It’s a photo.

And she’s naked in it.

She’s talking to me naked.

She’s never sent me a picture so personal before, and thank fuck she hasn’t, because now I’m useless. My brain cells are melting and disintegrating one at a time.

Holy fuck.

I’ve received private photos from women in the past. Images with seductive lighting and perfectly curated posed positions have filtered across my screen. This one from RB is different. It’s private. Intimate. Not staged. The angle is wonky and it’s a little dark.

But it’s designed for only me because she’s thinking about me, right now, and not using a photo from a batch that might get sent to another guy down the road.

“He’s talking to his girlfriend,” Noah supplies and I slap his arm.

“Girlfriend?!” Patrick asks. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend!”

“I know you talk to her at work. And when we’re at lunch,” Noah says casually. He’s an instigator and knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Can someone please explain what the hell is going on?” Neil asks. “You two have a secret the rest of us don’t know and it blows.”

A part of me was secretly hoping I could keep this whole situation under wraps, not disclosing any information to the guys until after the party when I could brush it off and laugh over a few beers.

It’s no longer going to be that easy, given we’re meeting soon and she’s currently sending me bathtub photos that are causing me to melt into a puddle on this damn bench.

My friends deserve to know what’s going on, especially because I’m going to need some serious advice on how to proceed from here. It’s time to come clean.

Heaving a sigh, I get ready to begin the tale.

God, they’re going to laugh their asses off.

“Noah already knows. He got me into this predicament.”

“I did no such thing. I pushed you in the right direction. You’re the one who decided to jump.”

“What the hell are you jumping into? Spill,” Patrick demands.

I launch into the full story, telling them about Noah passing along RB’s contact information, and the messages that have transpired. I share about our frequent communication, and that she’s going to be attending the anniversary party with me. When I let them know I’m going to be meeting her in a few days, in person, for the very first time, Patrick audibly gasps and Jack drops his fork onto the table.

When I finish talking ten minutes later, no one says a word.

“Will someone please speak? You’re freaking me out,” I mumble.

“Let’s run this back so I can make sure I’m understanding this correctly,” Neil says. “Henry Dawson, notoriously anti-relationships and dating, hired someone to be his girlfriend.”

“Yeah.”