Could it be that Javier Montes is actually trying to get to know me, asking me about my life without throwing stones about who he thought I was? But wait, isn’t that against his rules?
I ponder my response before I ultimately decide that I kind of want to see how this plays out. I know I want to discover more about the man that is rocking my world between the sheets, so perhaps if I open up, he will too.
Me: My main focus is in probate law, conservatorships, guardianships, contract formation, and I dabble in family law from time to time. You probably know that my stepfather is a judge, so affiliation with the law runs in the family. But my main reason for choosing that avenue was because of what happened with my real dad.
Javier: And what happened?
Me: He died suddenly when I was one, and he and my mother were never married. Because of that she wasn’t entitled to any of his assets, which wasn’t much, but it left her struggling financially. We got kicked out of his house and scrambled to find somewhere to go. If he had just taken the time to set up his estate in the event that he passed, my mother and I would have been a lot better off after he died. I know people can’t plan their deaths, but I use my own personal experience to encourage people to think about what would happen if they did die unexpectedly. I know it sounds morbid, but people need to be prepared.
Javier: I’m sorry to hear about your dad. I didn’t know that.
A few seconds pass and then my phone vibrates again.
Javier: My dad actually died too.
Holy shit! He gave me a morsel. No, more like a chunk of him that helps explain who is a little better. And what do you know? We actually have something in common.
Me: I’m sorry. How old were you?
Javier: Thirteen.
Me: If you don’t mind me asking, how did he die?
I see the bubbles pop up again, but then they vanish and I realize I don’t have time to wait for his response. I stare down at my phone, wondering if he’ll begin typing again, but nothing comes up. Feeling slightly deflated, I throw away my trash and make my way down the hall of the convention center to my next session, checking my phone a few more times before I finally have to silence it again.
By the end of the day, I’m itching to see if Javier ever responded to me because I’m afraid I messed up this thing between us by prying. But at the same time, he pried first, although his question was about my job and I voluntarily divulged the information about my dad.
When I turn my phone on, disappointment slams into me. There’s no response from him, which just makes my uneasiness fester.
My stomach is a bundled mess of nerves by the time I make it to my room with takeout, opting to stay in and purge instead of going out with a few other lawyers I met today. They all seemed like nice people, but my mental capacity to hold small talk went out the window as I struggled to stay awake during the last session of the day.
After stripping off my clothes and throwing on my pajamas sans bra, I rest my back against the headboard of my bed and balance the Styrofoam container of Chinese food between my crisscrossed legs. Reaching for my Kindle, I wait for it to wake up before I dive back into a series by one of my favorite author duos since the latest book just released yesterday. I’m hoping that reading will help me forget the twinge of fear that rests in my chest after my text conversation with Javi earlier.
Enthralled with the story, I spill Chow mein down my shirt but swipe it off, continuing to scroll my eyes across the words until my phone vibrates next to me, pulling my attention to the text lighting up the screen. I set my food to the side and swipe at the screen, bubbling with nerves as I read Javier’s text.
Javier: How was the rest of your day?
It’s not a reply to my question from earlier, but at least he’s not ghosting me. In fact, he’s actually trying to have a normal conversation, which both relieves some of the tension I felt earlier and piques my curiosity.
Me: Good. I learned a lot. Now I’m just reading and eating Chinese takeout in my hotel room.
Javier: If you say Panda Express is Chinese food, I don’t think we can be friends anymore.
My eyes veer to the lid of the container as the Panda Express logo stares me in the face.
Me: I happen to love their orange chicken.
Me: And I didn’t know we were friends…
Javier: Friends with benefits, remember?
Me: Hmmmm … I definitely recall the benefits, but not so much on the friendship.
Javier: Remind me when you get home to show you this little hole-in-the-wall, family-owned Chinese restaurant down the street from the gym. Then we’ll see how much you love that crap you’re eating.
Me: Thank you for your concern, and I would love to find a place near home that’s delicious.
Javier: What are you reading?
Me: You sure are interested in what I’m doing tonight … it’s kinda strange. Don’t you have plans this evening for debauchery with your boys or something?
Javier: Andre is my best friend, but he’s married … to my sister, so he doesn’t go out much. And truth is, neither do I. I’m actually in the middle of a barbeque at their house. A few of their friends are over, but I’m not much for partying these days.
Me: So you’d rather talk to me instead?
Javier: Something like that. I wish you were here instead so we could cause some debauchery all over my house.
The throbbing between my legs starts to grow. Just talking to Javier right now is sparking a need for him, but
