Instant Gratification

by Blakely, Lauren

  “Yes! I met with him today, and I went over all my plans. He said it sounded fantastic. He just needs to check with his partners and”—she stops, crosses her fingers—“then we should be good to go.”

  “And do you have a name for this new establishment?”

  “I was thinking of something really on the nose like An English Pub because, hey, then won’t I come up quickly on search results?”

  “That’s what I admire about you—always thinking.”

  “Always hustling.” One corner of her lips curves up, and she shoots me another smile. “Thanks again, Jason. I really couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. I think you had it in you already. I was just company.”

  She leans against her neat desk, looks me up and down, and says, “Good company indeed.”

  Her voice has changed slightly. It’s softer and a little bit more seductive. How is that even possible?

  “And a great friend too,” she adds.

  Is that a reminder to herself? But I can’t read in her tone whether she’s underscoring the word as a barrier or stating the simple truth: we are great friends. The way we’ve interacted this week affirms it. “We’re doing pretty well at this friendship thing, aren’t we?” I ask.

  “We’re rock stars at it.”

  “No one is as good as we are at getting right back into the friend zone,” I say, and it feels like it could be true enough until she touches my arm, setting off sparks. Heat rolls through me, fanning the flames of my desire for her, stoking the fire into a blaze.

  “Jason, I really did need you for this. You might think you were just company, but I couldn’t have done this without your help. You have such a fine eye and a nose for details. That made all the difference in the world.”

  My heart thumps a little harder, a little more insistently. I wish I didn’t like her compliments so much. I wish I could take them on a surface level. But there’s nothing surface about what I’m feeling for her, and I don’t want to sling quips and dirty words right now.

  “We helped each other,” I say. “There’s no one else I could have asked.”

  “It’s the same for me. You’re the only one with the insight I needed. And it was a lot of fun to scour pubs together.”

  “It was incredibly cool. And I loved spending all that time with you,” I say, choosing the bare truth.

  Because here it is: I don’t want to be in the friend zone. I want to be in her zone.

  Her eyes widen. I see hope in them, and I want to believe she feels the same way I do, that this extra time we’ve spent together in the last few weeks has done to her what it’s done to me.

  She runs her hand up my arm. “I loved spending all that time with you.”

  I’m not entirely sure what is happening here. But we’re swept up in a storm of compliments. A sea of confessions. And in the eye of this storm, there is no more room for innuendo or flirting. We’re both standing here saying only what’s true. And what’s true is that I want her to have everything she desires. “I’m happy for you, Truly. I want all your dreams to come true.”

  “I want yours to as well.”

  I take another drink of truth serum. “Going to Chip’s wedding with you . . . it never felt like you were a fake date.”

  Her voice is breathy. “It never felt fake to me either.”

  Tonight doesn’t feel like the baseball game, the last pub visit, or the jujitsu class. This doesn’t feel like anything else we’ve done before. Maybe I simply had to clear my head of all the noise that was in it to arrive in this new zone. This is the zone I want to be in.

  I wrap a hand around her waist, running my thumb along her hip, making her shudder. “You smell amazing.”

  “What do I smell like? I don’t really wear any perfume.”

  I lift my chin, drawing a deep breath of her gorgeous scent. “I know you don’t wear perfume. Your scent is in my head. It’s in my brain. I can’t get it out. It drives me wild. You smell like fresh air.”

  She laughs. “I suppose there are worse things to smell like.”

  “There’s nothing better to smell like. And the funny thing is, I thought I was immune to it.”

  I move closer, lift my hand, and finger a strand of her hair. Her breath catches. “How is one immune to air?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “Don’t know. I’m certainly not.”

  She nibbles on her lip and meets my gaze, her eyes soft and vulnerable. “I don’t want you to be immune to me.”

  “Don’t you worry about that. I think I’ve lost all resistance.”

  “Have you now?”

  “Pretty sure.” I’m damn well certain this is the zone I want to be in. The contact zone.

  She lifts her hand, reaches for my collar, and brushes her fingertips over it. “I love being friends with you. And I love all the other things in our lives. I don’t know how to make sense of what’s happening or what I’d do about it if I did. But right now, I need you to kiss me. Because you can’t just stand here in my office looking like this and talking like this and saying these things.”

  I flash her a naughty grin. “I can’t?”

  Shaking her head, she jerks my collar and tugs me close, her forehead pressed to mine. “You can’t. Because I want you too much. And it’s not like the other times, Jason. I can’t pretend we’re just friends after everything that’s happened. Kiss me now.”

  I cup her cheek and claim her lips. I crush her mouth in a searing kiss that goes straight to my head, that makes my mind spin deliriously in a Truly-induced haze. I kiss her like it’s a living hell not to have my mouth on her, all over her, everywhere.

  Her hands tangle in my hair, and she pulls me even closer, kisses back just as greedily. Her sighs and murmurs wind me tighter, send me higher. We kiss so hard our teeth click. We kiss so fiercely that we bite. I grab at her shirt, her skirt, wanting to tear off her clothes.

  “Do you have to go back out there?” I ask.

  “I do. In like five minutes.” Her voice is breathy, desperate.

