Funny, because suddenly an image pops up on the screen and starts to download. My heart skips a beat at the prospect of actually getting an inappropriate picture from Rigsby. Something tells me, I wouldn’t be at all disappointed.
But it’s not the image I was expecting. Instead, I see what can only be described as a smiling dog. A bubble of laughter spills from my lips.
Rigsby: Meet Jack, as in Jack Daniels.
Me: Oh my goodness, that face!!! *insert heart-shaped eyes emoji*
Rigsby: He’s got a lady-killer smile, what can I say? It was like we were meant to be together.
Me: I don’t have a wide knowledge about dogs. There’s definitely German Shepherd in him, right?
Rigsby: Yep, Shepherd and golden retriever.
Me: So tell me about it! How did you know to pick Jack?
Rigsby: Well, Jack picked me. They had about two dozen dogs and each one would have probably worked, honestly. When I got to the end of the row, Jack was coming out of a bath, soaking wet, and jumped at me. He licked me straight across the face. I knew he was my dog.
Me: That’s seriously the sweetest thing ever.
Rigsby: He’s two and belonged to a state trooper. She was killed by a drunk driver while helping a disabled car about four months ago. The shelter said the owner’s dad tried to hang on to him, but he lived in a small apartment and it wasn’t a good fit for Jack long term.
Me: That’s terrible.
Rigsby: I’ll admit, the story choked me up a little.
Me: Have you gotten him all settled?
Rigsby: Yep. We went to the pet store and I bought my next paycheck’s worth of dog stuff. When we got home, he went out and marked his territory for about ten minutes before even coming inside the house. We went for a long run too, which was interesting. I’ve never ran with a leashed dog before, and he was very interested in sniffing everything.
Rigsby: Plus, there was a squirrel incident, but we’re not getting into that tonight.
I laugh out loud and scroll back up to see the photo of the dog. He’s sitting on a porch, his tongue dangling from the side of his mouth, with a new red collar on his neck. I scan the background and see a pretty stellar view of the mountainside. I can’t help but wonder if that’s Risgby’s home and where exactly it’s located.
Rigsby: Anyway, I just wanted you two to meet. When I told him you were my Bestie, he didn’t seem to take too kindly to the insinuation that he’s my number two.
Warmth spreads through my veins. How can that be? I’ve never even met this man, yet here I am, getting all schoolgirl excited about the prospect of my sudden high ranking, even though I know it’s complete bullshit. A man like this is way too charismatic, too flirty. If I’m at the top of his friends list, I’m probably in the company of about a dozen other women.
Me: It’s still early in your relationship. I’m sure he’ll shoot past your never-met-before bestie in no time.
Rigsby: I’m hurt you’d insinuate I’d just replace you the moment I get a dog.
I can’t help but giggle. It’s a relaxed, light sound, one that always seems to come easily when I’m talking to him.
Rigsby: You know, we could remedy that. I could send you a pic, one that’s not of my dick. Unless you want me to send one. *insert winky face emoji* *insert eggplant emoji*
A gasp slips from my throat at the prospect. Do I want to see Rigsby? Well, yes, actually I do, but I’m not sure that’s for the best. And no, I’m not talking about down under. Although, I wouldn’t mind seeing that image either. But there’s something fun about the mystery of talking to him and not really knowing who he is. Is he gorgeous (that’s probably a yes) or have a potbelly and live in his mother’s basement? I’m not leaning that direction, not after the sweatpants photo.
Rigsby: I can see you’re considering my offer. Just let me know when to send you the pic. Dick or otherwise.
Me: You’re incorrigible.
Rigsby: I know. You tell me often.
Rigsby: Well, time to take Jack out for his nightly bathroom break. TTYL
Me: Did you really just type TTYL? Are you a thirteen-year-old girl?
Rigsby: LOL! No, I’m just a lazy guy.
Me: I’ll let it pass, but be careful so your teenage girl doesn’t show again…
Rigsby: You sound like my brother.
Me: He sounds smart.
Rigsby: He’s not. He’s a terrible nuisance.
Me: Spoken like a true sibling. Older or younger?
Rigsby: I’m older by two years.
Me: I wish I had a sibling.
Rigsby: None?
Me: Nope, only child.
Rigsby: Sometimes, I’d say you were the lucky one, but I admit, I’m glad to have my brother. He’s my best friend.
I can’t help but smile at the sentiment. That’s exactly how I imagined it would be to have a little brother or sister. Someone who annoyed me to the point I wished I was an only child, but then to have a person who’s like a best friend, who always has your back, who’s a call away when you need to talk or veg out with Chinese food.
Me: Should I be jealous?
Rigsby: Naw, he’s not nearly as pretty as you. *insert winky face emoji*
Me: You’ve never even seen me!
Rigsby: My imagination has been working ever since you sent me that accidental text Tuesday night, Bestie.
Why am I smiling so big?
Rigsby: OK, I really have to go. Jack is standing by the back door glaring at me.
Me: LOL! Goodbye.
I set my phone down in the cup holder and turn the ignition. As I head out of the empty parking lot, I’m still grinning like a lunatic, wondering what I’ve really gotten myself into with this man. It should probably bother me more than it does that I’m so friendly with a stranger, but he doesn’t feel like one. Even only a few days into this weird texting exchange, he feels more like a friend I’ve known for years.
Someone I can banter with.
Maybe even flirt with a little.
Harmless.
I’ve never been one to engage in flirting, my personality a little more reserved. Yet here I am, doing just that so freely. Even though it’s nerve-wracking to step out of my comfort zone with guys, it’s been fun to flirt a little. And not just my mystery texter, but with the runner too. There’s definitely some attraction there, and it appears to not be one-sided. I’ve caught him checking me out.
My lips turn upward in another grin.
Look at me.
Having fun.
***
“I can’t believe it’s a Friday night and you’re shopping,” Sabrina grumbles from behind the counter as I browse a selection of leather handbags.
Slip Into Style Boutique is empty on this Friday evening, which means my best friend can turn off her filter. “Why not? Is Friday not a good time to buy new clothes?” I ask, finding a gorgeous red leather handbag with black stitching.
I can feel Sabrina’s eye roll all the way over here. “You’re supposed to be out, having dinner, getting laid.”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Maybe I just wanted to visit with my best friend for a little bit this evening.”
She steps around the wide counter and approaches, a mischievous grin on her pale face. “I was going to text you later. I have excitement to share.”
“Do tell,” I reply, checking out the inside of the handbag. It has a soft gold liner with a few pockets, perfect for my phone, ink pens, lip balm.