by Hawkins, JD
“Cheers to that.” Savannah digs past the fancy cheese and crackers and chocolate we’re going to treat ourselves to later and pulls out the finest ten dollar bottle of rosé that the liquor store had to offer.
“I love you,” I tell her as she pours heavy into a plastic cup. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“I love you too, Zoe-Bowie.” She takes a healthy swallow of the wine. “How did yesterday’s video go?” she asks.
“I’m still editing, but the footage looks great. It’ll be my third show demonstrating major transformations. I invited some incredible local drag queens to walk us through their favorite looks from start to finish, and I somehow managed to get Ama Thyst and Cherry Poppins to guest star. They were both so excited to be on the show.”
Savannah squeals, almost spilling her drink on the towel. “You had Ama Thyst on Makeup for the People and you didn’t invite me over to meet her?”
“C’mon, you work in film, you know how it is. It’s important to be professional.”
Despite her tomboyish nature and her preference for minimal makeup, broken-in boyfriend jeans and plain white button-ups, Savannah’s eye for style is flawless when it comes to her work, her attention to detail unparalleled.
While I was taking all my Marketing and Communications classes at Emerson, Savannah studied Screen and Stage Design/Technology, and she always had her nose in a book of period costumes or historic architecture or retro interior design. But even though nowadays she’s always busy planning and designing the looks of film and TV projects’ sets, locations, costumes and props, she’s never lost her passion for stage makeup. According to Savannah, faces are the ultimate design project.
So around Halloween last year, I invited her to come on Makeup for the People as a guest star for a series of episodes that showcased how to do DIY Halloween makeup classics, zombies and witches, vampires and werewolves. We had a blast. The one on zombies has reached nearly three million views to date, and I’ve had a ton of requests to have her come back on—she just hasn’t been able to take a break from her crazy hectic work schedule yet.
I grin. “I’m sorry you missed them this time, but if it makes you feel any better…I just happened to be given two VIP tickets to Ama Thyst’s next drag competition, and I’d love to have you as my date.”
“Yes!” Savannah envelops me in a gigantic hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
I pry her off me with a laugh and sip my rosé. “I think this video is going to be a big hit. Their banter was so funny, I was practically rolling on the floor laughing. Cherry’s British accent—oh my gosh. Their comedic timing is impeccable, as is their makeup, of course. I heard they both made it to the final round of auditions for the next season of RuPaul’s Drag Race.”
Savannah shakes her head. “I’m very jealous you had a whole afternoon with them.”
“At least you get to do what you love all the time! I still have to grovel at the altar of corporate consumerism to pay the bills,” I grumble.
“Generic company names like LoveLife always make me think of cults or Ponzi schemes,” Savannah observes. “If they serve fruit punch, don’t drink it.”
“They would never serve fruit punch. More like wheat grass shots with a side of turmeric capsules.”
Savanna giggles. “I still can’t believe you accidentally slept with your boss.”
I take another gulp from my cup. “I know, like, what are the odds? At least if Liam were a jerk all the time, I would know what to expect. But instead he’ll start to convince you he’s an okay guy, and then suddenly he’s a total asshole again. I spend most of my time at the office trying to avoid him, but it’s like we can’t stop bumping into each other. And why does he have to be so friggin’ hot in those designer suits? It’s distracting.”
“That sounds stressful. Do you think you’re going to stay?”
“I’ll stay as long as the temp position goes for. I’m not going to let Liam bully me into quitting. I’m tougher than that. Also, with Jonathan gone, my expenses have doubled. All the rent, all the utilities, all the food. I don’t really have a choice.”
“Your shoulders are getting pink,” Savannah says, and I hand her the bottle of sunscreen to touch up the spots I missed. She starts to rub the lotion into my skin. “You know, you could always move in with me and Thomas while you’re figuring stuff out. We have a super comfy couch you could crash on, and with our work schedules you’d end up having the place to yourself most of the time. You could bring Garfield, too.”
