My phone buzzed on the couch next to me. A text. Ana. My mind flew backward – we had dated a while in high school. Four foot eleven, olive skin, big, brown eyes, waves of curly black hair cascading down her back, and a huge pair of perky breasts just beginning to give way to gravity, with gingersnap nipples. She’d been adopted as an infant into a firmly upper class family, the brain of Regina George in the body of a Nicaraguan sexpot. She’d been my first.
The text. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Not much, just playing a little Xbox. What’s up with you?”
“Just put dinner on.”
I went back to my game. A few minutes later, another buzz.
“We had some good times didn’t we?”
“Yeah, we did.”
“Remember that time down by the river?” How could I ever forget? “And in the Target dressing room?”
“Oh yeah. Hell yeah. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was.”
No response. I guess I’m not as smooth as I thought. Back to the game.
Another buzz.
“You know it’s been a while. Since Chase and I broke up.”