Page 12 of Sexting the Pakhan

“You are doing exactly that.”

I ignore her and type:My friend is going to be unbearably smug about this.

Unknown Number:She sounds exhausting.

I grin before I can stop myself.

Karina sees it and points accusingly. “There. That face.”

“What face?”

“The one that says you like this.”

“I like being mildly entertained.”

“You like being texted by a stranger with game.”

“We don’t know if this stranger has game. We know they can construct one decent sentence.”

Karina sits back in the booth, folding her arms. “You’re defensive.”

“I’m realistic.”

“You’re defensive and realistic.”

I take another sip of wine and reread the messages, trying not to examine too closely why my chest feels lighter than it did an hour ago. It’s ridiculous, really. This is ridiculous. But it’s also… easy. Easier than it should be.

Maybe because I don’t have to picture the other person looking at me.

Maybe because I’m not trying to interpret someone’s face while also being painfully aware of my own.

Maybe because words, on their own, have always felt safer.

I type:She is exhausting. Unfortunately she’s usually right.

There’s a brief pause.

Then:

Unknown Number:That’s a dangerous trait in a friend.

Karina groans. “Oh, I hate this person.”

“You hate everyone I might hypothetically enjoy.”

“I hate anyone who threatens my position.”

“Your position as what?”

“The most charming person in your life.”

I snort. “Threatened already?”

“Deeply.”

My phone buzzes again before I answer her.

Unknown Number:How badly did she pressure you into this?