All of Me

by ANDREA SMITH

  “Autumn, I’m in love with you.”

  Silence.

  Well, in for a penny…

  “I’m in love with your laugh and your wit. Your crazy one-liners that no one on the face of the earth could seriously come up with. Your kindness and your warm smiles just for me. The way your eyebrow arches when you think I’m full of shit.” She laughed at that, of course. “Dare I say it happens too often?” She shrugged, trying to hide her face from the tear that was making its way down her cheek.

  “Don’t do that, buttercup. Don’t hide from me.” Cradling her face with my hands, I urged her to search out my sincerity when I told her, “I love your curves, the way your body is custom made for me. I love feeling your flesh give way when I squeeze you as I come inside you.” Both our breaths hitched at the memory of our joined bodies when I delivered my final declaration.

  “Autumn Dey, I love you. You can do this spot or not and it won’t change the fact that my heart is now in your hands. Please be careful with it.”

  That, gentlemen, earned me the best fucking kiss any man has ever had.

  Thirty-Four

  Autumn

  I was loved.

  I was truly loved. Or so I’d been told by Dirk Sexton. He had said those words to me - words that no man, other than my father, had ever said to me. And when those words floated to my ears, they had detonated such a profound response deep within me and so foreign to me that I didn’t know how to even respond.

  I was caught totally off-guard, my insides turning to mush, my heart skipping beats, and my eyes welling up because of the raw emotion those words had evoked within me.

  But could I trust it?

  This was all happening so damn fast. I knew Dirk Sexton, but I also knew Roland. As much as I wanted to believe he meant what he’d just said, my inner Ramona was furiously waving the yellow caution flag, warning me to slow down, to beware of emotional land mines, to protect my heart from complicated bumps in the road.

  As our lips parted from the deep, magical drawn out kiss, I knew Dirk was waiting for my response to his declaration. His eyes searched mine for the truth, but I wasn’t sure anymore of what the truth really was. I wasn’t equipped to handle the intensity of what he’d just revealed in that very moment. I wasn’t inclined to even try and digest it.

  I took a step back, letting out a long sigh. And then I did something to break the oppressing silence. I broke out into a huge grin, my fingers traveling upward to his cheek where I pinched it playfully. “Oh, Dirk, you are so sweet. I wuv you too, sweetie-pie,” I said in faux baby talk.

  I saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes, and how quickly my idiotic response had doused the fiery passion that had been there just moments ago.

  “Autumn . . ,” he started and then stopped abruptly, searching for words. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, and then turned around and sat back down behind his desk, staring up at me.

  I sank back down in the chair opposite of him, my cheerful smile seemed stuck to my face. It felt fake because it was fake. My mask. Because no matter how much my heart ached to love Dirk Sexton, I wasn’t ready to have it shattered when Roland found his way back to reality, which he undeniably would.

  “Look, Dirk,” I said, “We’re having a lot of fun here, right? I mean, I love my job, and I love hanging out with you, having fun, and I’d be lying if I said the sex wasn’t earth shattering, mind-fucking-blowing, so let’s not ruin it with... entanglements of the heart, shall we?”

  I waited for his response. There were several moments of silence where, I swear, he was dissecting me with his eyes, scrutinizing my very soul.

  “Whatever you’re comfortable with, Autumn,” was his response. And then I watched as Dirk Sexton changed shells, just like my hermit crabs did. He went totally back to business, the romantic, playful, and passionate persona from just moments ago completely disappeared in that instant.

  “Now let’s go over the Graham Cracker Yoga proposal,” he said, flipping open a manila folder on his desk, and glancing through the pages. “It’s a marketing package that includes both radio and television spots. I’m afraid there’s no wiggle room on the package. In other words, if you’re not keen to do both, there is no deal with Graham Steele, period. As I said earlier, you are under no obligation to enter into this contract if the television aspect of it is a deal-breaker for you. I don’t want you to feel pressured in any way, shape, or form. This has to be your decision, Autumn,” he finished glancing up at me.

