My Online Lover Was the Mafia Boss Who Fired Me Chapter 02
Before I could reply, the photo loaded through.
I stared at the screen, too scared to tap it open.
The loading spin circle turned twice.
The picture finally popped up.
It was a man’s tight, toned body after a workout.
No face.
Just a solid chest and sharply defined abs.
There was a thin sheen of sweat on his skin, glowing
under the dim light.
His sweat pants sat low on his hip bones.
Any lower and it would’ve crossed the line of what was
okay to post.
My face went hot instantly.
I zoomed in on the photo.
Then zoomed back out.
Then zoomed in again.
His right side was clean, no tattoos, no noticeable scars.
I held down to save it.
Right after saving I felt like a creep, my finger hovered
over the delete button for a few seconds, and I couldn’t bring myself to tap it.
I typed out. [Nice body?]
Then deleted it.
Typed again. [Are you trying to seduce me?]
Nox sent a smiley face.
[Does it work?]
[No.]
[Then why did you save it?]
I sat straight up so fast my back cracked.
[How do you know I saved it?]
[The app notifies me when someone saves my private photos.]
I immediately went to delete the picture.
But Nox said.
[Keep it.]
[You can look at it when you miss me later.]
I fell back onto the bed, face still burning.
We talked until two in the morning that night.
His texts got bolder and bolder.
[What are you wearing right now?]
[Just a bra.]
[What kind of bra?]
[The kind that’s barely any fabric.]
He went quiet for a second.
[Wren.]
[Yeah?]
[You better not flirt like that with a guy who hasn’t been with a woman in three months.]
My heart pounded faster and faster.
[You started it by sending the pic.]
I didn’t know what got into me. Stupid internet made
me way bolder than I ever was in real life.
[So now I regret it.]
[Regret showing me?]
[Regret I can’t touch you right now.]
I pressed my phone to my chest.
It took me forever to pick it back up again.
I didn’t sleep well that night.
I stared at that word “regret” for ages, and a weird sweet–and–bitter feeling bubbled up in my chest.
The sweet part was the way he talked to me, soft like he was smoothing out a crumpled piece of paper. The bitter part was knowing I didn’t deserve him.
How could a guy like this, with a body like that and a voice this soft, ever want someone like me?
I was a mistake even sitting at my desk, I spilled coffee all over my pants just carrying a cup–what did I have
that he could want?
But I couldn’t let go.
Like a drowning person clinging to a piece of
driftwood. I knew the log wouldn’t hold me forever,
but I couldn’t make myself let go.
We talked until two a.m. that night.
He told me a lot of stories. how he was awkward as hell
when he was young, how he got chewed out by his old
boss so bad he hid in the bathroom crying when he was
starting out, how it took him years to get to where he was now.
[You must be lying, a guy like you would never cry.]
He texted. [I still want to cry right now.]
I asked him why.
He was silent for a long time, then sent these words.
[I’m scared you’re hurt.]
A tear dropped right onto my screen.
It was so weird. I didn’t cry when a coworker asked me straight to my face if I was brain dead. I didn’t cry when my boss yelled at me asking what the hell I was even good for. But a stranger on the other side of a screen
sent these words, and I sobbed like an idiot.
I sent him a voice note, my throat raw and stuffed up,
just said “I’m okay“.
He didn’t send a voice back, just texted. [Go to sleep,
you have work tomorrow.]
Work.
That one word hit me like a bucket of cold water,
yanking me out of the warm little world my phone
held. Right, tomorrow I had to go to work, face all
those cold stares, deal with the stone–faced boss and
the sleazy manager.