My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend - Max Monroe Page 0,40

the rest of the New York crowd. Belt man bumps me again to find the only open seat left and plops his khaki ass down like he owns the joint.

I, on the other hand, am left standing beside one of the metal poles.

Promptly, the train shuts its doors, leaving anyone outside of its threshold stuck in the muggy station air, and starts its path toward the next station with a jolt. Unsteadily, I grip the coolness of the pole to keep my balance.

One hand free, I pull my phone out of my purse and do what everyone else on the train is doing, I scroll through social media.

Facebook first.

Then Twitter.

And for the briefest of moments, I search the TapNext app that Lena has been badgering me about for the past week. But when I locate it in the app store, I can’t get myself to download it.

What in the hell would I do on a dating app?

The only thing I can imagine is disaster.

Yeah. Definitely not doing this today.

I move right along, and by the time I pull up Instagram, I’m what those new age parents refer to as overstimulated. I scan the train surreptitiously, keeping one eye to my Instagram feed as a means of pretense until my attention catches on the phone screen of a young woman seated right beside the metal pole I’m holding on to. Wearing a cutoff pair of jean shorts and sporting curly blond hair, she looks to be about my age.

I watch as her fingers tap excitedly across the keypad and wait for something of interest to show up in response to her succinct prompt of Tell me.

I shouldn’t be looking. Or reading, for that matter, but I can’t help it.

After all the peptalking I’ve had to do to avoid throwing myself directly onto Milo’s penis, I have zero willpower left.

I want to spread your legs wide, slowly, and kiss down the inside of your thighs.

My cheeks heat at the simple sentence, but I have to blink three times just to steady myself when the next message populates.

I fucking love how wet you get.

Holy mother of subway sexy times.

My mind takes off at the pace of a Derby horse.

Who the hell is the dirty talker on the other end of her phone?

Is he even a fraction as attractive as Milo?

Does she know how flip-flapping lucky she is?!

Her fingers tap across the keypad, and a few seconds later, her response pops onto the screen of her phone.

I’m on the subway, and my back is arched just thinking about this. I’m craving you so bad right now…

God. I want that.

I want the low-ache, can’t-breathe, skin-scratching feeling of someone talking to me like that. I want to be wanted so badly, a man can’t stand the thought of waiting another second to tell me what he’s going to do with me.

I want to sext and be sexted and live out every single word in real life.

I’ve never even come close to experiencing a sliver of what the NSFW blonde has.

Am I missing out?

I suppose there’s still time to change it, but is it even possible for a twenty-four-year-old virgin to sext?

I’m not completely naïve, but I can’t deny I’m still pretty damn naïve at the same time.

Without a second thought, I swipe the lock screen on my phone, click into my messages, and pull up the straightest shooter I know.

If there’s anyone who’ll know what to do—know how to take control of this part of my life and change it—it’s her.

Me: Do you like sexting people?

Lena responds a minute later.

Lena: Definitely. Though, I’ve had some seriously weird sext conversations that I’d prefer to never experience again.

Me: Like what?

Lena: Oh, honey. You don’t want to know.

Me: Yes. I do.

I nod to myself as I send it just to punctuate my words with completely useless emphasis.

Lena: Well, I’ve had guys send me pictures of things I didn’t want to see and go into explicit detail on things I would never even type into Google, and I’ve been looped into a group conversation with some swingers with questionable choices in camera angle.

Me: But you do sext. I mean, you’ve for sure sexted before and you’ve liked it.

Lena: Lol. Yes, I’ve sexted and, yes, I’ve liked it.

God, I want to sext message someone.

You want to sext Milo.

No. Not Milo. Well, not specifically him. Obviously, it’d be great if it were him, but I just want to experience it in general.

Hello, denial! Nice to meet you! I’m a big fat liar