Velvet Vengeance

"You bastard, Crane! You can't end our relationship in this manner."

I kept the phone away from my ear and rolled my eyes. She might have broken glass with the volume of her voice.

I gently remarked, "I told you from the beginning that we were just having fun." No assurances.

"You have no heart!" She let out a scream. "After everything"

I pressed the red button. The line died. Not a word. At last.

With a groan, I threw the phone onto the bed. There was no pain in my heart. It didn't. Despite my warnings, they constantly wanted more. I wasn't into "relationships." I had no desire for love. Just fun, attractive, and free of obligations.

I stared at my dorm room ceiling while raking a hand through my disheveled brown hair.

"Is it that hard to find a girl who just wants fun, without the drama?"

With a broad smile, my roommate Dean rushed into the room.

"Hey, Crane! Grace is having a party tonight. Are you coming? I've heard there will be a ton of attractive chicks, games, and drinks.”

I snorted and arched an eyebrow. "Grace? Really?”

Dean appeared perplexed. "What? It's been a year or so. You're not afraid of her anymore, are you?”

I spoke a bit too quickly when I said, "I'm not scared." "I simply don't want a wine glass to stab me in the eye."

Dean chuckled. "Gosh, dude. You truly screwed her up.”

I didn't respond. I recalled how lovely Grace had been. Kind eyes, gentle voice. I had broken her heart like glass under my boot after she had given it to me.

One evening. That was all that was required. One foolish error at a party with another female. The following day, Grace learned. I did not attempt to clarify. What was the purpose?

I grabbed my headphones and mumbled, "I'm staying in." "Tell me about it."

Dean shrugged. "Your loss."

The door clicked behind him as he walked out. For a moment, I sat there while the hush descended.

I lay in bed later that night and browsed through a dating app on my phone.

Make a swipe. Too brief. Make a swipe. Too dull. Make a swipe. A duck-face selfie, ugh. Make a swipe.

Then—bam. I paused.

A girl whose hair was long and golden-blond. Blue eyes that sparkle. Legs that extended indefinitely. Her smile was fun rather than sweet. Risky.

Belle was her name.

I clicked on her profile. Just photos, no bio. One of her wearing a tight red dress and drinking alcohol. Another with her naked shoulder showing through white linens. The final one, up close, her mouth open as if she were going to whisper something private.

As I messaged her, my fingers twitched:

"Hey, beautiful. For me, you've destroyed every other girl on this app."

I was surprised by how quickly she responded.

"Wow, it moved quickly. Is that how you always make your shots?”

I replied, "Only when it’s worth it," by typing.

"You're stunning. I'll be honest: I kind of want you right now.”

I smiled when she responded.

"Just sort of? That is disappointing.”

We continued to converse. She sent flirtatious, incisive, and fast texts. She was just as energetic as I was—perhaps even more so at times. That pleased me.

I spoke to Belle nonstop over the next few days. Day, night, or in between classes. A girl in my psychology class had been crushing on me for weeks, but I chose to ignore her.

I was captivated by Belle.

She did more than merely flirt; she teased, provoked, vanished for hours, and then returned with a fiery text. As if she were trying to gauge my desire for her.

One evening, I sent:

"I've been thinking about you all day. When are we able to meet?”

She answered:

"Not just yet. Have patience, sweetie. Later, you will thank me for it.”

I let out a loud groan. Was I being played? Oh no. Perhaps.”

I didn't stop, though. Couldn't.

She sent something different one night.

"You ever think about being the one played for once?"

I blinked. "I always win, sweetheart."

"Mm," she typed. "We’ll see."

She sent the picture.

In bed, I sat up.

She was covered in black silk and lying across from him on a velvet couch. Her hair fell in golden waves over her shoulders. She had her bottom lip bitten. My heart was racing because there was just enough of her thigh visible.

She wrote underneath:

"Baby, do you believe you are the player? Hold off till I'm finished with you.”

I looked at the picture.

She was different from the others.

She posed a threat.

And she was what I most desired.

“You think you're the player, baby? Wait till I’m done with you.”