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It started off as a game, sending a pic anonymously. All I’d planned to do was ruffle her feathers, maybe make her blush with embarrassment and possibly desire. I sure as hell had no intention of falling for her.
Although I fantasized about her being beneath me, watching her unravel, that would never happen anywhere other than in my wet dreams. Bronwyn James was fine wine to my cheap beer—the two didn’t mix in polite society without a hangover.
But on Snapchat, we were equals. Social and economic standings didn’t come into play, and neither did our age…until my feelings got involved. I’d gone from wanting Bronwyn in my bed to needing her in my life—but that might be too much to ask since I hadn’t been willing to tell her who I was.
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