Chapter 1 Hey, asshole. Did you seriously just leave while I was in the bathroom? I stand on the side of the road, arms crossed over my chest, glaring at my phone like it personally betrayed me. The chilly night air bites at my exposed skin, as my little black dress offers zero protection against the elements. But I'm too pissed to care. I can't believe this actually happened to me. My date freaking bailed in the middle of dinner. I don't expect an immediate reply. Honestly, I don't expect a reply at all. So when my phone vibrates in my hand a second later, my heart gives a stupid little lurch. Maybe there's a logical explanation. Maybe his mom called with an emergency. I'm a nurse, so I could understand that. I'm not remotely prepared for the lame-ass excuse that pops up. Who's this? I blink at the screen. What the actual hell? First he bails, now he's playing dumb? I'm poised to unleash several choice words when a horrific thought hits me. I double-check the number I saved from the dating app, and a chill washes over me. Shit. I transposed two numbers. Uh, I think I have the wrong number. Ignore me. I move to lock my phone and hail a taxi, but another message comes through. Too late. I'm intrigued. A shiver runs down my spine, and this time, it has nothing to do with the cold. I chew my lip, considering. I have no idea who this person is, whether they're even a man or a woman. But I'm still wired from the adrenaline rush of being abandoned mid-date, and a little conversation won't kill me. Intrigued by what? Some random woman cussing out her bad date? Not much of a story. Depends. What's my competition look like? I snort. The man bailed while I was reapplying my lip gloss, leaving a half-finished cocktail and zero explanation. He's hardly competition for anyone. Unless you're a cowardly man who sneaks off when your date used the restroom, there's no contest. So I win by default. The sheer cockiness makes me laugh. My irritation evaporates, replaced by amused curiosity, as I slide into the cab idling at the curb. Once I'm settled, I turn back to the conversation. That depends. What exactly did you win? I won the chance to prove to you that not all men are spineless idiots. I can't deny the man has game. I have a decision now. I could keep up the flirtation with some random, faceless stranger, or block this number, go home, and drown my sorrows in a bottle of wine. I shift in the back seat and feel a surge of boldness I haven't tasted in ages. Flirty texting it is. Bold assumption. Maybe I was only looking for a one-night stand. So you want a spineless asshole sleeping in your bed tonight? My stomach tightens as embarrassment washes over me. Who is this stranger to question what kind of man I take home? I'm tempted again to just block his number and call it a night, but I can't help but fire back. Who's to say I would want a guy like you sleeping in my bed? If I were in your bed, there wouldn't be much sleeping happening. And I happen to have a very sturdy spine. I bite my lip, grinning at the screen. Who is this guy? When the cab stops, the driver barely glances up as I pay and slip out. Phone in hand, I walk toward my apartment. A smooth talker, eh? That only works on me if you look good doing it. A photo comes through, and even though it shows only half his face and the broad planes of his chest, it does wicked things to me. Does that work for you? My breath catches. Holy hell. Cocky and hot? My night just took a sharp turn for the better. Yet a cautious voice whispers that I shouldn't be doing this. I don't even know this man. But he's leaps and bounds hotter than my runaway dinner date. I step into my apartment, skin flushed and a familiar heat pooling between my thighs. It's ridiculous that one sexy half of a face and chest is all it takes. Paired with his words and the sting of being ditched, I'm already buzzing. You're trouble, aren't you? Only the best kind, malyshka. I quickly Google the word, and holy hell, the translation sends a flutter through my chest. I perch on the edge of my bed and squeeze my thighs together, desperate for a sliver of friction. I wonder if this stranger really could ruin me. I could desperately use a little ruining. My fingers hover over the keyboard before I finally tap out the next text. I know it'll only fan the flames. Without second-guessing, I hit send and let out a little squeal as I stare at the screen. I'm home. I wait with staggered breath as I watch him type. Good. Get comfortable. Your night deserves a happy ending. He sends another picture of him winking at me. That single icy-blue eye spears straight to my core, and damn it, the top half of his face is every bit as hot as the lower. Heat pulses through me, my mind full of his smooth words and that lethal body. I drop onto the bed, fingers tightening around my phone as I imagine him here with me. I imagine the weight of his body, the hard planes of his back, the heat of his breath at my neck-those blue eyes pinning me in place beneath him. A phantom grip cinches my waist, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. I hesitate, biting my lip, but the pulsing ache between my thighs makes the decision for me. My free hand dips under the waistband of my panties, tracing a slow, teasing path lower. You're dangerous. And you like it. My breath hitches as I press my fingers against my aching heat, a moan slipping from my lips. I conjure the sound of his voice. It's gravelly and commanding, murmuring in my ear, telling me exactly how he'd touch me, exactly how he'd