The Hooker and the Hermit

by L.H. Cosway

  He took this opportunity to tongue my ear, sending shocks of delight and pleasure racing down my spine.

  “Ah….” I arched my back, instinctively pressing my body to his.

  “I don’t give a shite about your abandonment issues because I’m not going to abandon you. They don’t matter. Don’t let them matter.”

  He sucked on my neck, his hands roaming, massaging my back and bottom through my exercise clothes.

  “You’re just going to have to trust me. And tomorrow I’m taking you out and showing you off; not just because I really fucking like how you look, but because you’re smart and good and genuine….”

  I rubbed myself against him, made a little wild by his commanding aggressiveness. Therefore, I was wholly disoriented when he gripped my upper arms and held me away. He glared at me until I blinked at him and was able to bring him into focus.

  Seemingly satisfied that he had my undivided attention, Ronan ended his suspended thought with a low growl. “…and now you’re mine.”

  Chapter Twelve

  @Jenny0989: @RonanFitz Men like you make me sick. You deserve to be hung, drawn, and quartered #manwhore #teambrona

  @RonanFitz: @Jenny0989 Hang and draw me all you like, but go near my quarters, and we'll have a problem.

  *Ronan*

  March 18

  4:10 p.m.

  Dear Ronan.

  I agree, the truth always comes out. I’m so glad you didn’t do anything rash. She doesn’t deserve your time and attention (or energy).

  I was surprised by your questions in the last email, regarding what I’m getting out of helping you. The answer is quite simply this: I am getting the pleasure of your correspondence. I wonder if anyone has ever told you this before, but you are very charming and likable. You’re very clever—your emails make me laugh. I like you.

  -SML = Someone (who) Maybe Likes (you)

  It was Friday morning, and I was re-reading The Socialmedialite’s last message for the umpteenth time as I rubbed at my temples. My head was officially wrecked. Now I knew who the faceless person was on the other end of the emails.

  I’ll admit, when I first found Annie’s phone in my car, I was furious. I felt betrayed and beyond angry. I couldn’t believe that I’d yet again been taken for a fool by a woman. The doorman who worked in my building, Jeffrey, who I’d built up a friendly and amiable rapport with, had asked me how my day had been, and I’d responded with a frighteningly manic: “WONDERFUL, JEFFREY, JUST CUNTING WONDERFUL!!”

  So yeah, Jeffrey and I were now on the outs.

  When I reached the penthouse, I went one too many rounds on the punching bag in the gym. I didn’t wear any protective gear, and my hands were abraded and raw by the time I was done. Fortunately, my temper had simmered down enough that I could bring myself to steep them in some warm water, disinfect them, and wrap them up for the night.

  I thought I might be having an emotional meltdown, like a wife who just found out her husband of twenty years was cheating on her. On the periphery of my mind, I was aware that my betrayed reaction was way over the top. It brought me to the stark realization that I was far more invested in Annie than I’d thought.

  I knew I wanted her physically, but it was becoming plainly obvious I had feelings for her that ran deeper than that. She’d woven her way into my affections, fucking up my steady plan to keep life simple. I was supposed to be going out and having no-strings sex, yet here I was, allowing myself to get involved. There were so many strings it wasn’t funny, and we weren’t even having sex yet.

  But back to my most recent discovery. I tried to put things into perspective.

  Yes, she had been lying to me, but I’d only known her for a short while. It wasn’t like I’d done anything to earn her loyalty. After I’d worked myself to exhaustion, I collapsed on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My body was dog-tired, but my mind was a flurry of activity. I tried to imagine myself in Annie’s shoes. I mean, the woman had difficulty putting herself out there at the best of times. I guessed that admitting her secret famous online identity to the likes of me would be a scary prospect. It was understandable she’d kept it to herself. In fact, if she had come right out and told me, I might have been suspicious. It would have been way out of character.