  I was fidgeting, biting my lower lip with indecision. “When do you need an answer?” I asked softly, gazing across the desk at this beautiful man who now seemed almost like a stranger to me.

  “The offer expires at midnight tonight,” he replied, “Steele has a Plan B with the Happy Homemaker over at WHOE, but you’re his first choice.”

  “What? Wait,” I interrupted. “Are you talking about Peggy Pickerington? She’s like eighty, isn’t she?”

  Dirk nodded and then continued as if that was of no consequence. But hells bells! I couldn’t picture the lady I’d seen on the other billboards around town who was a dead ringer for Betty White, getting herself into the Downward Facing Dog Pose, and that was one of the easier body-pretzel imitations!

  I started listening to him once I finally got that horrific picture out of my head. “The marketing package he’s offering our competition isn’t nearly as lucrative as what he’s offering for you. But don’t let that influence your decision, I put it out there because of the bonus included for you upon acceptance of the proposal. Shall I have Bridget make a copy of this for you so that you can look it over and get back to me before your shift?” he asked.

  He was waiting for my answer. “Uh... yeah, sure, that’d be great,” I replied. “How much wiggle room is there if I request that you be my yoga partner on the television spots?” I asked, a raised brow adorning my features just as he’d described earlier so as to bring back a bit of our naughty banter.

  There it was. That fucking adorable look Dirk got when I said or did something that totally threw him for a loop.

  Gotcha!

  “Are you being serious, Autumn?” he asked quirking that lovely brow.

  “I sure am, Dirk. Yoga isn’t a chick thing, ya know? Hatha yoga, in particular, is designed to provide enhanced mental peace and attain inner happiness, so it’s not gender specific. In a nutshell, if you’re game, I’m game. See if Steele wants to amend the proposal and then I’ll sign,” I said, standing up and grabbing my handbag from the floor. “Teamwork. Gotta love it,” I said with a grin as I headed toward the door to his office. “Call me later and let me know. I’ll be home all evening until I come back in for the show. You’ve got my number, babe.”

  As soon as I was back in my apartment, I burst into tears for reasons which weren’t even apparent to me. I picked up my phone and called Dee.

  “Hey stranger,” she said, “We miss Ramona,“ she drawled. “How the hell have you been?”

  “Great. I’m home. Put me on the clock until eleven.”

  “You got it, babe,” she replied cheerfully.

  “Wait,” I said before she got too excited, “I’m only on the clock in case Roland calls in. Nobody else.”

  “Say again?”

  “It’s complicated, Dee. But he’s the only one Ramona wants to talk to, okay?”

  I heard her sigh from the other end. “Anything you say, doll. He only ever asks for you anyway. I’ll send him your way if he calls in.”

  “Thanks,” I said hanging up.

  Would he call? Did I want him to call? These were questions I had no answer for until it happened.

  If it happened.

  Thirty-Five

  Dirk

  I don’t pretend to know the ins and outs of the female psyche. Hell, I’m willing to bet my left nut that half of the women on this planet don’t have all the answers either. There is no collective thought process, no singular path
to walk down when making choices of the heart.

  However, I knew an emotional armor when I saw one and ten seconds after professing my love, she’d built her wall up nice and tight. I saw right through her little girl act, taking my words as though I were joking, just in case. Protecting her heart.

  I got it. Fair game.

  Except, I wasn’t playing. Sure, her retreat stung but it was only my ego and, judging by its size, I could spare a couple of notches. Which meant, it would now be my mission to prove to her that I was in it for the long haul. I wouldn’t beg her, and I wouldn’t threaten her but I would tear down her defenses until she saw the truth in my eyes and in my words.

  If Autumn only saw us as “having a good time” then I needed to take away that part of the equation so she could take a hard look at the entire theory.

  For the slow ones in the back, I was taking away the cock so she could see my emotions. Did I particularly want to stop fucking Autumn? Fuck, no. But getting the entire package was more important than just getting to be inside her. Although, fuck, I was going to miss that.

