I wipe the sweat off my brow. God, that was an amazing workout. How is it that the CrossFit people always know which buttons to push, to make me just absolutely sweat my ass off? Becca and Ashley come up beside me and we walk out the front doors and into the fading evening light.

“So,” Becca asks as we stand on the curb, waiting for our Uber to show up, “have you heard from Mr. Sexy Outlaw lately?”

“No. We’re supposed to go on that date on Wednesday night, but I haven’t heard anything from him since yesterday.”

Not, of course that I have been checking my phone obsessively all day long to see if he’d called or texted me. I’m not desperate.

I have, however, checked occasionally…as long as the definition of “occasionally” is every five minutes. That, I’ve done.

I pull out my phone and check again. Nothing.

“He said he was going out of town for three days, so that’s probably why,” I say confidently.

“And wherever he’s going, they don’t have cell service?” Ashley asks with a cocked eyebrow.

I ignore that question. It was the same one that had been haunting me all day and quite frankly, I didn’t like the implications, so straight into the ignore category it went.

“God, the Uber is taking forever to get here,” Becca complains, looking up and down the busy street as if that’d magically summon the vehicle to us. She always was impatient.

Unlike you? a voice inside my head asks.

I ignore that question too.

“Have you Facebook stalked him?” Ashley asks, apparently also onboard with the Ignore Becca’s Impatience plan.

“No,” I say wonderingly, “I haven’t. Let’s do that right now!” I dig back into my purse, my heart racing with excitement again. I cannot believe I didn’t think to do that before now. Leave it to Ashley to think of these sorts of things.

“Okay,” I say, hitting the search button to bring up the search screen, “let’s see what Facebook has to say on the topic.”

I type in Carlton Caldwell and even, I’ll admit, Diesel Caldwell. Do outlaws have last names?

But, nothing.

How is that even possible?? Who doesn’t have a Facebook page? I scrunch up my nose, suddenly unsure about Diesel the Outlaw. What the fuck could we have in common if he didn’t even bother to have a Facebook page? I bet he doesn’t even have an Instagram account. I pull up the Instagram app and check.

Nope.

Wow. It’s like he’s from the 1980s or something.

“You should google him,” Becca suggests, still staring up and down the street of vehicles whizzing by, car horns honking…and not an Uber in sight. “He has to be on Google.”

“Oh, I like that,” I say, switching apps. “C’moooonnnnn Google. What do you have?”

I start thumbing down the list of results, scanning as I go. “Caldwell Corporation,” I mumble to myself. “God, what a boring name.”

Becca waits for the Uber, staring at her screen willing it the car to come faster while Ashley and I stare at my screen, reading through the articles.

“He’s a real estate guy?” I ask, disappointed. I want a caveman. I want a Viking. I want a man. I don’t want some guy who makes real estate deals while sipping high-end Scotch with a bunch of old white guys.

Like, ugh.

“Oh my god, the Caldwell family?” Ashley asks and starts laughing. “They vacay with the Kennedys, for fuck’s sakes. Every time those two families go to Martha’s Vineyard together, it hits all the tabloids. That’s your outlaw?”

I swear to god, if she’s starts crying with laughter, I’m gonna punch her in the nose. Or at least order decaf the next time I buy her coffee. She did that once to me, and I almost died that day.

She’s still laughing.

And…wiping away tears.

Oh yeah, definitely decaf revenge time.

“Oh Lisa,” she finally says, getting her breath back enough to talk, “Diesel isn’t an outlaw any more than you are!”

The Uber pulls up then – finally – and we slide inside, giving directions to my place. We can clean up there and then go out somewhere to eat. I’m starving.

Becca, who’s missed like all of our conversation while fighting the Uber overlords, says, “So, is Diesel the real deal?”

Ashley shakes her head. “Not even close,” she says.

“Hold on, hold on,” I interrupt, holding up my hand as the car swerves in and out of traffic. Good thing I don’t get car sick. I’d be throwing up right about now. “I don’t know that we can say that for sure. Yet. Maybe, he’s like that one superhero dude who pretends one thing during the day and then does something else at night!”