  Still, I was pissed, mainly because she’d kept up the correspondence with me and not admitted she already knew me. She allowed me to believe she was a stranger I could confide in, someone far removed from my everyday life. It was one thing to simply not tell me she was The Socialmedialite—that was the part I expected—but it was another entirely to write to me day after day, pretending to be someone else. That part took effort and secrecy and a certain level of duplicitousness.

  These were my thoughts up until I met her in the park yesterday for a run. She’d spilled her guts to me, and I couldn’t help but be heartbroken for her, wrap my arms around her, and let her soft body sink into mine. I wanted to be angry, but I just couldn’t hold onto it.

  I understood Annie’s reasons for being the way she was too well. And then I had another epiphany. I thought that maybe, just maybe, Annie wasn’t being duplicitous by keeping her secret. Perhaps this was the only way she could truly be herself and get to know me without her anxiety getting in the way. She needed the veil. The distance. The electronic safety net.

  It went without saying that my conversations with The Socialmedialite were far more open than my dealings with Annie in person. So, after I left her to go to work yesterday, I made a decision. I would allow Annie her safety net for a while longer. I wouldn’t tell her I knew her secret just yet because that way we got the best of both worlds. We’d still have the electronic avenue of communication, the one where she was confident and spoke her mind. And then we’d also have the in-person avenue, where I could delight in being around her and teasingly coax her out of her shell.

  Speaking of Annie’s “electronic” life, I’ve been finding myself reading her blog more and more, working my way through her back catalog like it was a book I couldn’t wait to reach the end of. Reading her posts made me warm to her that much more because, despite my original impressions, Annie’s articles weren’t the same as most of the celebrity gossip trash out there. They were witty and intelligent; they poked fun at egos and hypocrisy instead of weight gain and tawdry personal lives.

  In one article earlier this year, she wrote about a hip hop artist buying himself a $40 million gold-plated car while at the same time advocating a campaign to raise money for the victims of natural disasters. Annie asked, why not just donate the pointless, garish excuse for a motor vehicle to the victims before pleading with everyday working people to give up their hard-earned cash? Take that money in your mouth, and set a good freaking example!!!

  And then late last year, a celebrity phone-hacking scandal had hit the headlines, and the world’s media was condemning a number of actresses and singers for saving racy nude pictures and videos to their phones. Annie stated, Anybody, anywhere, at any time, should be allowed to save whatever the hell they want to their phones without those files being stolen and showcased to the entire world. I don’t care if you’re an Oscar-winning actress or a fry-cook at McDonald’s, nobody’s personal privacy should ever be invaded like this, never mind spread across the Internet to be picked apart, criticized, and condemned. Is it possible, just this once, to *NOT* blame the victim?

  Reading all this was confusing. Not only did I think she was beautiful and remarkable in real life; but behind her quiet façade she was insanely clever, and she had the balls to stand up for what she believed in. She had principles, and they were the kind I respected immensely. I admired her.

  So now, I stared at the screen displaying her last message to me as The SML and deliberated on a reply. The stream of conversation between us had gone silent for the last few days. I needed to figure out just the right way to start it back up. Her coming out and admitting that she liked me made me preen like a bloody peacock. I began to type.

  March 21


  9:45 a.m.

  Dear SML,

  First off, my apologies for the radio silence. As you can probably guess, I’ve had a lot on my plate the last few days. I’m trying to be less impulsive, less easily drawn into anger, so it took a lot to sit back once Brona’s story came out. Anyway, I’m trying not to fixate on it.

  So, you like me, huh?

  I’d like to say I’m surprised, but it’s obvious that your previous insulting messages were a prime example of a schoolyard crush. Ma always said that the girls only called me names because they fancied me ;-)

  Unfortunately for you, my affections lie with another. However, if you’d like to win me over, you’re welcome to send some racy pictures (even if they’re only of your boobilicious mermaid tat.)

  Don’t be a stranger.

  Ronan

  I hit “send,” wondering how Annie would reply.

