Page 63 of Burn the Script

NOW

Tuesday, February 14th

Frustrated is the word of the day. The stitching in my bow tie with hearts is the wrong shade of red, and I’m spending my second Valentine’s Day in a row alone. Graham works in Texas, and his name lives in the headlines again. Yet the irrational part of me had hoped he would show up at my office with a truck load of chocolates. He didn’t.

With a growl, I fling the fabric aside and get ready for bed. My Tuesday beauty routine consists of deep conditioning my hair and exfoliating my skin, so I’m more relaxed once I slide between my crisp, tidy sheets…until the bulb in the lamp flickers. The antique lamp is a fire hazard, and I’ve been meaning to replace the electrical components for years.

Luckily, after an intense fight for victory, the bulb remains lit. I ram an elbow into the pillow behind my back and smooth the wrinkles from the white bedding draped across my lap. While sharing a bed with Graham, I’d wake to find the aftermath of a vicious battle between his naked body and the sheets. When I sleep alone, my covers are hardly rumpled in the morning, as though no one slept in them.

I’m scrolling through emails, mentally preparing my to-do list for tomorrow, when a text pops up from Graham. No message, only a photo. Another comes through, and another. Faster than I can process what’s happening, he floods me with images.

I enlarge the first one and turn my phone every which way, looking at it from different angles. It shows a human thumb nail, an abused one with torn, reddened skin at the edges. The second image is an earlobe. The third, a pinky toe I’d recognize anywhere. Graham’s pinky toes curve inward slightly.

As I click through the close-up photos—kneecaps, collarbones, and butt cheeks included—my face blazes, heart racing with equal amounts of anticipation and scandal. Would he go so far as to send a dick pic? Surely not. Though I’m disappointed when I reach the end without a reward for indulging him this late at night.

Me

This is cyber harassment.

Graham

It’s a selfie bouquet.

Me

You missed a tiny piece.

Graham

So you looked at them all. And need I remind you how NOT tiny it is?

GRAHAM SENT A PHOTO

My horny thumb opens the attachment. I gasp, clutching the top buttons of my satin shirt as my dick twitches.

Me

You have no morals!

Graham

Not with you.

Be daring with me, darling.

Tell me what you’re wearing right now.

Me

What do you think I’m wearing?

Graham

The red satin pajamas with the white piping.

I straighten my shoulders, refusing to glance at my chest and confirm his accurate guess.

Graham