NUMBER NEIGHBOR: So are mine. For the record, I’m a 27 year old single male.

ME: Thank God.

NUMBER NEIGHBOR: You should know I prefer animals to kids.

ME: That’s fine. I’m really a 25 year old single woman with no kids. I was just saying that.

NUMBER NEIGHBOR: Interesting. So what is your favorite sex position?

ME: …Same as yours.

NUMBER NEIGHBOR: Even more interesting. Should I ask where you live or should we keep the mystique?

ME: Oh, we’re going to continue talking?

NUMBER NEIGHBOR: We don’t have to, but I presume you texted me for a reason.

ME: Yes. My friends made me. I told you that.

NUMBER NEIGHBOR: Shame. It’s been a while since I had a good sexting session.

ME: Do you sext often?

NUMBER NEIGHBOR: If I did, I probably wouldn’t be considering it with a complete stranger.

That was a very excellent point.

“What’s he saying?” Immy said, bouncing on the sofa.

“He wants to sext.” I looked up and blinked at them both. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

Fran drained the rest of her wine and put her glass down. “Get on with it, woman!”

“I have no idea who this person is!”

“That’s the point.” She leaned forward and grinned. “You don’t have to worry about ever running into them at the grocery store. Unless you actively decide to meet this person, the chances of you meeting them are basically zero.”

“She’s right,” Immy said, finishing her wine with a nod. “Have your sexting with the stranger and do yourself a favor.”

“Do myself a favor?” I stood to follow them to the front door. “How would that be doing myself a favor?”

Immy shrugged on her sweater. “Push the button, Hannah. Flick the bean. Tiddly your winks.”

“Masturbate,” Fran said brightly as my cheeks burned. “If he wants to sext, at least get yourself something out of it.” She pulled the door open.

“I’m not—I can’t… I am not masturbating to text messages with a stranger!” I cried, following them into the front yard.

Mrs. Keighley, my next-door neighbor, was in her yard watering her flowers even though it was ten p.m. At my words, she froze, drenching one of her beloved rose bushes, then peered at me over the rim of her glasses. “I guess it depends if you know what the stranger looks like, Hannah.”

Once again, my cheeks flamed.

Were all the old people in this town damn horny?

“Oh, my God,” I breathed, darting back inside. I slammed the door on everyone and leaned against it, exhaling heavily.

There was no way I was going to sext with a stranger.

That was ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

I was pretty sure that was how people got abducted. Like, they reeled you in with their sexy talk and then stalked you and stole you from a Walmart parking lot.

Note to self: don’t go to Walmart anymore.

I walked back into the living room and frowned at Lucifer. It was curled up on the back of the sofa, half on the closed curtain, fast asleep. The kitten opened its eyes and sneezed, sending tiny beads of snot all over the back cushion.