“Thanks but no thanks. First off, I love my apartment and I’m too old to crash on a friend’s sofa, and second, you couldn’t have married a sweeter film nerd. That said, I don’t know how you deal with his snoring.”
“Noise-cancelling headphones and earplugs. Well, and how else do you think I know how comfortable the couch is?”
We dissolve into giggles and then our conversation tapers off into a comfortable silence as Savannah turns back to the final pages of her book. I find my eyelids getting heavy thanks to the heat and the wine. As I start to drift off, I daydream that I’m in an extravagant private jet, reclining in a supremely soft chair, drinking a bellini from a fluted glass. When I finish the cool, refreshing drink, it’s immediately replaced by a tall, tuxedoed man awaiting my every beck and call. Except I realize, of course, that it's Liam.
“Is there anything else you'd like?” he asks, leaning over me, that familiar mischievous grin playing across his lips.
“As a matter of fact there is,” I reply, smiling in return as I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach toward him—
* * *
Savannah shakes me awake. “Zoe, are you okay?”
“What?” I sit up, a little breathless, feeling a bead of sweat trickle between my breasts and a hot, unbearable ache between my legs.
“You were moaning in your sleep. I could have sworn you said ‘Liam,’” she teases.
“Very funny,” I grumble, glancing at the beachgoers to my left and right, wondering if I really was moaning and if so, how loud. “Maybe we should head out. It’s getting late.”
“Yeah, sure,” she says, reaching for her beach bag and then freezing, her eyes widening. “Oh crap, Zoe. Look behind you, but don’t be obvious.”
Everything is blurry without my contacts, but over my shoulder I see the vague outline of a muscular man, broad shoulders, chiseled abs, the sculpted body of a Greek statue in motion.
“It’s him!” Savannah hisses into my ear. “It’s the wakeboarder, from before. He’s totally coming over here! You have to talk to him.” She flips her hair over one shoulder and lets out a shrill, forced laugh, as if I just said something hilarious. I shake my head at her, suppressing a grin at her antics, and roll over onto my back in an attempt to look more casual.
One, two, three steps forward and I can finally make out his face. My insides crumple and I want to disappear straight down into the sand. I can feel my cheeks flushing. “Oh god.”
“So you do know him!”
I pull Savannah toward me. “We’ve gotta get out of here. That’s Liam! Like, the Liam…”
I reach for the hat and sunglasses in my bag, hoping I can somehow disguise myself and sneak back to the car, but it's too late. As our eyes lock, I know any chance at hiding from him just dropped to zero.
7
Liam
“Hello ladies,” I say, my voice deeper, gruffer than usual after a day of goofing around out on the water. I extend my hand to the athletic blonde woman I don’t know. “I’m Liam, pleasure to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.” She gives my hand a shake and smiles, her wedding ring flashing in the setting sun, tasteful and understated. “I hear you’re the Big Boss.” Her eyes flick to my crotch.
“Savannah!” Zoe exclaims, elbowing her friend in the ribs.
“What? Just being friendly,” Savannah says with a giggle.
I let out a laugh, more at Zoe’s obvious but adorable embarrassment than the familiar nickname
. “That's okay. I’m up on all the office gossip. I generally just go by Liam, though. Big Boss doesn’t roll off the tongue in the same way.”
Zoe looks as beautiful as ever, wearing a simple black retro-style bikini that accentuates her curves in all the right places, her skin flushed with the healthy glow of an afternoon out of doors. She glowers at me with those deep blue eyes and even that I find charming, how much she doesn’t want to like me. Her fists are clenched, an unconscious gesture, fists that I wish were beating against my chest alongside murmurs of pleasure.
“Savannah and I were just about to leave, actually,” Zoe says, throwing on a beach cover-up and gathering her things haphazardly.
“That’s too bad. I was going to invite you onto my boat to hang out with some friends of mine. But of course, if you have other plans…”
Zoe opens her mouth but before she gets a word out, Savannah says, “We would love to join you! Thank you for the invite.”