  “Five minutes? We haven’t got a second to lose. Let me bury my face in your pretty little . . . summer . . . so I can make you come on my tongue.”

  Laughing, she scoots back on her desk and opens her legs.

  Fuckkkkk. “Seems you like that idea.”

  She grabs my chin, meets my gaze. “Your mouth is insanely talented, and I’ve missed it. Go down on my . . . lily.” She chuckles.

  “I’m going to, but I can’t fucking say summer, lily, or silver again, so I’m just going to eat your fantastic pussy like it’s dessert.”

  “Do it now.” She hikes up her skirt, a blatant invitation.

  I park myself in her desk chair, slide my hands up the smooth skin of her thighs, and yank the lace of her knickers to the side.

  I groan at the sight of her wetness. She practically shimmers with desire as she hooks her shoes against the edge of the desk. Fucking perfect. I lick one delicious line up her center. My eyes roll into the back of my head from the intoxicating taste of her. I’m burning everywhere from one lick, one touch, one kiss.

  She is too, judging from the way she grabs my hair, curling her hands around my skull and whispering, “Do it fast. You know it won’t take me long.”

  I smile against her heat, moving my face back and forth, letting her feel my stubble. “I love your confidence in me.”

  “It’s because you have an impeccable track record.”

  “Far be it from me to break it, then.”

  I return to exactly where I want to be—feasting on her, tasting her, flicking my tongue, kissing her hard, devouring her.

  I’ve only done this to her once before, but I’ve missed it immensely. And I remember exactly how my woman likes it. She likes to be consumed, with hungry kisses and a lot of penetration. I bring my fingers between her legs and slide two inside. She bucks against me, thrusting and rocking and moaning and groaning, and I’m in absolute heaven with her, e
ating her out on her desk. This powerful, sensual, strong woman who all but told me we’re not simply a good fuck anymore. That we’re something more too. I don’t know what that’s going to be. All I know is I need to send her over the edge right now.

  She rocks faster, moans louder.

  So good.

  Oh my God.

  Just like that.

  I’m close, so close, keep going.

  Yes, yes, yes. I’m there. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

  She detonates, coming on my lips like the overachiever she is in the having orgasms department. This woman can climax like a rock star.

  When she comes down, I help straighten her up, sorting her skirt and her knickers. She gazes at me with glossy, hazy eyes and whispers, “I don’t think we’re in the friend zone anymore, Toto.”

  37

  Jason

  “So, yeah. I have to agree. There was nothing particularly friendly about that,” I say.

  “I don’t feel friendly at all.” She grabs my face and plants a searing kiss on my lips, more intoxicating because I know she tastes herself on me. Because she has the same appetite I do, the same intensity.

  When she pulls back, she slides her hand along the front of my pants. “I want you. Want to taste you. Want to have you.”

  “I’d be amenable to that as well,” I say, groaning in frustration, since I know it can’t happen now.

  “I wish I didn’t have to get back out there. But I want you to know I’m going to be thinking about you.” She squeezes, sending a fresh wave of heat rolling down my spine. “But not just this. All of you.”

  “So, not just the sex parts of me, which obviously I want you fantasizing about ninety-nine percent of the time. But also the other parts?”

  She laughs. “Yes, the other parts.”

  “They’re very happy with one percent.”

  “Might be higher than that.” Letting go, she smooths a hand over her skirt then meets my gaze. “So, I know we should probably figure out what this is, but there’s a part of me that also doesn’t want to. At least, not yet. Not tonight.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s all sorts of unexpected. And yet, not.”

  “Exactly. I didn’t even think I’d see you tonight, but then you showed up, and look at us. We can’t stay away from each other, can we?”

  Proving her point, I thread my fingers through her hair, savoring the feel of the soft waterfall of silk on my fingers. “It seems we can’t entirely.”

  She leans into me, and ever so briefly, I embrace her, savoring the tender, but too short moment.

  When she pulls back, she presses her hands to my chest. “The only thing I know is we’re pretty good at sleeping together and staying friends. Don’t you think?”

  “We’re aces.”

  “Maybe we should try sleeping together again and staying friends? Till we get the whole ‘sleeping together’ out of our system?”

  I flinch for a second then rein in my surprise. I don’t want to be friends with benefits. I want her in my system, not out of it. I want so much more of her. But I also know now isn’t the time to have this conversation. She’s already pushing the edges of her small window of time. “Sleep together, then go back into the zone?”

  “Sure?” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself. “What do you think?”

  “Let’s make a go of it.”

  I’ll take what I can get for now. I’ll accept her gracious offer because I can’t think about anything except her now. She’s in the front of my mind, and she’s rapidly claiming a stake in my heart.

  I’ll sort out the rest later.

  For now, I’m going to walk home and enjoy the night air with the taste of her still on my lips.

  38

  From the pages of Truly’s Drink Recipe Book

  The Get-Him-Out-of-My-System Cocktail:

  Gin

  Pineapple Juice

  Sometimes you break not just the rules, but your rules.

  You could say it’s because you can’t resist.

  But honestly, that’s not the answer.

  You’re an adult. You make choices. You choose to relinquish resistance.

