It’s been a long, hard shift at the bank. Thousands of dollars must have passed through my hands. I’ve washed them three times since getting to Lena’s, and they still smell metallic. I feel like I know the faces of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln better than my own parents’.

It’s a relief to take off my jacket, put up my feet, and relax with a glass of wine at Lena’s. Her husband, James, is out with his buddies, so we can have a genuine girls’ night in.

“How’s James doing?”

“Same old James.”

“Still letting you wear the pants?”

Lena laughs. “What are you talking about? I don’t know what you mean.”

Her grin is cheeky. We both know that Lena calls the shots in their relationship. She’s the big boss at work and at home, but James has a fantastic sense of humor and takes it all in stride. They’re a wonderful couple. Maybe I wouldn’t put so much stock in Lena’s wild advice if she wasn’t so blissfully happy in her own relationship.

Lena’s sitting room is large and spacious, a fifty-eight-inch TV screen barely taking up a quarter of one wall, a glitzy chandelier hanging down from the high white ceilings. It’s too easy to forget how well-off Lena is sometimes.

On her long, designer leather sofa, we’re watching The Bachelor and judging the reckless behavior of the contestants.

“What is with her eyebrows?”

“Looks like she’s lost her pencil sharpener.”

“Don’t they have make-up artists for these shows?”

“It would be a crime if someone got paid for that.”

My cell buzzes on the arm of the sofa.

Lena looks up with interest. “Who’s that?”

“I don’t know.” I lean forward and pick it up, then frown when I read the message out loud. “‘Hey sexy, I’m thinking about all the things I’d love to do to you right now.’ Jesus Christ!”

“Who is that from?” Lena’s eyes grow wide with excitement, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

“I have no idea. I’ll ask.”

I send back a simple: Who’s this?

Moments later, I get the reply: It’s your favorite Tinder match. Who else?

I read it aloud to Lena, and her grin grows wider.

“Who have you been talking to on Tinder?”

“Nobody! I mean, I did give out my number to a few guys last night, but I didn’t think anyone was going to reply.”

“Clearly they have.”

“I’m not replying to that. ‘I’m thinking about all the things I’d love to do to you.’ How gross is that?”

“Let me see his picture.”

“I don’t know which one it is.”

“How many did you give your number to?”

“Three—you dared me!”

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“Well, I did.”

“Now you’ve got a response. What are you going to do about it?”

“Ignore it. Sexting isn’t me. I don’t even know this guy.”

“That’s what makes it fun.”

Lena grabs the phone from my hand and holds me off with her foot when I try to grab it back. She moves like a ninja when it comes to stealing my stuff—that dates right back to childhood fights over the last cupcake.

Her fingers start flying across the keys, and when she stops fighting and hands the cell back, I know she’s up to no good.

I tear it from her hands and frantically search to find out what she’s done. I soon find the message that she’s sent in reply to the unexpected sext.

—Tell me more about all those things you were thinking about.

“Jesus, Lena—what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Oh, come off it, Sophie! We both know you’re not a virgin. Not unless you and Cole never consummated that micro-marriage.”

“Please stop calling it that.”

Lena shrugs. “Give it a try, Soph. You might like it.”

“I can’t believe you just did that. You invited a strange man to send me explicit messages. If I get a gross dick pic, I’m blaming you.”

“And if you get an awesome dick pic, you can thank me.”

“You need help, Lena. Honest to God, you’re a fiend.”

I’m annoyed that Lena has sent the message, but not in the least surprised. She’s been pushing me out of my comfort zone all my life. In fact, by convincing me that I would never forgive myself if I didn’t take a year off college, she’s the reason I met Cole Tanner in the first place.

“He’s messaged back already.”

“Read it!”

I give her a playful shove. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“I get it. Three’s a crowd.” She winks at me.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “You’re in a weird mood tonight.”

“I want to see you have a little fun.”

“Hmm.” I look up at the rose-gold clock on Lena’s wall. It’s almost midnight. Reluctantly, I put down my glass and reach for my coat. “I better get back anyway. Work in the morning.”

“Alright. I’ll call you an Uber.”

“Thanks.”

Ten minutes later, the Uber arrives, and I hug Lena goodbye. She gives me a tight squeeze, saying, “I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. Block that guy if it makes you uneasy.”

“I’ll think about it,” I promise.

She smiles warmly. “Keep me in the loop.”

“If I receive a dick pic, you will be the very first to know.”

“I’m honored.”

I leave her apartment and step into the waiting cab. In the backseat, I dare take another peek at the latest message from the mysterious Tinder suitor. Connor, Dave or Noah—who are you? If I ask, whoever it is will think I give out my number to every man I come across. Besides, if you ever meet them, you’ll recognize them from their profile.

The message reads: I want to rip off your clothes and run my tongue all over your body.

My heart flutters in my chest, and a rush of something hot and dangerous floods through me. I never do this.

An unexpected excitement fills me as I type back.

—What else?

I flick my eyes up to the mirror and briefly catch the driver’s gaze. Knowing what I’ve just read, I blush, wondering if he can tell I feel flushed.

—I want to see you completely naked. I want to kiss your neck and work my way down to your breasts, then run my hand up your legs until I reach your—

Woah. I stop reading, a giggle catching in my throat. I feel like a naughty teenager caught kissing her boyfriend behind the playground at school. I lean my head back against the headrest, stifling a nervous laugh and biting down on my lip.

When the driver pulls up outside my apartment a few blocks away, I quickly thank him, give him a dollar tip and rush into my apartment on the third floor of the downtown apartment block.

I close the door behind me and head for my bedroom. I get into my pajamas, plug my cell in to charge on my nightstand, and switch out the lights. The flashing blue light of a new message keeps me awake.

I reach out and read the rest of the last message, as well as the follow-up. I gasp, and laugh, squeezing my legs together as a warm feeling spreads. You’re turned on, Sophie. Admit it.

I trace my thumb across the screen for a moment, wondering whether I’m really going to do this.

Fuck it. Let’s live a little.