ruin me. I let the fantasy take over, hips arching into my own touch. My phone slides off the bed, forgotten, as I sink deeper into the sensation. In my mind, it's the stranger's hands trailing over my skin, his body pressing me into the mattress, his teeth grazing my throat. I feel the phantom weight of him between my thighs, the scorch of his breath at my neck. His voice, dark and dripping with promise. You like that, don't you, malyshka? A moan catches in my throat as my body tightens, starving for more. I plunge two fingers deep inside myself, breath tearing free as I chase the high building inside me. I can almost feel him, the rough scrape of his stubble against my skin, the commanding grip of his hands. I use my own juices and swirl my finger over my clit until the climax crashes over me, a sharp, shattering pleasure unfurling in waves. I bite my lip, stifling my cry, thighs clenching as I ride it out. When the aftershocks fade and my body relaxes against the sheets, a slow, satisfied sigh escapes me. The moment my breathing steadies and reality seeps back in, embarrassment hits hard. I stare at my phone, pulse still thrumming from the high I just chased, and wonder what the hell is wrong with me. I just got off to a man I've never even met. A faceless stranger with nothing but potentially misplaced confidence and a cocky choice of words. So that was an accident. The text, I mean. I should leave it at that. Close the chat, toss the phone on the nightstand, and crash. But I don't. Instead, I keep my eyes glued to the screen, stomach tight with anticipation. His reply pops up a few seconds later. No such thing as accidents, malyshka. And just like that, the ache stirs all over again. If I had meant to text you, I would've led with something classier. So you're saying you don't normally send angry texts to strange men in the middle of the night? Believe it or not, no. I actually have standards. Then why were you on a date with a guy who didn't? Oof. That one stings. The truth is, I knew better. I'd pegged him as a waste of my time the moment he spent more energy scrolling his phone than looking at me. I should've walked out then, but I didn't, because it's been months since I put myself out there, and I was sick of feeling alone. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. A woman like you shouldn't have to. My breath catches in my throat. And what kind of woman am I? The kind that deserves better. It's such a simple thing to say, but something about it leaves me speechless. It's been a long time since I've let a man get under my skin. The last time I dipped a toe back into dating, it spiraled into months of wasted time, empty promises, and me sitting alone at a two-top while my ex ghosted me for the final time. I swore I wasn't going to do that to myself again. I swore I was going to focus on work, on myself, on anything that didn't involve men and the inevitable disappointment that followed. But something in the ease of this stranger's messages makes it hard to remember why I built that wall in the first place. You can make it up to me. My eyebrows furrow as I reread the message. Make what up to you? I reply. The accidental text. And how exactly can I do that? Let a real man take you on a date. My fingers hover, frozen, above the keyboard. Meeting him in real life could shatter the intoxicating image I've already built-one that just gave me a mind-blowing orgasm. Reality might fall painfully short. You don't even know me. I know enough, he says. Do you? I want to ask. Do you know that I'm not the kind of woman who does casual dating? Do you know that I've spent the last year convincing myself that I don't need romance to be happy? That I can be fine on my own? But the same reckless voice that urged me into that fantasy now whispers, Say yes. Maybe it's the loneliness talking. Maybe it's the undeniable curiosity of what kind of man has the confidence to ask out a complete stranger and actually make her want to say yes. Whatever it is, it has me typing out a response before I can talk myself out of it. Fine. One date. But if you turn out to be a weirdo, I'll be the one leaving in the middle of dinner. I promise you won't have any reason to. The certainty in his words makes my stomach somersault. Tomorrow night. Seven. I'll send you the location, he types. So bossy. You'll like that about me. And just like that, I have a date with a stranger whose texts have my body reacting in ways it shouldn't. A date with a man I know nothing about. But for the first time in ages, I'm not dreading putting myself out there. I feel excited. Title: A Mother's Rewind Tomorrow In "A Mother's Rewind Tomorrow" by CrushReel, Flora Hayes's life takes a tragic turn after a fatal car accident. However, her final moments reveal a chilling glimpse of a future fraught with peril for her children two decades ahead. Exploring themes of resilience and sacrifice, this CEO drama intricately weaves elements of modernity and time travel into a compelling narrative set within the grandeur of a mansion and the intensity of an office environment. As Flora grapples with the aftermath of her premonition, the story delves deep into familial bonds and the weight of destiny. What sets "A Mother's Rewind Tomorrow" apart is its masterful blend of suspense and emotional depth, captivating readers with its intricate plot twists and nuanced character development. Discover the gripping saga at CrushReel, where this ongoing tale awaits those eager to embark on a journey through time and motherly love.