All right, yeah, sure, so it wasn't much: that unexpected email from him with nothing more than a link; but 'twas enough to show me My State Policeman was still thinking about me and, more importantly, obviously wanted me to know it.
I kept my response to him brief and on-topic, although what I really felt like composing was a rambling gushy schoolgirlish reply along the lines of being thrilled by his missing me.
I'm not sure if Tony was hovering around the 'net waiting to hear from me, maybe he just happened to be accessing his Gmail at that exact time, but, within a minute of me sending my answer, my cellular buzzed. He'd texted an acknowledgement he'd received what I'd written; a moment later came a flirtatious one-liner, then another, then another, and another. He was behaving as if that horrible recent fight of ours had never even occurred.
Should I ignore him? Or go with the flow?
My heart took the reins. Damn him for being soooooo sexy! I typed back in kind to his lustful conveyances. This set off a flurry of erotic texts, carrying on long past midnight, between us. I finally fell asleep, my dreams riddled with bringing to life the fantasies we'd just communicated in words.
I was wakened the next morning by my phone's alert of incoming messages. I smiled as I perused them through bleary eyes. Apparently Mr. Gattuso had a similar slumber of vividness. We exchanged more sexually-charged comments over the next few hours before those on his end promptly ceased. I figured he'd simply gotten distracted by real-world trifles. However, the more I thought about it the more I focused on what he'd said during the public argument we'd had and the self-disparaging remarks he'd made throughout the course of our relationship.
Being a mistress is supposed to be fun. I did not sign up as a toy for the mind games of a neurotic man.
