Well, lo and behold, this past week, I found someone. I’m scared shitless wondering who he is, but he’s sweet and funny and a tiny bit naughty, and he makes me feel special. Best of all, he is a huge Sherlock fan, too. In fact, that’s why I reached out to him in the first place. His username is Prof.M., just like Professor Moriarity. I just hope he will be a friend and not a foe …
The game is afoot.
SNEAK PEEK
BURN FOR YOU
CHAPTER 1: Piper
I’m distracted. Again. Very hot, and very bothered. I’m unable to concentrate fully on the conversation flowing around me, and it’s all because of a man I’ve never met. Not in person, anyway. We’ve been talking on this silly dating app I signed up for a few weeks ago.
The app is called Tryst, which sounds a little flirty—and a whole lot dirty—to me, but I’m desperate. In fact, I’ve been single for so long, I’m beginning to think there just isn’t a guy out there for me. I haven’t met anyone in the last five years who I’d actually like to date. Day in and day out, I work with my students, go home, grade papers, go to bed. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. That’s why I decided to give the app a try.
The other reason why I’d said goodbye to my dignity and gone for it was this: in the last couple of months, I’d watched two of my friends fall hard for the sweetest guys, and it really got me thinking. Maybe he’s out there. Maybe I’m overlooking him. Or maybe he’s just one town over—waiting for me, just like I’m waiting for him.
I’d created a profile on Tryst to test the waters and see who I could find. I want to make a real connection, so I’d hesitated to attach a photo to my profile because I don’t want to rely on photos alone. Let’s face it, people use old photos from ten years or ten pounds ago, they apply filters, or they use someone else’s photo entirely. Anything to make themselves look good.
The kind of person who would stoop to doing that is not for me anyway, so I’d just put a cute little avatar of myself on there and crossed my fingers that my sparkling personality would attract someone—the right someone. There’s got to be a guy out there who wants to get to know me based on the information I’d left in my profile, right?
A hint into who I am and what I’m looking for is in my username—Sherlock4Love. I’m just a girl, who obsesses over all things Sherlock with a passion, looking for love.
At first, I’d received a lot of questions from curious individuals, especially about the username—was I male or female? They couldn’t tell, even though it was right there in my profile. Seriously, people. Just read. Take thirty seconds to actually look at my profile before you ask me something that’s right in front of your nose.
I’ll admit, that didn’t give me much hope. I’m not terribly patient with people who don’t use the brains they were given. In fact, I’m downright picky when it comes to men because of it, and I know it. I like them smart, kind, and thoughtful—and it wouldn’t hurt if they’re attractive, too. I can’t let just any yahoo near my hoo-ha, now can I?
As my friends continue to talk about anything and everything under the sun, my phone vibrates with incoming messages from the Tryst app. With a quick glance down, I see Prof.M. has responded to my question and is ready to discuss.
Yes. Somehow, within a twenty-mile radius, there is someone out there who is as nerdy about Sherlock as I am. Prof.M. stands for Professor Moriarty, who, in the stories, is Sherlock’s archenemy. I didn’t let that fact stop me—I’d been a little unsure at first, but my curiosity outweighed my fear. It became clear from our very first interaction that he was someone I needed to know better.
I sneak a peek down at my phone while my friends are still gabbing about Hadleigh and her new boyfriend, Sawyer.
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: You realize there are more than seventy-five actors who have portrayed Sherlock, right?
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: And you want me to narrow that down to my favorite?
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: Okay. I’m going to have to go with Cumberbatch, then.
I smirk. Of course he’d choose Benedict Cumberbatch. Based on our earlier conversations, he seems to like anything that’s new and shiny. Me? I prefer the classics—gotta be at least twenty-five years since filming. When we’d first messaged back and forth, he’d asked me if I preferred the original Sir Arthur Conan Doyle stories or the movies. Well, duh. I’m an English teacher, so of course I prefer the books. Not that he knows that I’m an English teacher—we haven’t gotten quite that far yet, and at the moment, I’m more comfortable keeping an air of anonymity.
What cracks me up the most is here I am, all flustered and excited about our messages, and they aren’t even remotely personal. They’re nowhere near sexy or provocative. Just a whole lot of Sherlock talk, so far. Maybe it should be a clue to me that this isn’t going anywhere.
Except—I guess it shouldn’t surprise me—intellectual talk about my favorite topic actually turns me the hell on. Deep breaths. And now I can’t help but think about what the guy looks like. My mind goes haywire, envisioning a ruggedly masculine face, hard pecs, muscled shoulders and arms, abs to die for, and a cock that just won’t quit. I make a little noise at the back of
