The What If Guy - Lauren Blakely Page 0,26

that pleased her. “That’s why I’m buying it tomorrow.”

He sat on the bed, rubbing her belly and talking more about things that meant very little to her, since they didn’t involve worship of seafood or the chance to show off her lovely fur.

But the tone of his voice was pleasing—as if he’d captured a tasty salmon and was playing with it—and she hoped he’d have a good week with his fish.

He was a good human, and he deserved a salmon. Better yet, a whole sushi dinner.

That way, he could bring some home for the cat.

But she suspected he would, and that was why she obliged him, stretching into her most seductive pose, like a feline odalisque, black-and-white fur sleek and fluffier than either a down comforter or a pancake.

Well, he did need to improve his game, it seemed.

She could only help.

He sensed immediately what she was offering, grabbing the black thing he carried with him all the time and snapping a photo.

“Perfect, Queen LT. I’m going to send her some pics in the morning.”

10

Bryn

As I scan emails while I down my coffee at the kitchen counter the next morning, my phone assaults me with a terrifying image.

“Ugh!” I shout, tossing it on the floor like it’s a diseased creature. Bruce twitches his tail, looking up from the spot he’s commandeered, a slice of morning light perfect for a catnap.

The black tabby casts a disdainful glance at the device.

“Trust me. It deserves all the side-eyes. Dick pics should be outlawed. Who is this offender?”

A furry brow arches, as if Bruce knows the answer. I snap my fingers. “You’re right! It has to be Mr. Measure.” I went out with the guy exactly once. “He was dying to show it to me on our first date,” I explain to the cat. “And he wanted to know if it measured up to other dicks.”

The cat flips to his other side, he’s so offended by such antics. Of course he is. The feline has standards. “I feel the same, Bruce. I definitely feel the same. I never even saw his penis until now. Didn’t want to. Shocker, I know.”

I’m taking another sip of coffee when my phone attacks once again, this time with a series of texts from Mr. Measure, rapid-fire and all caps.

OMG.

I’M SO SORRY.

SO, SO, SO SORRY. I CAN’T BELIEVE I DID THAT.

THAT WAS FOR SOMEONE ELSE.

I SWEAR. OH GOD.

THAT WAS AN ACCIDENT. I DIDN’T MEAN TO SEND IT TO YOU.

WELL, ON THE PLUS SIDE, AT LEAST I DIDN’T SEND IT TO MY MOM. :)

BUT HEY, NOW THAT I’VE SENT IT, WHAT DO YOU THINK???

Rolling my eyes, my finger hovers over the block button.

On second thought . . .

I tap out a reply.

Bryn: Sweetheart, thanks for the picture. It helps so much to diagnose the situation. And I agree—seems there is indeed a pimple on your pecker. I called your urologist for you and scheduled an appt. Dr. Wankerstein will see you at three. Love, Mommykins.

I hit send, then I quickly google and attach an article we ran on The Dating Pool several months back, when I was young and hopeful, still believing that we could, as a society, eradicate the scourge that was dick pics.

The plan was to start with proper public education. To use the article to lay the foundation for eliminating them. I’d hoped—no, prayed is a better word—that the piece would start a movement.

The end of wiener shots.

I’m not the only one hoping for a vaccine.

At The Dating Pool, we surveyed female readers, and they overwhelmingly voted that the ideal time for receiving a dick pic is never.

A dick pic is aggressive. Usually unsolicited. Kind of pointless.

I’d rather see a guy’s eyes.

Or his smile.

Or his pet.

As if on cue, an envelope icon appears on my phone—from Logan. I click it open, and I smile. Because see? This is what a classy guy does. He sends cat pics. Not dick pics. This is more proof that Logan is worth a second date. Probably a third too. Because . . . cats.

“Oh my God, she has the best tail ever,” I say, then I turn to my black companion, who’s shooting me the evil eye. As cats do. “I didn’t mean that. Yours is better.”

He thumps his lovely, slinky tail once, then curls up in a tight ball, tucking it away from me. I don’t deserve to see it.

I return to the phone, enjoying the shot Logan sent of his black-and-white kitty. She’s lounging on the bed, looking borderline sumptuous.