Page 50 of The What If Guy (The Guys Who Got Away 3)
Logan: Should we blame the wine marketers partially too?
Bryn: Actually, they deserve all the praise and all the blame for my state of mind tonight.
Logan: Since we’re praising and blaming, I’d like to be fully apprised on what they’re responsible for. Might as well set the scene, Bryn. They say a picture is worth a thousand words . . .
Feeling frisky, feeling risky, I snap a picture of my toes wiggling above the water. I send it to him.
Logan: You have purple toenails. That’s hot, and I don’t even know why. Why is that sexy?
Bryn: You tell me . . .
Logan: I don’t have a toe fetish, but purple on your toes is damn sexy. Hmm. Now that I ponder this, I’m sure they’d be sexy painted green. Or orange. Or pink. Or bare.
Bryn: Whoa. I got the unpainted toes seal of approval. I’ve never been happier.
Logan: Where is the emoticon for sticking my tongue out?
Bryn: Bet you can find it. Keep looking.
Logan: You are on fire tonight.
Bryn: Baths and wine and music have been known to have that effect on me.
Logan: You’re a woman who knows how to feel good. Who knows what she wants. Who knows and deserves her own pleasure.
Bryn: Be good to yourself is one of my life mottos. Though, credit given—it came from my mom. She was the queen of sayings. She wrote a ton down on postcards for me as we traveled. That’s actually what I wanted the lunch box for. Silly, I know. But that’s the truth.
Logan: That is not remotely silly. It is incredibly heartwarming and real. Did you put the postcards in the lunch box?
Bryn: I did. It makes me happy. Just a little way to remember her.
Logan: There is nothing little about remembering the ones we love. Do you have a favorite saying of hers?
Bryn: My second favorite is this: Life is short. Eat the chocolate, wear the dress, take the trip.
Logan: Chocolate is always a good idea.
Bryn: But my top one is: Don’t fall for someone who’s a shitty ex to someone he’s dated before.
Logan: Ah, that’s interesting. Was your ex a shitty ex?
Bryn: He was one of those guys who described his exes as, “But she was crazy. No, I mean it. She was legit crazy. Bipolar.” Every ex he had was crazy. That should have been a tip-off, I suppose. What about you?
Logan: I don’t know, actually. My ex didn’t have a lot of exes. I met her freshman year of college.
I sit up, surprised at his statement, because that’s such a long time to be with someone. But the water is cooling, and I need to eject from the tub. I write back, wanting him to know I’m still here, I’m still on the other end.
Bryn: Hold on a second, getting out of the tub . . .
Logan: Feel free to send a pic.
After I step out and grab a towel to dry off, I snap a shot of my calves and send it to him, a buzz of excitement winding through me. Talking to him, texting him, warms me up. It makes me happy. I put down the phone for a minute to slather on lotion, then I wrap the towel over my breasts, pull the plug on the tub, grab my wine and phone, and head to my bedroom, where I curl up on the ruby-red comforter and pull a soft silvery fleece blanket over me. I drop the towel to the floor.
When I open the thread again, Logan has replied with one word.
Logan: Gorgeous.
Bryn: Thank you. I’m now snuggling under the covers on my bed. Here’s my view.
I snap a pic of the bottom half of my bed, lifting up the bottom edge of the soft cover just enough to see Bruce’s handsome face. He opens one eye, then closes it. Sleep is far more interesting than I am.
Logan: I see you have company.
Bryn: Lately, he’s been joining me at night.
Logan: He didn’t used to?
Bryn: No. He was distant. He slept in his cat bed.
Logan: Maybe he’s falling for you.
Bryn: Or maybe he senses that I’m in a good mood tonight, and he wants to be near it.
Logan: I’m jealous of your cat. Also, your bed looks like it belongs to you. It’s very . . . lush. A bit decadent.
Bryn: Funny, I just realized you didn’t actually see it when you were here. Yes, it’s ridiculously full of throw pillows and pretty blankets. Feel free to send a shot of, say, your hand. Also, college sweethearts is so . . . wow.
Logan: Yeah, I suppose it is. We were together for a while. And here’s my hand.
As the image comes through, I grin, savoring the view of one strong, firm hand, remembering how both felt on my body, around my waist, gripping my hips.
