Sexting My Ex’s Dad (Forbidden Silver Foxes)

10. Stella

10

STELLA

I lean into Anastasia, struggling to be heard over the music. “I’ll be right back, Ana. Nature calls,” I say with a tipsy giggle, swaying slightly on my barstool.

“Sure thing, Stella! Don’t get lost!” she teases.

She’s not as drunk as me…probably from years of drinking alcohol.

I navigate my way through the crowded bar, the alcohol in my bloodstream making the world spin around me. When I finally reach the bathroom, I let out a sigh of relief and lock myself inside a stall.

As I sit down, my hand brushes against the small slip of paper tucked into the pocket of my jeans. I pull it out, running my fingers over the hastily scribbled numbers – Paul’s phone number. A flush creeps up my cheeks, and my heart flutters in anticipation.

“Should I really do this?” I whisper to myself, rereading the digits for what feels like the hundredth time. My mind races with the possibilities, but there’s one nagging doubt that won’t go away: What if he doesn’t feel the same way about me anymore?

I swallow hard, trying to push aside my insecurities. “You never know until you try, right?” I murmur under my breath and let out a deep breath.

After all, Paul is hot…a good league above Owen.

Although even he doesn’t compare to Elio.

My eyes widen, and my cheeks start to heat up. I’d told myself that I wouldn’t think of Elio anymore…not his salt and pepper hair that should have made him look older but just added to how alluring he was…nor his blue eyes that felt like they looked right through me…or the fire that I’d felt when he touched me. Or the very noticeable muscles underneath his suit…

There would never be anything between Elio and I…but that didn’t mean I couldn’t give things a try with Paul.

But as I clutch the paper in my hand, staring at the inked symbols that could change everything, my resolve wavers. My palms grow clammy, and a shiver runs down my spine. What if it turns out I’m just setting myself up for disappointment?

“Come on, Stella,” I tell myself, shaking off the doubts that threaten to consume me. “Don’t wuss out.” I’ve wussed out enough in my life.

With a deep breath, I summon the courage to do something daring... something I probably would never have done had it not been for the alcohol coursing through my veins but…oh well, right?

Looking in the mirror, I tousle my wavy brown hair and adjust my top to show just a hint of cleavage. The dim bathroom lighting casts a sultry glow on my flushed cheeks and hazel eyes. My heart races as I lift my phone to capture this rare moment of boldness.

“Alright, Stella,” I whisper to myself, snapping the photo. “Maybe this will catch his attention.”

I attach the photo to a new text message, typing out Paul’s number with trembling fingers. My heartbeat thuds in my ears as I craft a playful message that could potentially change everything:

Hey, it’s Stella. Just wondering if you’ve been thinking about me

Sent.

I lean against the cold bathroom stall door, clutching my phone, waiting for something…anything. But, nothing.

“Come on, Paul,” I whisper, willing my phone to vibrate with his response. But the screen remains stubbornly silent. The minutes stretch out like hours as I wait, each tick of the clock feeling heavier than the last.

I shouldn’t have sent that message…maybe Anastasia was wrong…maybe he’d never had a crush on me.

That’s what I get for listening to Anastasia… as much as I loved my best friend, why did I think I could count on her relationship advice? She never struggled with boys – they all seemed to just fall in love with her the second that they laid eyes on her.

Get a grip.

I scold myself, shaking my head at my own silliness. I can’t spend the whole night hiding in this bathroom, waiting for Paul to reply or pitying myself because he doesn’t. It’s time to face the world again – or at least the crowded bar outside.

Taking one last deep breath to steady my nerves, I fix my dress before stepping out of the stall and splashing some water on my flushed cheeks. My hazel eyes meet their reflection, and I muster up all the determination I possess to keep them from betraying my vulnerability.

I push open the bathroom door and step back into the dimly lit bar.

“Hey!” Anastasia exclaims, as she spots me. “There you are! I was starting to think you’d fallen in!”

“Ha-ha,” I retort, rolling my eyes good-naturedly as I slide onto the stool next to her. “No, just had to... powder my nose.”

There’s no way that I can tell her that I’d texted her brother and he hadn’t responded…dumped and rejected all in just a couple weeks…how pitiful.

“Right,” she drawls, clearly not buying my weak excuse. But she doesn’t press any further, instead offering me a conspiratorial grin.

“So, what have you been up to while I was gone?”