  Back to my plan.

  It had been a couple of hours since Autumn had left my office with an offer that would help me get what I wanted. I was going to do yoga with my girl and, in the process, she would have to be in close quarters with me. The sweating me. The me in daring positions. And, let’s face it, the me hard as a fucking rock because I would have to be near her in the same way. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should just wait her out.

  Yeah, no. That wasn’t an option.

  Picking up the phone, I asked Bridget to dial up Douchebag Graham so I could add on a clause to the contract. Needless to say, I had zero doubts he would agree. After all, when I told Autumn he had Granny Peg as his second choice, I may have fibbed. Just a little white lie to help her make the right choice.

  “Hey there, Graham, Dirk Sexton, here. I just spoke to Autumn Dey and she has one condition.” I announced, getting straight to the point.

  “’Sup, brah? Yeah, yeah. What’s up?” Jesus, the douche in all his douchie glory.

  “Well, she’s asking to have one of her male colleagues accompany her during yoga. She thinks it will get better ratings since we’d be aiming at both men and women.” I told him, twirling a pen in my hand, letting it dance from one finger to the other.

  “Dude, I don’t really give a rat’s ass. I mean, the only reason I wanted to do this was to get into her sister’s panties, man. Jesus Christ, that girl is fine as hell.” My hackles rose with indignation and pure, white hot anger.

  “Excuse me?” I had to remind myself that this was business. I couldn’t just tear this guy a new asshole because he’d said something inappropriate. Hell, half the male populace would be out of work if we took that into account.

  “Brah, I’m trying to get laid by some serious piece of ass so if that means getting her fat sister a gig, so be it. Girls like Summer come around once in a lifetime, if you catch my drift.” Oh, I got his drift, all right. It was time he got mine.

  “Right,” I answered, my voice tight with my effort to keep my cool, “I’ll be right over to get the papers signed.”

  “Nah, man. I’ll just fax them over. No need to go out of your way. The girl is probably too busy downing a gallon of mint chocolate chip ice-cream.”

  The fucker had the gall to laugh at his fucking joke.

  Keep laughing, asshole. I’m about to deliver the punchline.

  “I insist.” I gritted out.

  “Whatever, man. Suit yourself.”

  You bet your ass, I will.

  Thirty minutes later, I was in front of the Douche headquarters wearing my workout clothes and ready to show him how I did business.

  Graham came jogging up to me, extending his arm so I could shake his hand. I stared at his hand and looked him in the eyes, demanding, “You and me, G. In that ring, right there. Let’s fine tune the contract, shall we?” I didn’t give him time to answer, just dropped my backpack by the stairs of the ring and began taking out my gear.

  From the corner of my eye I could see the limited amount of gears turning in his head, then a shrug and quick jog back to his office.

  A few minutes later, we were in the ring and I was ready to get my first point across.

  “You ready, brah?” I said, putting some malicious emphasis on the ridiculous nickname.

  “Sure, man. Gotta say, I’m a little confused but what the hell. I like a man who does business while sweating,” he answered, hopping from one foot to the other.

  I threw the first punch, hitting him square in his pudgy face, no warning, no warming-up before throwing out the first clause of the contract.

  “I will not do business with a man solely so he can get laid.”

  With confusion on his features, Graham threw out a jab but missed, hitting only air as I hopped to the side. That’s when I took the opening and threw out an upper cut followed closely by a side punch to the head.

  “You will never disrespect Summer by manipulating her into your bed. And FYI, she’d rather be celibate than fuck a douche like yourself.”

  That statement was followed by a kick to the chest that threw him back into the ropes and bouncing right back to me where I was waiting with another jab and upper-cut combo. I felt only satisfaction when I saw the blood spurt from his nose and his eyes go wide with shock.

  “And the next time you dare insult my girlfriend, I will make sure your tiny dick is permanently out of business.” I told him as I stood over his kneeling body, watching him hold a white towel to his bleeding nose.