  She still thought I had no idea who The SML was, so I made it clear there was somebody I liked. As well—though I’d liked The Socialmedialite and had enjoyed our exchanges—since meeting Annie in person, seeing how adorable and beautiful she was, I had eyes and thoughts for no one else.

  I should have been clear earlier with her online persona, but I’d always been a flirt when I wasn’t dating someone. However, now I took pains to make certain The Socialmedialite—and therefore Annie—didn’t think I was chasing her in the real world while trying to get my jollies with some anonymous online bird at the same time. About a half hour later, I got a response.

  March 21

  10:22a.m.

  Ronan!

  How have you been? If it weren’t for the fact that you and your new squeeze have been splashed all over the Internets, I might have thought you fell down a well or something. Because that happens all the time, right? Lol. When I was a child, I used to think that getting struck by lightning was one of the main causes of death amongst humans.

  So, you and this Annie girl, eh? I have to say, despite wanting you all for myself, I’m liking her, and from what I’ve read, everybody else does, too. Sometimes the public can be overly critical of the non-famous girlfriends of celebrities, because you know, jealousy and all that. So it’s a really good thing that people are embracing her. I read an article today on a very popular site questioning Brona’s story, since she hasn’t brought forth any evidence of her claims. I think you’re well on your way to being in the clear.

  And not to worry about my little crush. I will harbor it with both grace and zero hard feelings.

  Your chum,

  The SML

  P.S. I saw those pictures of you and Annie kissing in the park yesterday. Holy shit, they were hot! My mermaid may have had some happy time in the shower after seeing them. Enjoy the visual.

  I was grinning like a fool by the time I got to the end of her message. Annie had a wicked side, I’d give her that. Still, the body of her message had been too casual and friendly, and I craved something more. This was why I pulled out my phone and typed a message to the real Annie.

  Ronan: I miss your taste. Come over.

  Her reply was almost immediate.

  Annie: I’m working. You’ll see me tonight.

  Oh, no way was she getting off that easily. I went into full-on sext mode.

  Ronan: I want to make you come with my mouth.

  Annie: Ronan! I’m at the office and Gerta is RIGHT BESIDE ME!

  Ronan: Gotta say, that kinda makes it hotter.

  Annie: *squints eyes* Do you have a thing for Gerta?

  Ha! I knew she didn’t like how friendly I’d gotten with her assistant.

  Ronan: Jealous, love?

  It took a while for her to answer that one, and I liked to imagine she was cursing how transparent she’d been.

  Annie: No.

  Ronan: Good, because it’s not Gerta’s tits I fantasize about coming all over.

  Another long pause. She’d seen the message, but she wasn’t typing back yet. Then finally her response came.

  Annie: Please stop texting me. Gerta thinks I might be coming down with the flu. Your last text caused a coughing fit.

  Ronan: Got you thinking, though, didn’t it? ;-)

  Annie: Yes. Too much. You’re too much.

  Ronan: I’ve actually been told I’m just the right amount :-D Admit it, you’re missing me as much as I’m missing you.

  Annie: Maybe. Just a little.

  Ronan: Tell me what you miss about me.

  There was an even longer pause this time. I could just imagine her fretting over whether or not to indulge me.

  Annie: I miss how you smell. How your body feels against mine.

  Okay, I had not been expecting her to play along. And yeah, I was already hard.

  Ronan: You gonna let me inside you tonight, love?

  I could just imagine her blushing.

  Annie: Isn’t that more of a fourth or fifth date kind of thing?

  Ronan: I’m Irish. We don’t adhere to that shite.

  Annie: I have to get back to work now, Ronan.

  Ronan: Okay, then. See you tonight. xxx

  Ronan: Keep thinking of me.

  Ronan: I can’t stop thinking about you.

  When it was finally time for me to get ready for my date with Annie, I put an inordinate amount of time into my appearance. In fact, I don’t think I’d ever put this level of effort into looking good before. In the end, I settled on a fitted white shirt and a pair of dark blue trousers from some designer or other. Aside from the fact that you could kind of see my tattoo through the shirt, I looked pretty fucking respectable.