I catch Zoe shooting eye-daggers at her friend, but I pretend not to notice, reaching down to pick up a giant rainbow umbrella and a few of their bags.
“Thanks,” Zoe says icily. We start walking.
“It’s my pleasure,” I say. “Summer weekends are meant to be spent outside, watching the sun set over the water with a cold drink in hand. No need to keep all the good stuff to myself.”
The women follow after me as I lead them to the boat, where Darren, Josh, and Allie are already tipsy, pouring out mojitos with muddled berries and a splash of sour raspberry liqueur.
Savannah and Zoe settle in with the rest of the group and soon it’s all loud, happy chatter, Zoe and Josh and Allie debating some sort of philosophy of aesthetics as Savannah regales Darren with tales of her on-set adventures. I'm sitting next to Zoe, my thigh just ever so slightly pressed against hers. I take it all in, the peachy orange wash of the sunset and the simplicity of enjoying a long day with good friends. There's only one thing that could make this day any more perfect, but judging by Zoe’s body language, and the talk we had in my office about maintaining professional boundaries, I’m better off letting that ship sail.
Then again, I never could resist a challenge. And when it comes to company policy, I’m the one who instituted that no-dating-of-colleagues rule. I can just as easily strike it.
As the sky turns the purple of twilight, I untie the boat and gently guide us along the shore until we dock a few minutes later at one of my favorite restaurants, Le Petit Poisson.
People claim the Oasis has the best views of the lake, but that’s only because they’ve never heard of this place, an intimate French bistro-style seafood restaurant that feels more like you’re having dinner at a friend’s home than eating out. Le Petit Poisson is solely known by word of mouth—they have no advertisements—and reservations have to be made months in advance. The best part is, since they cater to the lake-going crowd, the only dress code they enforce is a mandatory shirt and shoes policy, so you can always feel comfortable there after a long day of recreation.
Our boat is greeted by a gentleman in a navy blue suit, there to help each person disembark and escort us to the restaurant. Zoe’s expression shifts as she realizes that we are all about to dine together. She gestures for me to talk to her away from the rest of the group, and I guide her off to the side with a light touch against the small of her back.
“Look, Liam, I appreciate your hospitality, but I don’t think Savannah and I should join you for dinner.”
“I happen to disagree—”
“Okay, I’ll be blunt. However much this dinner is going to cost, I doubt I can afford it. Plus, we're not on the reservation and this place looks pretty packed.”
I smirk. “I’ll be blunt, too, then. I reserved a table for six and the other couple cancelled at the last minute. Dinner is on me, because I paid in advance for our prix fixe meals—meaning that if you and Savannah leave, Chef Andre’s culinary masterpieces will go to waste. And believe me, that'd be a shame. So what do you say? I’d consider it a favor. I'm sure Allie would, too. Otherwise it’ll be her versus the boys’ club for another few hours, and she’s probably had enough of that for today.”
Zoe seems about to argue, but finally shakes her head and puts her hand on my arm. “Thank you, Liam. This is very generous of you. And I…hope we can keep up this kind of respectful rapport in the workplace.”
My instinct is to revert, to say something off-putting or pretentious to hide how much I want to lean in and kiss her right now, or better yet, scoop her up in my arms and take her back to the boat to fuck her in the cabin below deck, rocking deep and slow inside of her with the rhythm of the lake’s lapping current…but no. Tonight I’ll stay in control. I will be polite and courteous to Zoe. I’ll also plant myself on the opposite end of the table to avoid temptation.
Except, of course, that the waiter who seats us has no idea what’s going through my head. We’re led into a bustling restaurant with a vaguely rustic, worn-in European vibe that looks like it belongs on a corner in Paris rather than Austin, Texas—and when we reach our table, the waiter quickly motions for Zoe to sit, then places me right beside her. The space is cozy and there’s no way for us to arrange ourselves so our thighs are not touching, her soft skin separated from mine only by the thin fabric of my pants.
