Half an hour

The photo sent.

The screen dimmed.

And then… nothing.

Emily sat still in her chair.

Bra. Panties. The blouse and skirt folded carelessly on the back of her chair and draped across the floor, respectively. Her skin was cooling, goosebumps rising faintly on her arms and legs—but her chest was still warm. Her stomach still tense.

She didn’t want to check the phone.

Not right away.

Not obsessively.

She told herself she’d wait a minute. Then five.

Ten passed.

Then twenty.

By minute twenty-eight, the silence had transformed.

First it was anticipation.

Then doubt.

Then—almost—embarrassment.

Maybe he didn’t like it.

Maybe it had gone too far.

Maybe it had startled him. Or worse… maybe he was showing someone else.

The thought made her stomach twist, and she sat forward slightly, hand twitching toward her phone. She stopped. Breathed. Told herself she was being ridiculous.

Then, finally—thirty two minutes in—her phone vibrated once, a single buzz that sent her heartbeat spiking.

She snatched it up.

Will:
Jesus, Emily I’m sorry.
I’ve been in a meeting with my boss for the last forty-five mintues. No phone allowed. I just got out.

Her lungs didn’t know whether to sigh or laugh.

Of course.

Of course that was the reason.

She leaned back in her chair again, head thudding lightly against the wall, hand resting on her bare thigh.

Not rejection.

Just bad timing.

Another buzz.

Then another.

Emily’s eyes stayed on the screen.

Will:
I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve never seen anything that made me feel like that.

Will:
That wasn’t just hot. That was… I don’t even know how to say it without sounding like a fucking idiot.
Perfect. There. I’ll go with that.

Will:
Perfect.

A beat passed. And then the third message.

Will:
I don’t even know how I’m supposed to function for the rest of the day now. My hands are shaking.

Emily’s throat tightened.

The tension that had sat in her stomach for the past half hour… shifted.

Melted.

Reformed as something new entirely.

She hadn't even touched him—but he felt ruined. Breathless. Out of sync.

From a photo.

One photo.

Her heart thudded harder. She uncrossed her legs and recrossed them slowly, almost absently.

Perfect.

She bit her lip, then grinned—just a little.

And waited.

Because his typing bubble was back.

Will:
You don’t have to send anything else. I mean that. I’ll be replaying this one in my head for a year.

Another pause.

Will:
But if you do? I’ll make sure you never doubt what it does to me.