Oh, goodness, that sounded formal. Uuuum, I don’t think I’m using this website right, and you’ll probably never respond with all the pretty women you probably get messages from, but I know you in real life. Or, not know you in an official sense, but I’ve seen you around town. I live in Saratoga. The first time I saw you was in the library. You were in line in front of me, right after you’d registered with the Boarlanders. You turned around and told me I smelled good and you had a really nice smile, like you meant it. I liked that you gave such a nice compliment so freely. I like to tell people the nice things I think too. You were checking out a book on what women are looking for in a man, and I liked that too. It made me think that you are possibly looking for the same thing that I am. Companionship. So, full disclosure, my cheeks are burning as I write this. I’ve never done a matchmaking site before. A part of me hopes you see it and respond, but another part of me hopes you’ll overlook me and forget the silly girl from Saratoga.
A little bit about me, in case you are interested in getting to know me. I’m twenty-eight years old and edit for the local newspaper, as well as a few others. I’m pro-shifter, but I’ve never been to a Shifter Night at Sammy’s. The bar isn’t really my scene, although sometimes I wish I was brave enough to go and just try to talk to you. I went to high school in Saratoga, but went to college out of state. I work from home and have only recently moved back here to be closer to my sister and her family, so I don’t know a lot of people yet. Anything else, just ask. I’m an oversharer, probably from hours of talking to my favorite pet plant, Spartacus. Anyway, if you read my message this far, thanks for taking the time to consider me as a match. I would love to do coffee or something, but be warned, I will be really nervous to meet you. You and the crews are celebrities around here, and I’ve never met anyone famous.
p.s. it took me three days to build up the courage to send this message.
Sincerely,
Emerson Elliot
Below that she’d listed her personal email address and phone number.
Bash read it three times because she wrote real formal, and he was flattered a smart girl like her wanted to have coffee with someone like him. But she’d also sent this before she met him, and Emerson had told him flat out she was looking for a smart man. That’s why she wanted to be friends.
As he punched her number into his cell phone, his chest started doing that achy thing again where it was hard to breathe. Reception was patchy in the park, but he had two bars if he didn’t roll his computer chair to the right. The phone rang and rang, and then his heart banged against his chest as her recorded voice came on, telling him to leave a message. She had such a pretty tone. Clear and sweet. His dick thumped against the seam of his pants, and he frowned down at his crotch. They were just friends. Friends, friends, friends.
Beeeeep.
“I remember you,” Bash rushed out. “You smelled like tulips and vanilla at the library. I don’t have a good memory. I should’ve recognized your scent when I ate fries with you, but I didn’t and I’m sorry. I read your message. Ummm. Call me back if you want to.” He almost hung up but stopped himself. “Oh, this is Bash. From the Boarlanders. We ate lunch together the other day. I like your hair and the color of your eyes and the way your dimples get really deep when you smile. Okay, bye.”
Bash hung up and dropped the phone onto the desk. He should’ve thought it out more before he left a message. Emerson was a smart girl. He should’ve put more big words in there. Maybe he should leave her another one. No. Girls didn’t like that. The book had told him that much in chapter one before he got bored to shit reading it and returned it to the library. There hadn’t been a single picture in it.
He didn’t know how long he sat there debating whether he’d done the right thing, but when his cell phone rang, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Fumbling with the phone, he accepted the call and said, “Hello?”
No answer.
“Hello?” he asked again. His chest hurt so damned bad, he doubled over the pain.
“Hi, Bash,” Emerson said, so softly he thought he’d imagined it. But then she said, “I got your message.”
“I got your message, too. I like what you named your pet plant.” Bash frowned and shook his head. “I mean, I have a question. Well, I have lots of questions because I want to know everything about you, but I have a big question I want to ask you. Right now.”
Emerson giggled that pretty tinkling sound, like a metal knife on some fancy wine glass. “Okay, shoot.”