “I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about you.”

“Me? I’m the headache?”

“No… but you might have one at the party. I hear Trina’s trying to come.”

The color drains from my face. Trina.

My ex/”non-ex” Trina—the last girl I had any sort of “relationship” with.

Trina was fun when I met her—sexy and breezy—but when I decided that what we were having wasn’t working for me, she flipped, turning from a dream-come-true into a clingy nightmare.

I heard she had been dabbling in the Tampa druggie scene lately, but I’m not very inclined to believe it. Trina’s never been that type of girl. Or at least, she wasn’t…

I shake the notion off.

Doesn’t matter.

Considering how small the Tampa social circle is, I’m sure that every woman who hates me in this state—plus a few who aren’t—will be at this party.

Including one face-less, humor-less dragon herself…

***

Saturday night rolls around and for the second week in a row, I waver between whether or not to hit the downtown bars.

Chris refuses to hang out any later than midnight, and the run-in with the Roofie/X/God-knows-what pill has me on edge about picking up any new women.

I could easily visit some of my old haunts—both women and pubs, but I’m over those scenes. I’m bored. I need something different for a change.

I pull out my laptop while in my bed, searching for any new Tampa bars, when I get pinged on my Skype.

I glance at the alarm clock near my bed. It’s past eleven on a Saturday. Who the hell could be hitting me up now?

I open the message.

 

Elle-Lexy:

Where are you? I’ve been calling your phone all night and getting no answer. I want to talk to you about the music for the party.

 

Elena. What in the world…? How the fuck did this girl get my Skype information?

I type a quick response.

LukasGriff:

Phone’s off. Chris has been a bug up my ass, and I needed the peace. And frankly, you’re disrupting it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

 

Elle-Lexy:

Fine. Have it your way. But you’ll be taking a chance on the music selection. If the whole night winds up being one big melody of One Direction songs, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

 

Shit. She wouldn’t do that just to spite me, would she?

Yes. Yes, she would.

LukasGriff:

Jesus. No. Hell no, Elena. This is a party. A party. You can’t torture half of the guests.

 

Elle-Lexy:

No, I wouldn’t want to, but I’m getting overwhelmed here. So, if you want your crappy ass Coldplay songs to get included in the playlists, I suggest you find some time to discuss them with the DJ and me.

 

Coldplay? Who said anything about Cold…? Kat. Kat must’ve told her.

LukasGriff:

Fine. I’ve got a couple of minutes to talk. Go ahead.

 

I lean back against my headboard, readjusting my boxer briefs as I settle in. It’s barely 11:30PM, and already my night has gone to shit.

Elena and I manage to come up with a playlist for the party, and while the party is definitely a black-tie affair, we come up with enough lively music and classics to keep the event fun, but respectable.

The bad part of it? It doesn’t take a few minutes; it takes an hour, and I’m not even dressed. My Saturday night is nearly sunk. Of course, I blame Elena.

LukasGriff:

Looks like you’ve got what you wanted, Elena. You’ve fucked up another Saturday night.

 

Frankly, it isn’t all her fault, but I don’t give a shit right now. I’m pissed. And horny.

At this rate, it doesn’t look like I’ll get to fuck tonight—and I don’t ever go this long without fucking. Ever.

Elle-Lexy:

Oh, fuck your Saturday nights, Lukas. One night without bar-hopping and bed-hopping won’t kill you.

 

I freeze.

LukasGriff:

Care to tell me how you know so much about me?

 

Elle-Lexy:

I know a lot about you, Lukas. More than you think…

 

My eyes narrow at the screen. She’s fucking with me… and I don’t like it.

Elena seems to know quite a bit about me, and I know fucking zilch about her.

Is she blonde? Brunette?

What color are her eyes?

I try to imagine her face, her body. My thoughts begin to wander.

Is she petite? Tall? Curvy?

My cock twitches briefly.

LukasGriff:

I see…Why do you care?

 

I pull my laptop further onto my lap, watching impatiently for her response. A minute passes before she answers.

Elle-Lexy:

I don’t. I just want to make sure that I can count on you.

 

LukasGriff:

You can… as long as you don’t play any One Direction at the party.

 

Elle-Lexy:

I would never. Besides… Justin Beiber’s more my style.

 

I laugh out loud, shaking my head.