  I was addicted to the way Annie’s eyes drank me in whenever she saw me, and I wanted to encourage more of it. I’d insisted I be the one to pick her up, and she’d grudgingly provided me with her address. She lived in a nice building in a very upper-middle-class area. It wasn’t over-the-top fancy—which I imagined she could well afford, given the extra income from her blog—but it was cozy. I found myself smiling. I liked it before I even stepped inside the building.

  I wasn’t smiling for long because when I knocked on Annie’s door, she wasn’t the one to answer. Instead, some blond prick stood before me, one eyebrow raised as he assessed my appearance. In my opinion, no man should be assessing the appearance of another man unless he bats for the penis squad.

  “Can I help you?” the man asked, arching a brow.

  “No, you’re all right, mate. I think I have the wrong apartment,” I replied and turned to try the next door when Annie called out. “Ronan, is that you? Come on in.”

  Her voice sounded a touch strained, and I noted she was calling me Ronan rather than Mr. Fitzpatrick. Stepping past Mr. Peroxide, I walked into the lovingly furnished apartment, taking it all in. It was so warm and lived-in that I felt like staying here with Annie for the evening rather than taking her out as planned.

  Fuck, it smelled faintly of her perfume, too.

  It was so perfect that I almost forgot about the arsehole standing behind me. I ignored him and turned to Annie, who was wearing a knee-length midnight blue dress that fit her perfectly, highlighting her little waist and generous breasts, though I wished it didn’t flare out and hide her shapely legs and thighs. But it did dip attractively at her cleavage, displaying her gorgeous creamy skin to perfection. Her long hair was down, and she’d put on a small touch of makeup. I stepped up close to her and took both her hands in mine, noticing her nervous swallow. I rested them on my chest and rubbed my thumbs along the inside of her wrists.

  “You look beautiful, love,” I murmured.

  Mr. Peroxide cleared his throat, and I turned my head to him, feeling a scowl coming on.

  “This is my neighbor Kurt,” Annie began, her voice faltering. She seemed to be having a hard time with this situation for some reason, so I kept rubbing her skin with my thumbs in an effort to relax her. “Kurt, this is m-my, my…my Ronan.”

  Her eyes widened; she looked like she wanted to facepalm, but her hands were unfortunately otherwise engaged. My grin
spread wide across my face.

  “Fuck yeah, I am.”

  “I mean, he’s my….”

  “I’m her boyfriend,” I finished for her before she started to ramble.

  “Kurt lives next door. He just came over to borrow some sugar. We were laughing at the fact that we’ve lived next to one another for so long but only met recently. It’s crazy living in a city this big. You never get to know your neighbors, you know? Anyway, enjoy the sugar, Kurt.”

  I chuckled quietly. God, this woman was going to kill me, she was so cute. I wanted to see her get all flustered like that when I tied her to my bedpost, wanted to see how quickly she’d shut up when I put my mouth on her.

  “Yeah, Kurt, enjoy the sugar. Wouldn’t want you suffering a cup of unsweetened tea, now, would we?” I added and then gave him a wink that said I found him adorable. His posture grew stiff, and his mouth formed a thin line. I knew exactly what this fuck was up to. Sugar, my arse. Such an obvious ploy to try to wheedle his way into Annie’s apartment. In fact, it pissed me off to know she’d let a man she barely knew into her home. I might have to punish her a little for that one.

  “I’m actually having a dinner party tonight and needed it for a dish I’m preparing,” he replied smoothly.

  “Well, don’t let us keep you,” I said, my expression hardening now.

  A silent staring contest ensued. He was the one to look away first, ignoring me and focusing his attention on Annie. “I’d love for you to come over later. It’s just going to be me and a few close friends. Good food, good wine, intelligent conversation.” His sharp blue eyes flicked to me for a second, and I swear to God, I was ready to deck him. He was clearly insinuating I wasn’t capable of the latter.