Page 38 of The Best Man Problem
You sure?
Three tiny dots popped up, indicating he was about to send her something. She hoped it wasn’t a picture. Or maybe it’d be good if it was. If Lincoln turned out to be some misogynistic creep who thought women’s bodies only existed for his visual pleasure and that snapping pics in a strip club was okay, she could nip this weird lustful crush thing in the bud for sure.
A picture arrived on her phone, making her want to laugh and cry at the same time. The screen showed not a woman in pasties and a thong but a small silver can with the words Wood Stripper prominent on the label.
Dammit. How could she be happy and upset at the same time? He wasn’t a creep. Far from it. The man actually had a wicked sense of humor. Oh, she was in so much trouble.
Oh ha ha mister funny man.
I think so. ;)
He ended the text with a smiling winking face.
She knew she shouldn’t engage. The more time she spent with the man, the more she wanted to have him again. But they weren’t even in the same room. Texting wasn’t spending time together, right? It wasn’t even a phone call, just simple words on a screen. He could be anyone. She could resist that, right? What could be the harm in a little back-and-forth texting?
Wood stripping? What a wild party you guys are having.
She was in it now.
She held the phone tightly in her grip, staring at the three tiny dots until they turned into a message her eyes greedily devoured.
We started with lunch and a brewery tour of Wynkoop, then we headed to this shop that lets you make your own woodworking projects.
That sounded fun. If you were into beer and woodworking. She wasn’t, but it sounded a hell of a lot better than getting trashed and ogling half-naked women to celebrate finding the love of your life. Honestly, she never understood the whole stripper-for-your-bachelor/bachelorette-party thing. Wouldn’t it make more sense to have that for a breakup party?
The ladies hit up a spa and are doing a wine and painting party. Then we’re all meeting up later at some bar.
Now that sounded like something Lilly would totally be into. A nice massage and steam followed by delicious wine and creativity? Sign her up. She knew she liked Marie and Kenneth for a reason. The couple had good taste in recreational activities.
Sounds like fun. What are you making?
She took another sip of her soda, carefully, as she waited for his reply.
A birdhouse. At least it’s supposed to be.
Moments later, another text came through, and she once again choked on her drink. Thankfully, it was most of the way down her throat, so it didn’t shoot up her nose this time. The sad looking structure in no way resembled a birdhouse. The roof was askew, one side higher than the other. The walls were uneven, adding to the lopsided-roof issue. Tiny nails stuck out of the wood at dangerous angles, and glue oozed out of seams, dripping down the unevenly stained tiny wooden house. Any poor bird that tried to land on that thing would cut their wings to shreds.
Thank you, she texted.
For what?
For revealing one of your faults to me. She laughed as she typed. You may be a wiz at computers, a dynamite dancer, and amazing in bed, but you can’t woodwork to save a life.
There was a slight pause before his reply came.
You think I’m amazing in bed?
Crap! Had she really typed that? She scrolled up a bit—dammit, yes she had. Well, it wasn’t like the man didn’t already know. She was pretty sure she left scratch marks on his back after their night together. Bite marks, too.
Stop fishing for compliments and get back to your party.
He sent her a winking kissy face emoji with a heart. Lilly rolled her eyes, even if a part of her giggled in girlish glee. A ridiculous part. She needed to get a handle on this crush thing before it got out of control. Starting anything serious with Lincoln was a bad idea.
Why? She chided her inner voice for being a dope.
Lincoln made her feel far too much. He wasn’t just sexy and great in bed. He was also sweet and funny, kind and generous. He was someone she could see herself getting emotionally invested in, and that was bad. She knew all too well what happened when you emotionally invested in someone. They stomped on your heart and crushed your dreams. How many times had she held her mother as the woman sobbed over her latest disaster? How many times had the woman assured her daughter this next guy was different, the one, only to have her heart stomped on all over again?
No. Lilly knew the only successful relationship was one built on mutual understanding, compromise, and commonality. Sure, she wanted to like her future husband, but all that passionate-emotional-love stuff wouldn’t do. Not for her.
