*COMPLETED* (18+) MATURE
Wrong number...usually a person would delete the number, right? A mistaken text leads to blood money and danger. Chris Johnson, a gender fluid male, receives a text from a mystery guy who shares a card number. Aware that i...
A ringing phone wakes me. My face is plastered to the mattress; the indentations of it wedge into my skin. I lift myself onto my arms. My ass is still out, feeling a breeze. The sun is down. How long was I out?? I hear my bathroom's door open from the hall, and spy James standing in the mess I left in the room. He's on the phone with no shirt on.
Eavesdrop you idiot, get up.
I get up, slowly, feeling sore in the ass, my hands carefully pull up my pants. I have a hard on under the duct tape wrapping, strangest feeling ever.
"Just check with them again, explain the situation." Chatter from the other line. I can't understand the words. "Fine, I'll call, just try to get a hit on the card." More chattering emits from the phone. "Don't call me back until you have a location; this motherfucker has a million dollars, my fucking money! No, no I can't cancel the damn card, buyers are still sending to it!" James snaps, pacing the bathroom...then halts. "Unless you can whip up another one?" A short reply follows from the caller. "Yeah, I thought so." He rubs his temples, stressed. "The whole roster is about to send payment to that card. I can't get in contact with half of them or their assistants." I duck to the side of the wall as James walks out of the bathroom and into the living room.
"Just keep tabs on the activity, okay, Ryan? No bricks can load out until this is handled." I peek over the room's threshold and eye the front door, where James now stands. He ends the call, "This shit." His voice stresses.
So, it's dirty money?
I clear my throat and step out of the room. "Stressed?"
James focuses on me with a glint in his eyes. "Only halfway, thanks to you."
I step over junk and broken furniture, just realizing that my apartment is trashed. My mind boils, ready to give my limbs a message to beat his ass. Keep it together; don't blow this mission. "Well, I'm not thanking you, my ass is sore."
"It's a good thing you passed out then."
I roll my eyes at him and stroll to the fridge to grab a Pepsi; the fucker drank a few of them from the cardboard box. HE TOUCHED MY SHITT!!! I stop my mouth from saying something out of anger; tightening my lips and strain my neck. Relax. "Are you always that rough in bed?" I pop the can open and slam the fridge.
"Is that a problem?"
I search the draws for aspirin, opening a bunch, so I didn't come off as the owner of the place. I find ibuprofen, popping five and snapping open the soda can to drink. "No, I'm just curious."
"That was taking it easy."
I almost spit out the liquid, snickering as I swallow. "You call that easy?! That was hardcore porn." He smiles cockily, I return a grin absentmindedly. What am I doing? This is sooo off script....stick to the plan. "Tell me about yourself."
"You first."
I wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve. "Umm, I work at the mall, Forever 21...and I have a complicated relationship." That was no lie. "I enjoy figure skating and wearing nice shit, makeup, hair, stuff like that. I'm pretty materialistic."
"Hmm...what if," he walks to stand in front of me, "I told you that you can have every materialistic thing you ever wanted?"
"How's that?"
"Have dinner with me and I'll tell you."
Fuck...this guy 😒
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