  You let it fall through your fingers like grains of sand.

  You don’t care where the sand winds up. You want what you want.

  Even though it’s so much more than want now.

  It’s deeper, more intense, and scarier too.

  This feeling in your chest? It’s making you rethink everything. And when you feel this way, you need a little gin and some pineapple juice.

  It tastes strong and decadent too, like all your desires. Like your dangerous and delicious choices.

  Go fill a bowl of popcorn and have a snack with your cocktail.

  Yes, a whole bowl.

  After all, you can’t eat just one handful. And it’s not because you can’t resist.

  It’s because you’re choosing something else.

  And because you know this drink name is a lie. You don’t want him out of your system. You want him in it.

  You just don’t know how to get that without having the whole friendship burn to the ground.

  39

  Jason

  Sully struts into the coffee shop, pointing to his trainers. “Check them out.”

  “You took the VaporMax out for a walk?” Troy asks, shooting an incredulous look at his fellow groomsman before smacking his forehead in exasperation. “Lord, what fools these mortals be.”

  “First off, no, I did not take my shoes out for a walk in New York City. Do I look stupid?” Sully asks.

  I hold up a stop-sign hand. “Don’t answer that, Troy.”

  “What? I don’t think he looks stupid. But I do contend wearing expensive shoes in New York City is the height of foolishness,” he says, answering anyway.

  Sully jumps in again. “Second, I know that’s from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  The coffee cup nearly slips from Troy’s palm. “Wha . . .?”

  I snap my gaze to the sneakerhead who plops down in a leather chair, crossing one leg over the other, his shoes on full display.

  “You know where that’s from?” I ask.

  Sully scoffs. “I do indeed. Because I knew he was going to call me a fool. I knew he was going to quote Shakespeare to make his point. So I googled Shakespearean quotes on foolishness before I arrived. I was ready.”

  “Damn. You are an impressive fella. I have no choice but to high-five you.” I hold up a palm, and Sully smacks back.

  “You did that? You went to that level of prep to get my goat?” Troy asks, his jaw agape.

  Sully nods, takes a long pull of some kind of coffee drink, and exhales exaggeratedly. “I gamed it. Took my chances when I researched the quotes. I figured it’d be that one or The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. That’s from—”

  “As You Like it,” Troy and Sully name the play in unison.

  “But see,” Sully continues, clearly enjoying his moment in the sun. “I went with the A Midsummer Night’s Dream one because I figured Troy would go with the simpler quote. The shorter one. Troy is all about brevity. And brevity is the soul of wit.”

  Troy’s eyes pop.

  Sully slams his hand on an imaginary buzzer. “And that’s from Hamlet, boys.”

  “I knew that, and I also know this.” Troy stands, bows, and declares, “We’re not worthy.”

  Sully pats his head. “And you better know that’s from Wayne’s World.”

  “Of course,” we both say together.

  “I’d have to turn in my man card if I didn’t know that,” Troy says.

  Sully takes another drink. “Also, to answer your question, oh ye of little faith, I carried my shoes in a bag, and I put them on at the door to show you clowns.”

  “Aww, that’s sweet that you’re giving us a special viewing of your shoes,” I say.

  “All right, gentlemen, let’s get down to business,” Troy says, rubbing his palms.


  Briefly, I’m taken aback because I usually lead these meetings, since I’m the boss. But Troy jumps into the deep end. “Tonight, you want us on our best behavior, you want us in our suits, and if anyone asks, we work in media production—keep it plain and simple. But wait. Why can’t I be a model like Enzo? I look like a model, don’t you think?” Troy gestures to his jawline.

  Sully shakes his head. “Have you seen Enzo? Dude, if you think you can model next to him, then I can dunk like Michael when I wear these shoes.”

  “Fair point.”

  “Maybe I could be like a Sears catalog model,” Troy offers.

  “Now you’re talking realism,” Sully says. “Except Sears is defunct.”

  “And another dream dies,” Troy says.

  We resume the rundown, reviewing the plan for tonight’s cocktail party, which is taking the place of a rehearsal dinner. When we’re done, I head home to get ready, and at seven fifteen, my phone rings with Truly’s name blasting across it. Odd. I didn’t expect her to arrive till seven thirty. “Hey, minx.”

  “I’m early. Want to let me in so I can finish what you didn’t let me start last night?”

  40

  Jason

  She eyes me from head to toe. “You in that suit. That sexy tailored suit. Yes. That’s what I want.”

  I slide my hand down the wine-red tie. “You want to suck my cock while I’m in this suit?”

  She gazes at me like a lioness ready to pounce. “I absolutely do.”

  I undo my belt, taking my sweet time, loving that she came to play. I want to give her everything she wants, in and out of the bedroom. And in the bedroom, she likes the dirty talk. “Then far be it from me to deny you. Do it now. Suck me hard and good, just the way I like it.”

  “As if I’d do it any other way.” She points to my couch. “Sit. Take out that cock. I know you’re hard already.”

  “I was hard the second I saw your name on my phone.” I sit, unzipping my trousers, then pushing down my briefs. “Get on the floor. I want you on your knees.”