“Chatting with the bartender,” she replies, a playful glint in her eyes. “He’s pretty cute, don’t you think?”

“Anastasia, you think every guy is cute,” I tease, grateful for the distraction from my own thoughts.

“True,” she admits with a laugh, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “But this one has potential, I can tell.”

As we continue our banter, I can feel the tension slowly easing from my shoulders. Maybe that’s what I should have focused on in the first place – my best friend rather than some random guy that I probably wouldn’t see after one night with.

It doesn’t take long for the bartender to make his way back over to us which doesn’t surprise me. I haven’t met a man yet who’s been able to resist Anastasia’s charms.

He leans across the counter, his dark hair brushing against his forehead as he refills Anastasia’s glass. A charming smile plays on his lips, and I can’t help but notice how effortlessly he seems to navigate their flirtatious banter.

“Another round for you too, Stella?” he asks, eyebrow raised in question.

“You know my name?” I raise an eyebrow at him.

He laughs. “Anastasia told me.” So they were on a first name basis now?

Yeah, she’s not riding home with me. Anastasia happens to be the queen of one night stands.

“Um, no thanks to the drink,” I mumble, my face warming under his gaze. “I’m good for now.”

“Are you sure? You look a little... flushed,” he says, concern replacing the playfulness in his eyes.

“Ah, yeah, that’s just –“ I stammer, trying to come up with an excuse to explain my disheveled appearance. “It’s kind of hot in here, don’t you think?”

“Actually, it feels pretty cool to me,” Anastasia chimes in, as she takes a sip of her drink.

“Right,” the bartender agrees, studying me closely. “Why don’t I get you some water, just in case?”

“Thanks,” I reply, grateful for his thoughtfulness. The weight of my phone in my pocket feels like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment with Paul’s response.

If he ever does respond. If he hasn’t by now, he probably won’t.

“Stella, are you feeling okay?” Anastasia asks, her voice laced with worry. “You seem a bit off since you left the bathroom.”

“Really, I’m fine,” I insist, forcing a smile onto my face. “Just a bit tired, I guess.”

“Maybe we should call it a night,” she suggests, her brow furrowed in concern. “We both have work tomorrow, and I know you’ve been pulling double shifts lately.”

I’m shocked… I’d thought she’d go home with the bartender, but from the look in her eyes, clearly, she’s tired too. The good thing about Anastasia…? She knows her own limits.

“Anastasia’s right,” the bartender chimes in, setting a glass of water down in front of me. “You two should get some rest. I’ll call a cab for you.”

And the bartender isn’t pushing for more? Clearly, there are still good men in this world. How come I can’t find one of them?

“Thanks, that’s really kind of you,” I tell him, taking a sip of the water. As I do, my thoughts drift back to the text message I sent to Paul. What if he doesn’t like the photo? What if he rejects me?

Then I move on and pretend like it never happened.

“Your cab is right outside,” the bartender interrupts my thoughts, his voice gentle and reassuring. “Take care of yourselves, okay?”

“Of course,” Anastasia replies, her hand resting on my shoulder. “I’ll text you.”

“You’d better.”

We gather our things and go outside. Feeling the cool night air against my flushed skin, I weave through the crowd towards the waiting cab. Anastasia links her arm with mine, guiding my stumbling steps. It’s practically the blind leading the blind.

The cab is already waiting for us when we go outside, and Anastasia helps me inside. As soon as the door shuts behind us, I sink into the worn leather seat.

The car pulls away from the bar, and the world outside the window becomes a blur of neon lights and shadowy figures. My heart races in my chest, pounding like the bass line of the music still playing at the bar.

“Stella?” Anastasia’s voice cuts through the silence, hesitant and concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem really out of it.”

“Y-yeah,” I stammer, forcing a weak smile onto my lips. “Just...thinking about something.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

My gaze drops to the floor, focusing on the tattered carpet beneath my feet. “Not right now, maybe later.”

“Alright,” she relents, squeezing my hand gently. “Look what I got.”

She reaches into the little pocket of her jacket and has a small bottle of fireball. My eyes widen. “How did you get that?”

“Swiped it when the bartender wasn’t looking. He won’t mind.”

I laugh and shake my head. Only Anastasia would do something like this. “Haven’t we drunk enough?”

She grins. “It’s just our post-game drinking. Now do you want some or not?”

“Why not?”

She hands me the bottle, and I take the first swig.