Not gonna lie– I have a nasty habit of reading other people’s phones at sporting events and other assorted communal gatherings. If you sit in front of me, there’s a good chance that, by the end of the night, I’ll know: A) your girlfriend’s or boyfriend’s pet name, B) what you’re doing l8r, and C) whether you’re having an affair or not. Like, I’m pretty sure the guy who sat in front of me and my dad before we canceled our Phillies season tickets was cheating on his wife. He was like 55-60 and would send weird, flirty text messages that people who are 55-60 don’t typically send… and his wife was always with him.
So yeah, it’s safe to say that if this woman was seated in front of me and reading that*, she would’ve had a purple dog toy in the back of her neck by the end of the night.
*I tried typing “he could feel her impending orgasm before she called out his name” and “felt the telltale quiver of her thighs” into Google to see what book this was. I got nothing. This chick is reading some real progressive shit. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was translated Guatemalan erotica or something. You got to respect that. This ain’t Fifty Shades of Grey, this is off some indie writer’s deep tracks. And I do mean deep. “Uhhhh, yeah, deep” she breathed in a hushed tone so as to not alert the chubby usher who had no idea what was really going down in his section. “Real deep.”