By: B. B. Hamel

City's Secrets, Volume 1


I don’t trust you yet, but I want to.

I read the message over and over. It was earlier than I liked to be awake, and my eyes felt heavy. The lack of sleep was pretty worth it, though. We had been up late trading texts about all the different places he wanted to make me come, and I was still reeling from his words. I stretched my legs and almost knocked my laptop off the bed. I sat up and sighed. My room was a mess, and my comforter was covered in laundry, but I never had time to clean anymore. Between trying to make it as a computer programmer and working full time at a coffee shop, certain things were falling by the wayside, like basic organization. And, most recently, my love life.

I propped myself up and typed back. You seemed pretty trusting last night.

I’d never done the whole online dating thing before, but my best friend Darcy convinced me to give the website Matchstick a try. It had been awhile since I was with anyone, which I embarrassingly admitted to Darcy one night after I had a few too many glasses of wine and chatted with her on the phone. An hour and a bunch of awkward selfies later, eligible bachelors started pinging my cell like crazy. Of everyone I saw, he was the only one that interested me at all.

His profile picture was hot. I’m not usually so blunt, but it’s true. Light grey eyes, almost the color of flint or steel, and a boyish, chiseled jaw. His lips were full and his dark brown hair was cropped short on the sides and was longer on top. He clearly knew how to take care of himself. He wasn’t shirtless in his profile picture, but the longer I stared at it, the more certain I was that I could see his well defined muscles through his tailored button down shirt.

But more than his looks, it was his basic information that drew me in. He said he was an entrepreneur in the tech industry, but he didn’t give out any more details, which intrigued me. Still, we had a lot in common other than our jobs, so I sent him a message. And he sent me one back.

Two days and some hours later, I’m describing how I want to suck him off under his desk in his office.

What he described back was much, much dirtier. And I liked it, but I couldn’t keep those messages around. I mean, what if someone found them? I’d be mortified.

My phone buzzed. I want to meet you. That was much better. I didn’t know what he meant by not trusting me earlier. It’s not like I knew all that much about him. Other than certain oral sex techniques, and maybe some other quirks and kinks, we hadn’t gone too much into detail about our personal lives. We stayed on mutual interests, like computers and movies. And the things we wanted to do to each other, of course.

Still, did I want to meet him? After months of hard work, I was so close to selling my fledgling company. I made a cellphone app in my spare time, and spent every second outside of work writing the code and creating the images. I had a meeting the next morning to hopefully finish the deal, which meant I wouldn’t have to work full time at Swirl Café anymore. But would he distract me from my goal? Maybe I could use a little distraction.

If I was honest with myself, I was feeling pretty burnt out from all the lack of sleep. I had been working every day at the café, and programming all night at home for months. Just thinking about tomorrow made my palms start to sweat. I had never done something like sell a company before, and I didn’t know what to expect. I felt like I didn’t deserve this incredible good luck; there were thousands of other people making apps, so why me? I felt this lump of self-doubt in my chest whenever I thought about my career and my ambitions. Not to mention my love life, but for some reason I wasn’t having that problem with my handsome stranger.

I climbed out of bed and checked myself in the mirror. Bedhead like crazy, bags under my eyes, old white tank top, and boy shorts. I pulled on my robe and went into the kitchen. I made coffee and ate a banana for breakfast, like usual, and then I was down on the couch, typing him a message.

I want to meet you too. I hit send, and my stomach did flips. It’s not like this was the first guy I’d been involved with, but it was definitely the first one I’d never met in person before. I didn’t even know how old he was.

He answered almost right away. You’ll have to try harder than that. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to get involved, and he was trying to play coy? And what’s that mean, I sent back.

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