I mean, she might still be in danger ...

I mean … she was definitely about to be murdered by this guy, right? Your overly-long tongue slides over your teeth, controlling the motion precisely to avoid being cut. The taste of his blood while you consider his phone confirms your suspicions there. At the very least, you should try to get this Alex to consider making better choices in her love life. One of your finger slides over it, opening immediately to his texts.

Alex: (it’s not a subtle picture. you can’t see her face, focus mostly on her body. her blouse lays open, observed from overhead. you can see a lithe, pale, female body, modest, but pert and beautiful breasts displayed with her top parted. her nipples are notably erect, and you know immediately the nervousness and arousal she felt taking this. dirty-blonde hair drapes down into the shot from above, elegantly wavy despite being a clear mess from an active day. spots her arm appears as well as her stomach show that she’s clearly fit, wiry, compact muscle normally hiding beneath clothes on display as you follow the arc of her body down. you can make out just the top of her red, lacey panties, imagining how they must hug a gorgeous, tight ass out-of-frame, head swimming with ideas of what the rest of her has to look like outside of this intensely sensual image)

You freeze up, feeling a little awkward. There was positively no way that picture was meant for you. Still, it’s hard to take your eyes off it. All other changes to your morphology seem inconsequential as you feel the once-familiar sensation of your cock stiffening. God, it’s been so long since you’ve touched anyone decent … but guilt INSIDE you tastes even fouler than it did before, regardless of how much you enjoy it in your meals.

You: I’m sorry for the confusion, but this isn’t Jameson. I imagine that’s a very personal thing to share, so I will be deleting it in short order. He’s not using this line anymore.

You beat yourself up just a little for putting aside the chance to see a woman’s bare skin again. Without a computer and finding peeping too violating of others’ privacy, you long for the days when pornography was an easy find. You suppose Jameson’s phone could be of some help there, before the service runs out. It seems like a bad idea. Though he was a loner, like most serial killers (like you, but you try not to dwell on the comparison), someone COULD come looking for him. And tracking a cell phone wouldn’t be even vaguely challenging for law enforcement.

Alex: Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry! He didn’t tell me he’d switched phones. This is, like, our fourth date, and I was planning on … some things happening.

Alex: I don’t suppose you know where he is? I took this when I was getting ready. At five-ish. Starting to get a little annoyed.

Things that wouldn’t have happened. From your read, Jameson was deeply uncomfortable with sex. You’re not sure why, but you’re positive the physical reality of Alex’s suggestions would have been the end of it. No trouble flirting with a screen or in public, but when an actual woman was present and DARED to be a sexual person in front of him, that was his particular hot button. At least he can’t hurt anyone else now.

You: Well, nothing to be sorry for, you’re very beautiful. I just thought you’d want to know so you weren’t sending more sensitive pictures to a total stranger.

You: He said something about leaving town when I bought the phone from him. Something about the police? I probably should have asked, but he seemed … cagey.

You: There’s a chance it’s good he’s not coming by.

And you truly believe that. She seems nice. Though that may be bias. It’s taking a lot of effort not to scan back up to the picture she sent. You turn the phone off, resolving to destroy it as soon as you get the chance, but another alert draws your attention. Your fingers twist idly. You want to keep talking to her, but it’s dumb. Even if you two hit it off, the actual meeting’s going to get a damper thrown on it by you being made of dread and ****. You should … just leave it be.