I breathe in and will my other senses to take over, the aroma of butter and garlic, the refreshing fruitiness of the wine, the soulful voice of Edith Piaf singing in the background. I’m quickly able to relax, chatting with Darren about a new case he’s just taken on, debating grilling techniques with Allie. And the meal is exquisite, like a gift from the heavens.
We eat family-style, oysters raw on the half shell with a tangy vinegar, a microgreens salad from the garden out back, lemon-garlic prawns, mussels in white wine with freshly baked bread, crisped whole branzino with roasted root vegetables, and just when we think we can’t stand another bite, the house special crème brûlée for dessert. Everything is perfection.
Throughout the meal, Zoe and I keep exchanging half-glances and then looking away. There’s a fierceness to her gaze whenever our eyes meet, and I can't help appreciating how sexy she looks in her little white sundress, the contrast of it against her golden skin and dark hair.
Chef Marie Andre comes to greet us from the kitchen after the dishes are cleared away, asking how we enjoyed the meal. Zoe shakes her hand and smiles, glowing, totally herself as the two of them converse in simple French. As a fellow foodie, I’m enamored of Chef Marie Andre and wish I had taken French in college so that I could participate in the conversation.
“What did you two talk about?” I ask after the chef returns to the kitchen.
Zoe gives me mischievous look. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?” she replies with a teasing grin.
* * *
Later that night, I strip down and try to relax in the swirling water in the hot tub, the evening just cool enough to make the experience enjoyable. I have a Rolling Stones album streaming through the outdoor speakers and I’m singing along to “Paint It Black.” Normally I would hit up a bar on a Saturday night after putting in at least half a day of work, but I’m shooting hoops in the morning with Darren and our buddy Nick. Since I already had a long day at the lake, I’ll be more prepared to kick ass tomorrow if I’m rested up and not hungover.
The jets massage all the sore parts of my body, and as my muscles start to unclench I feel myself growing harder than I’ve been in a long time, an explosive level of horniness. I let my mind wander to Zoe, imagining her in her apartment undressing, the sway of her perky breasts, lower back curving into the roundness of that firm ass, her hot little sun dress hitting the floor.
I climb out of the hot tub and lay back against the cushions of the chaise lounge, the cool night air tingling against the hot skin of my stiff cock. I imagine the bathroom steaming up as Zoe steps into the shower, throwing back her head and touching herself. I stroke slowly at first, my right hand running up and down my shaft, my left hand gently
kneading my balls. I picture her really getting into it, playing with her clit as she slides a wet finger into her aching pussy, exploring at first, then pumping deeper, chest heaving and hips rolling as she finger fucks herself into a moaning frenzy. She’d smile at me watching her through the steamed-up glass, her hungry gaze traveling down my body, pushing the shower door open and beckoning me closer with a curled finger.
“Do you like to watch, Liam?” she’d purr.
I start jerking off harder, faster, calling up the distant memory of her wails of pleasure at the hotel as my breathing gets more rapid, imagining the beads of water bouncing off her perfect tits, the slick tightness of her pussy around my cock. I feel so good, twisting with pleasure, the tantalizing agony of being right on the edge. I wouldn’t let her finish without me. I’d step into the shower beside her, turn her around to face the tiled wall, spread her legs wide apart. Then I’d slam my cock into her, right where she needs it. Giving it to her hard and steady until she begs me to come inside her.
“Fuck me, Liam,” she’d pant. “Fuck, that’s good. Don’t stop. Make me come.”
Suddenly I explode with a force that I didn’t know was possible, an orgasm that ripples through my entire body. My heart pounds in my chest as I close my eyes, endorphins flooding my brain, as if in this moment I have achieved ecstasy, a sense of invincibility like I just summited Mount Everest.
There’s no denying it anymore.
I need to have her again.
8
Zoe
I let myself sleep in until 11 on Sunday morning, a luxury I don’t usually allow myself. But there is something so satisfying about not even bothering to set an alarm, letting your body rest among the nest of pillows and sheets and comforter. Garfield doesn’t seem to mind; he curls like a stuffed animal underneath my arm, his purrs in time with my breaths.