Page 11 of Sexting the Pakhan

“You hate everyone.”

“No, I hate men who are immediately better at this than we are.”

I lift my brows. “We don’t even know if this is a guy.”

She pauses.

Then she snatches the phone closer again like she can determine gender by sheer force of judgment. “That,” she says, “is technically true.”

“Thank you.”

“But,” she adds, holding up one finger, “this reads like a guy.”

“This reads like a person with basic conversational skills.”

“It reads like a smug person with basic conversational skills.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

Karina keeps staring at the message. “No woman would say, ‘Then I’m honored to be your bad decision for the evening.’”

I take the phone back. “That feels wildly unscientific.”

“It’s very scientific. I have years of field research.”

“Your field research is just bad dates.”

“And yet, here I stand, experienced.”

I laugh into my wine and look down at the thread again.

Unknown Number:Then I’m honored to be your bad decision for the evening.

It is smooth. I can admit that privately. Maybe not to Karina, because she’ll become unbearable, but privately, sure. Smooth enough that I’m suddenly very glad I can’t see my own face right now.

Karina leans forward, eyes bright. “Ask.”

“Ask what?”

“If they’re a guy.”

I wrinkle my nose. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s weird.”

“You texted a random number because I bullied you into it, but asking who they are is where you draw the line?”

“Yes.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

She lets out a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Then keep flirting ambiguously with mystery gender.”

“I am not flirting ambiguously.”