Page 14 of Hey Girl

I’ve got two options here:

One, I pretend I never saw this and go along my merry way… only that’s not so merry is it? Holing up in my house with a spikey rodent and a naked feline while avoiding human contact. Okay that was a shitty thing to say about my beloved pets, but seriously, that’s what my life is.

Or two… I could respond. Just respond. I can interact with a famous, hot-as-balls drummer through the protection of my screen. I don’t have to see him. I don’t have to look into his sea-green eyes while we converse. Just his words in an email. I can respond all I want, but heaven knows, I’m not going to offer up my phone number where he’d have to hear my squeaky nervous voice while I stumble over my words.

Okay, here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to go in the kitchen and make myself some liquid courage in the form of a White Russian and come back to this computer and respond to him - as me. If I’m going to use this chance to speak to Chris Richards - drum and ab God of all time - from within my usual protective bubble, then I’m going to give him the real me. No being nervously polite and constructing some eloquent correspondence. Oh no. If there’s ever a time to grow a vagina and grab life by the balls, it’s this chance of a lifetime. Besides, he’s already gotten a taste of it from my initial response when I didn’t believe it was him. I mean shit, he now knows I think he’s hot enough to lick, what more damage can I do?

Drink beside my laptop, I take a cleansing breath and thread my fingers and push them outward to crack my knuckles.

Hold onto your nads, Chris Richards. You’re about to get a load of me.

Chris

Email from Rebecca Randall:

Morning,

So yeah, I’ll give you plausibility here, seeing as how no one else was there in the meeting to bear witness to my super mad creative skills and your friend bringing his Teeny Peen Energy to the table.

Unless…

This isn’t Josh, is it? Tell me you’re not pretending to be Chris or I’ll die.

Actually, you know what - fuck it.

You were a dick the other day!

Now, if this is Chris,

Sorry for thinking you’re a cyberstalking pervert that gets his jollies to sliding into random strangers DMs and shooting his load into an empty Fritos bag.

Thank you very much for reaching out to me and I apologize for the misunderstanding. I guess I just don’t understand why a famous rockstar would want to spend any of his precious minutes contacting a timid plain Jane with glasses and a clinical aversion to socialization.

Is there something wrong with the mockups? Do you have some feedback? What can I do for you so that you can get on with your busy life.

Have a great day,

Rebecca (Not Becky, NEVER Becky).

Well, fuck my ass, she responded. It took my bleary eyes about three blinks, but I got the message. I just woke up to find this delightful message in my inbox but I need my morning BLAST stat. Or I guess I should say my early afternoon BLAST as I got in at the insane hour of seven this morning.

Anyway, back to the subject. For being so quiet, Rebecca’s a real sass-mouth. It’s nothing like she was in the meeting, and only a little like she was in the elevator. I can tell she’s still the same girl, she just holds herself way back when she’s in person. It’s like she’s dynamite hidden in a quiet, pretty little package. You just have to pull the ribbon to open it and then KABOOM!

Okay, I seriously need to lay off the cartoons.

I have no words except I am turned ON. And after she called me hot and lickable, I’m going to go out on a limb and say she likes me too.

If I was intrigued before, I have a serious hair of curiosity jammed up my ass now. I have to see her. I have to talk to her more and find out what makes her tick. Like what’s the whole can’t socialize but can hand you your ass in an email stuff about?

Staggering over to my designated BLAST fridge and too discombobulated to pick one out, I let fate surprise me and just swipe a random can, cracking it open on my way upstairs. I have to get in the shower as my hair is sticking up in three different directions and I need to get my blood flowing. I take my beloved can of Blackberry Bomb Bonanza, as it turns out, with me under the spray, and will my special manly, ocean-scented body wash to work its magic on my pheromones so that she doesn’t stand a chance.

Once I’m marginally awake and on my second can, I devise a plan to surprise the little mouse. Don’t worry, it will be a gentle surprise. Afterall, she doesn’t seem to think she’s worth my timeand I’m about to drop some reality on her ass - gently. I seem to remember a coffee shop just a block or two down from her office building. I’ll just drop by and ask her on an impromptu mini-date and hope she’ll be warmed over to find out she was wrong.

I opt for my actual four-wheeled vehicle today and head on over to that boring office building Rebecca works in. After parking just up the street, I get out, and to my surprise, see her exiting the building.

Good, I don’t have to go in that stuffy place.

Lowering my RayBans down my nose, I watch her for a moment and see she’s walking briskly down the street in the very direction of the very coffee place I was intending to begin our courtship. Heaven is smiling down upon me, making this even easier as she will probably respond even better to a chance encounter.