LukasGriff:

You’re really asking for it…

 

Elle-Lexy:

Asking for what?

 

LukasGriff:

It. Payback. Punishment.

 

Several seconds pass before she responds.

Elle-Lexy:

What kind of punishment?

 

The words catch me off-guard… and I shift uncomfortably from where I sit, staring intently at the screen. This is something I didn’t expect…

On the outside, Elena’s question seems straightforward, innocent—but there’s something deeper in the sub-context. Something darker. Something erotic.

The twitch in my cock becomes a leap, and the tightness in my boxer briefs turns from awkward into painful.

I pull on the front of them, shifting my hard-on to a more comfortable spot – as if that were even possible. I stare at the blinking cursor for several more seconds.

I go for it.

LukasGriff:

I’d bend you over my bed. Pin your hands to the mattress. I’d stand behind you and show you just how hard punishment can be when you misbehave…

 

I stop typing, and I can hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing as I wait for her reply.

I wait… and wait…

Suddenly, it pops up.

Elle-Lexy:

How hard?

 

My chest starts heaving the minute I read her words.

I take my dick out of boxers and palm it in one hand, stroking it gently before placing my hands back on the keyboard.

LukasGriff:

HARD, Elena. So hard.

I’d push your panties to the side and slam into you. I’d pump you over and over again until you apologized. Until your pussy couldn’t take anymore. Until you came all over my cock.

 

And even when you’d beg, I wouldn’t stop. I’d keep punishing you. Because that’s what happens to bad, disobedient girls. They get punished.

 

I finish the last sentence with one hand, using the other to pump a closed fist over my shaft.

I imagine that my hand is Elena’s pussy, and that I’m slamming into her again and again, punishing her for her testy attitude, for that foul mouth.

Elle-Lexy:

Yeah? And what if I like to be punished?

What if my pussy likes it hard and fast? What if it likes to clench around you? Squeeze you with its wetness while you stroke?

 

I groan, taking several seconds to pump myself harder. I keep a hand on the keys. I can barely type the words.

LukasGriff:

Even better. I want you wet. Are you wet right now?

 

Elle-Lexy:

Yes…

 

LukasGriff:

Is it soaked for me?

 

Elle-Lexy:

Yes, Lukas

 

LukasGriff:

Touch it, Elena. Put your fingers inside. Feel how fucking good you feel.

 

Elle-Lexy:

I am Lukas. Its so wet. It feels so good

 

The more we type, the worse the grammar gets. My hands are shaking. I can’t key the words fast enough.

LukasGriff:

I know baby. I know. Feel me baby. Feel me pumping into you.

 

Elle-Lexy:

I do. And I cant take it. Im about to explode

 

LukasGriff:

I want you to come. Come for me Elena

 

Elle-Lexy:

Im coming...

 

At her words, I come, releasing myself all over my hand with a muffled moan that resonates deep within my gut.

I slump against the headboard, feeling spent and utterly satisfied. Mmm… that was the fastest I’ve come in months.

Granted, I’ve been sexless for two weeks, and my horniness was at an all-time high, but damn. That was different… and I liked it.

Except now I’m coming down from my high, and reality is sinking in.

I just came over Skype with Elena. I just made Elena come. Kat’s sister.

She hates me. Or… she hated me. I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck is going on…

I roll slowly out of the bed, making my way to my sink where I clean up. When I return, there’s a message already waiting.

Elle-Lexy:

I don’t know what the fuck just happened.

 

I smirk, typing back.

LukasGriff:

I don’t know what the fuck that was, either. But it was good…

 

Elle-Lexy:

I don’t know. Look, I’ve got to go.

 

I scowl, tapping rapidly on the keyboard.

LukasGriff:

Wait. Didn’t you still want to talk about the DJ?

 

Elle-Lexy:

I don’t know…

Ok, yeah, I guess.

Let’s just talk tomorrow.

 

My shoulders slump. She’s getting weird on me. This isn’t good…

LukasGriff:

Yeah, sure. That’s fine. You know how to reach me.

 

A few more seconds pass.

Elle-Lexy:

Yeah, I guess I do…

I’ll talk to you later, Lukas.

 

But I won’t let it end there.

LukasGriff:

One more thing, Elena…

 

Elle-Lexy:

Yeah?

 

LukasGriff:

Coldplay isn’t crap. Good night.