Can't Text This (Texting, #3)

by Teagan Hunter

“Who you texting, Dad?” “Business.” “Business?” “Yeah, none of yours.”

I’m a twenty-three-year-old virgin who was saving herself for marriage while her fiancé was giving himself to anyone and everyone.

Monty: Hi Robert Cross. I’m Montana Andrews. Even though you’ve already had your tongue down my throat and your hand up my skirt, it’s nice to officially meet you.

Me: Is it possible to die from rolling your eyes so hard? Python: You texted back, so apparently not.

Me: I have two things to say to you, Monts. You ready? Me: #1, it didn’t work. Whatever we did last night, it didn’t fucking work. I’m still thinking about you, and I’m gonna need more—a whole hell of a lot more. Me: #2, you can run, but we’re not done. THIS isn’t done. We clear? Monty: We’re clear.

Python: I’m sorry, are you asking to jump on my Magic Daddy Dick again? My, my, I didn’t realize you’d be such a little horndog.

“I know this was supposed to be light and fluffy and fun or whatever, but it’s evolved. I want more than that. I want stability. I want real. I want you.”

“I’m saying you’re sexy as fuck, Monts, and I don’t ever want you to feel like you aren’t. I don’t ever want you to feel like I don’t want you because of your self-designated flaws. I love you just the way you are.”

I miss her. It’s as simple as that.

I fucking love her.