  “Are we clear, asshole?”

  “Yeah, man. Sure. Fuck, you didn’t need to break my nose to make your point.” He practically whined, his words garbled by the sound of his blood.

  “I know. But this was much more fun. Now, get cleaned up and get out of my face.”

  With that, I gathered my things and went back to the office where I would shower and get back to my plan.

  Another hour wasted in my day and I decided to call Autumn to let her know her condition had been accepted. There was no need for her to know that we hadn’t exactly talked about it in so many words, but I was confident that he’d let me do anything I pleased.

  Dialing up Autumn’s number, I waited for her to answer, wondering if she was taking a nap or imagining her getting out of the shower…

  “Hey there, sweet thang. Been a long time, sugar.”

  Had I dialed the wrong number?

  Taking the phone away from my ear, I checked the caller ID and, sure as shit, it said Autumn, clear as fucking day…or Dey.

  “Roland, you there, sweet cheeks? Ramona has been missing you, sugar plum. Tell me what’s been goin on in your life, darlin’.”

  Rarely, in my life, have I experienced shock. True and utterly consuming shock.

  The first time was when I was six and I unknowingly and innocently walked in on my parents getting it on. And I mean, full blown doggy-style with my father’s hand slapping my mother’s ass like a pony at the fair.

  Needless to say, those were the longest two minutes of my life. My therapist still hasn’t been able to bleach out the images in my mind.

  The second time, I was a sophomore in college when I realized my good looks and charm couldn’t get me everything I wanted. I’d grown up my entire life believing that a well-placed wink and smile followed by the appropriate compliment could get me naked with whomever I chose. The slap to the face from a freshman hottie who told me to go fuck myself was hard on the ego. It took me a couple of weeks to lick those wounds clean. Interestingly enough, my therapist told me to get over myself and that “Babe, that’s a nice ass you’ve got on you,” was neither appropriate nor a compliment.

  The third time?

  At that very exact moment. Looking at the ID and seeing my girlfriend’s name all the while listening to said girlfriend speak with a fake southern accent and calling herself a name of a phone sex oper
ator…my phone sex operator. The same operator, whom on more than one occasion, I’d expressed my deepest life regrets to and with whom I’d shared pieces of my soul.

  I was flabbergasted.

  Speechless.

  In shock.

  I was fucking pissed off.

  “Autumn? What the actual fuck?”

  Thirty-Six

  Autumn

  What the actual fuck indeed!

  I quickly ended the call from a very pissed off, undeniably enraged Dirk Sexton without uttering another word.

  Oh. My. God!

  What the hell had I done? I looked around my bedroom, now dark and realized I’d fallen asleep. My planned fifteen-minute power nap had morphed into a three-hour full-fledged, REM-in-attendance deep sleep. One where I apparently dreamed my Roland had called in to Ramona.

  I sat up quickly, knocking my landline phone to the floor where I’d placed it next to me in bed waiting for Roland’s call - the call that never came.

  But the call from Dirk Sexton had certainly come to my cell. And the sleeping dumbass that I apparently was mistook the two. Oh, fucking hell!

  I was in full panic mode. I felt my heart palpitating; my hands were shaking, and I was sweating. Maybe I had a fever? Maybe all of this was just one of those fever-induced dreams you got when coming down with the flu or an infection of some sort.

  I jumped up from the bed and ran into the bathroom, pulling my digital thermometer from the medicine cabinet.

  I popped it into my mouth as I sat on the commode, waiting for the little beep to alert me that my temperature had registered and confirmed that, indeed, I was near delirium. That had happened to me once when I was in junior high school and had strep throat.

  I recalled how my mother had put ice packs all around me, while spooning some liquid cherry-flavored antibiotic into my mouth. I’d kept telling her I had to get up and get ready for cheerleading practice. She tried to convince me over and over again that I was not a cheerleader, but I’d been determined. High fevers can do shit like that.