“You mean Superman?” Becca asks dryly.

So I’m not a geek over comic books. Sue me.

“Yeah, him. So, how can we know for sure if Diesel the Outlaw really is tough and, you know, an outlaw?”

We sit back against the seat, swaying to the left and then to the right in unison as the Uber weaves down the road and around corners. Like a carnival ride, Uber style. I have to wonder if Becca threatened them with a lawsuit if they didn’t get us home in time or something.

“Dick pics!” Ashley announces.

“What?!” Becca and I squeal in unison. I promise, we didn’t practice that. It just sorta happened.

“Yeah. If he’s swinging a big dick, we’ll know he’s at least a man. Plus, then we all get to admire the package he’s packing.”

“Ooohhhhh…I like how you think,” I say, wide-eyed at her brilliance. “God, I’m glad you’re my friend, not my enemy. That level of conniving is genius.”

We screech to a stop outside of my apartment building and as Becca swipes her credit card through the reader – it’s her turn to pay – we all pile out and head to the elevator. Becca squeezes in and as we start the ascent, I begin texting Carlton. God, I hate that name.

I begin texting Diesel.

Much better.

“There,” I say, pressing send. “Now let’s see if he responds. Hopefully, where he’s at really does have phone service.”

The doors open just as my phone vibrates in response.

As you wish.

And then...

“Oh…” Ashley breathes, jostling up against me.

“My…” Becca echoes, squishing in from the other side.

“God,” I finish because someone had to and I promise, we didn’t practice that one either. But the sight of this magnificent cock was literally swoon worthy. I felt a little faint as I stared at the thick, veiny, purple headed cock on my screen.

I hand the phone over to Ashley with a stern, “Don’t drop this and for fuck’s sakes, don’t close that pic!” as I shove my key in the door. Once we’ve made it in the door, we all gather around my phone for some more oogling time.

“I think it’s almost as big as Apollo’s dick,” Ashley finally says, and I just glare at her. There is no way Apollo, a suit, has a dick this big. She shrugs at my glare. “I’ll have to have him do a dick pic sometime so I can show you guys.”

I turn back to the photo in my hand. Apollo is fine and whatever, but he isn’t Diesel. Ashley’s welcome to her boyfriend.

“So, now that we at least know that he’s hung,” Ashley says, “how else can we know that he’s an outlaw?”

We begin cleaning up in the bathroom. Thank god it’s big with double sinks so we can spread out.

“What do all outlaws ride?” Ashley asks, excitement in her voice.

“Horses?” Becca asks, deadpan.

“Outlaws in this century,” Ashley shoots back.

“Motorcycles…” I say slowly. “Ash, you’re a genius!” I drop my hairbrush and begin texting Diesel again. “If you are a real outlaw,” I mutter out loud as I type, “you’ll pick me up on your motorcycle and take me somewhere dangerous on our date. There!” I say, pressing send. “Let’s see what he has to say about that.”

Before I can even put the phone down, it vibrates.

Deal.

“I wonder where he’s going to take you!” Becky squeals, as my phone vibrates again.

Fair’s fair - I showed you mine…

“Oh god, Lisa!” Ashley squeals in my ear. She snuck a peek over my shoulder. “Are you going to? Are you?”

“What?” Becca asks, crowding in on the other side of me. She lifts her gaze and all three of us stare at each other in the mirror over the bathroom counter. There’s nothing but the sound of my heartbeat.

“Are you?” Becca asks breathlessly.

“Do it, do it, do it!” Ashley chants, and Becca joins in. I start laughing. I cannot believe them!

I cannot believe I’m considering this!

With a big inhalation for courage, I slip into my bedroom, lay down on the bed, pull my panties to the side, and click!

Like a selfie, except, you know, not my face.

After a couple more tries to get it just right, I send it off, hardly breathing when I do. This isn’t me. I don’t do shit like this! But there’s something about Diesel that makes me want to...

Nice. The text message is almost instantaneous. Now I’ll have something to stare at tonight when I go to sleep.

You better take me somewhere amazing, and dangerous, for our date.

You’ll just have to wait and see.

He’s killing me, absolutely killing me.