Pink Pansies ✺ A Pedro Pascal A.U.

Chapter 7: My New Favorite Game

I sat there, grinning at my phone like an idiot.

After a few moments of back and forth in my head, I decided to play my new favorite game. I scrolled to the top of the messages and sought out the beginning. Rereading our exchanges satisfied the part of me that was infatuated. It fed my fantasy in a way that was safer than engaging in more conversation and potentially suffocating the beginnings of a spark.

Pedro: I love a cultured cutie.

Through my brief exploration and even briefer interactions on that dating app, I had encountered a few methods that men used when trying to start a conversation. The first was an overt expression of their attraction to me which was either disgusting or satiated my ego enough for me to end it there. The second was often an attempt at seeming wise or deep but came off as pretentious and vaguely narcissistic. The last and most effective, for me at least, was an invitation to a public place to get to know them better.

I remember thinking Pedro's approach was unique; flirty with potential for an authentic exchange. If I decided to seize that opportunity. My intention on this app was to see what options were available to me even though I normally went with what I knew. There was comfort in knowing I had the control. This was different for me, especially because of his age. I chose to test the waters.

Emi: I do too.
Are you one?

Pedro: I'd say so, but what do you think?

When I first scrolled through his profile I found myself cautiously optimistic about his good looks and our common interests. I had decided to reply, toying more with the idea than anything.

Emi: You listen to Helado Negro.
That's a good start.

Pedro: Only when I'm feeling soft and tender.

I honestly hadn't planned on taking any of this seriously until that message. At the time, and during this rereading, I listened to Pais Nublado and began to imagine what Pedro might be like in moments of tender intimacy.
How would he look at me: bashfully or with a gentle attentiveness capable of unwinding? What about the tone of his voice: would it be hushed and patient or affection yet slightly husky with anticipation? How would his hands feel on my skin; delicate enough to bring goosebumps to the surface or just the right amount of pressure to make my toes curl? What would his lips feel like? His scruff? Could his kisses melt from the inside out?

Emi: Is that often?

Pedro: Guess you'll have to see for yourself.

I threw my head back, my phone down and took a deep breath.

Pedro was dangerous. I hadn't been able to stop these fantasies and my new favorite game since I saw him. Originally I thought maybe I would sleep with him, just to see what it was like to be with an older man. Then when we were sitting at the bar, I wanted to be the only one who didn't sleep with him, if only to keep his attention a little longer. But I still wanted to sleep with him. He made it difficult to feel any other way. 

I didn't know what this was with Pedro, but I knew it diverged from my usual pattern. I pursued people that could meet my needs without getting too attached. I liked having that power. But this back and forth with Pedro left me craving more, and that both frightened and excited me. Maybe he was wrapped around my finger, but with his charm and experience it was likely that he had more practice than I did in knowing just what to say. It was my goal to not give in too easily.

Now, I found myself flirting in new ways, edging almost, and silently but impatiently waiting for the opportunities to do so.

I picked my phone up again, and continued reading.

A few days had passed between his message and my reply. I had spent that time looking at his pictures, his age, and thinking about whether or not I did want to see for myself. I remember thinking of it as an experiment.

Emi: What are you doing this Friday?

Pedro: I was thinking of going to the Library Bar.
Care to join me?

Emi: Sure, does 10:30 work?

Pedro: That's perfect.

Then the messages resumed that Friday night, or technically early Saturday morning. We parted ways shortly after our drawn out hug in the parking lot. I wanted to kiss him then but there was something electric about letting that feeling linger.

He had insisted I let him know when I got home. I was taken aback by the desire to message him as soon as I got out of the uber. Instead, I waited until I was getting into bed.

Emi: Made it home safely.

Pedro: Lovely.
     When can I see you again?

Rereading that brought a flutter to my stomach. When I initially got the message my entire body lit up - I didn't think about why he wanted to see me again. It was enough knowing he did. And I wanted to keep him in that place.

Emi: In your dreams.
Goodnight, Pedro <3

Pedro: Goodnight, Emi.

There was a lull in the conversation. This started the daydreaming, and the reliving of that Friday night and then my new favorite game which encompassed all of it. Then he messaged me. New content for my imagination. And now...now there were definitive plans to see him again.

It was a shame it was only Tuesday.

✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺✺

What do you guys think?

Have you ever reread conversations with a crush instead of letting them know exactly how you feel? I found myself doing this a lot when I was on dating apps lol so I kinda drew from my own experience. I tried to capture that feeling of reflection & day dreaming so I hope it makes sense lol!

I'm really excited about the direction of this story. Let me know what you think in the comments & please vote if you like the story so far :)

Also, I moved his dating profile to the first "chapter" so if you want to look back on it, check there! <3