Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

Wonder if she’s stripped down to her underwear, like I am.

Wonder if she’s feeling warm.

Wonder if she’s read her texts and is thinking about my cock now.

Wonder if she’s remembering the way she spread her fingers around the base of it when she shoved her hand down my pants in the pantry.

And I wonder if she’ll touch herself tonight.

THIRTY-SIX

ROSALYN

I crawl onto my bed, face-plant onto my pillow, and groan. Loudly.

What is wrong with me?

It’s too big.

I can’t take it.

I groan again.

And I can’t even act outraged over his response being unprofessional.

He may have been my client tonight, but he was my friend first. And somewhere between friendship and client, I managed to shove my hand down his pants and get my fingers on his oversized dick, so professionalism is out the fucking window.

I roll onto my back and stare at the phone screen, wishing I had someone to tell me how to reply.

I decide to go with avoidance.

Me: Nathan, thank you for the $8,000 offer, but I can’t allow you to do that.

Nathan: Rosie, it wasn’t an offer. It’s already complete. And it’s for a job very well done.

I roll my lips together.

Nathan: And if you try to reject the payment, I will just submit it again.

I was wondering whether there was a way to return a payment. But I believe Nathan. I think he would just send it again.

I just don’t understand why.

Why is he doing this?

Does he know that I’m… struggling?

And it’s not like I’m struggling to buy myself groceries. I’m not there. Anymore.

But I need upgrades.

I need a bigger place. Bigger kitchen. More storage.

I need a garage to park in and an elevator instead of just stairs so I can load up for events without having to walk food down two flights of stairs and through the weather to pack my van.

I need enoughneedsthat I wouldn’t use this extra money forwants.

But none of that changes the fact that it doesn’t feel right.