Love Is In the Air Volume 1
Page 34
I want to be with someone who cares what I want and really listens when I talk. But I’m not ready to open myself up to someone only to get knocked back down again.
So, I do what I always do. “Thanks for the show, Mike.” I wave my hand toward the door. “You can let yourself out.”
He gets to his feet and does exactly what I asked him to. “I’ll see you around, Cruella.”
I wait until I hear the soft click of the door closing and the locks sliding into place before I give myself the pleasure I’d denied myself. My back arches off the mattress and I dig the heels of my feet into it as I slide two fingers inside myself and squeeze my nipple between my fingers, coaxing out the orgasm. My eyes are closed and I’m imagining Asher’s hard cock thrusting into me, the piercing at the head hitting my G-spot.
Oh God. I come so hard, shards of light splinter behind my closed lids and my legs won’t stop quivering.
It’s only when I come down from my high that the disappointment settles in my gut.
“You’re such an idiot, Sienna.” Nobody responds because I’m alone.
5
Asher
The elevator doors are closing when a female voice shouts, “Hold the elevator.”
I don’t lift a finger to stop the door from closing. Oops. Too slow.
Her hand slides between the doors and stops them from closing. The doors open again, and she glares at me as she steps inside then turns her back to me and crosses her arms over her chest. “You didn’t move a muscle to help, did you?” she huffs.
“Nope.”
This is the first time I’ve seen her in two weeks. No, that’s a lie. I caught a glimpse of her when she hopped into a taxi last week. But now I have a view of her back and my gaze lowers to her toned, tight ass in blue leopard print spandex. Don’t get excited. She’s not hitting the clubs for a night of partying. It’s nine in the morning and she’s headed to the gym.
“Stop staring at my ass.”
I cross my arms over my chest and my eyes meet hers in the reflection of the silver doors. I stretch my arms over my head then wrap my hands around the back of it, striking a pose so my fitted T-shirt rides up. This is what she expects from me, so this is what I give her. I flex, making my abdominal muscles roll, and in the reflection, I can see that her eyes are trained on it. She licks her lips and I want to sink my teeth into the lower one until I draw blood. “Stop staring at my lats and obliques.”
“Lats and obliques? Really?”
Old habits die hard. The words just slipped out before I could stop them. “To put it in terms you might understand, I’m referring to my V cut. Happy trail. Victory garden. Call it what you want. It all leads to the same thing. Paradise.”
She laughs and it’s a real laugh, not the fake one I’ve heard her use on the phone. The elevator stops in the lobby and she steps out, walking briskly ahead of me, her blond ponytail swinging. I grab my bike—a racing red Madone—from the locked storage room and catch up to her outside on the sidewalk, falling in step with her.
Instead of getting on my bike and riding away, I lift it with my right hand and rest the saddle on my shoulder.
“Are you following me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t adjust my schedule to yours. Besides, if I were following you, I’d be walking behind you.” I stop short of saying Duh.
It’s five blocks to her gym and since I’m headed uptown anyway, we walk for a few minutes without talking. It’s one of those perfect New York springtime mornings, the sky so blue it hurts to look at it and the temperature is perfect. Warm but not blistering hot with zero humidity. It kills me, physically pains me, that she’s going to waste this gorgeous day by spending it inside a soulless state-of-the-art gym. “You know... there’s a lot of classes you can take in the park. Or you could run along the river. Or cycle.”
“I’m good with the gym, thanks.”
“Okay. Whatever you say. How are you sleeping at night, Blondie?”
“Still sleeping like a baby, thanks.”
I don’t believe her. She’s not wearing any makeup and don’t get me wrong, she’s beautiful with or without it, but I can see the pale purple shadows under her eyes. Her skin is naturally golden but today it’s pale. “You need some Vitamin D.” I point to the sun.
“Well gee, thanks for that, Dr. Mike. Anymore medical knowledge you’d like to impart?”
I laugh. If only she knew. “Just thinking you look a little pale. You need to get some sun on your face.” It’s not a very gentleman-like thing to tell a girl but I’ve never claimed to be a gentleman.
“If I wanted your opinion I’d ask for it.”
“I’m just trying to look out for you. Seems like the neighborly thing to do.”
We stop at the crosswalk and wait for the light to change. She opens her mouth to tell me what she thinks of my observation, but I’ll never know which barb or insult she was planning to dish up because the phone in her hand rings. She stares at it for a beat then takes a deep breath and answers. Her voice is fake, and her smile is tight like she’s trying to convince herself that the news on the other end of the line is something that’s supposed to make her happy.
“Thank you so much. That’s great news. And yes. Two o’clock is perfect.” She listens for a moment, nodding as she takes in the information. “Okay. Perfect. Thanks again.”
She cuts the call and gives me a forced smile. “That was the headhunter. The consulting company I’ve been interviewing with wants to make me an offer. It’s more money than my last job and bonus points, they’re competitors.”
I’m guessing she’s expecting a congratulations, but I don’t see anything worth celebrating here. “Don’t accept the job.”
She laughs and shakes her head as we cross the street and walk toward her gym. “Why wouldn’t I accept it?” She stops outside the fancy gym she belongs to and turns to face me, still trying to convince herself that taking this job is what she needs to do. “It’s a great job with amazing benefits and a signing bonus.”
“Sienna.” Her eyes widen a little when I use her real name. “It won’t make you happy.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
I run my hand through my hair and blow out a breath. I’m not going to give her my whole story or tell her how I know what happens when you’re doing something that’s wrong for you. I have no intention of going there with her. “Just trust me when I tell you that I know.”
“And why should I trust a male stripper? Have you ever even had a real job?”
My jaw clenches. I roll out my shoulders and tune out my father’s voice in my head.
“This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”
“And you don’t know me. You don’t know the first thing about me so where do you get off telling me that this job won’t make me happy?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Just trying to help you out, Cruella. I might only be a male stripper but I’m good at my job and I can read body language. Yours is telling me that this is the last thing you want to be doing with your life. So why don’t you listen to your gut and do what makes you happy instead of chasing after some ideal of what you think you’re supposed to be. That advice is on the house.” I wink at her, laughing at the way her eyes narrow. “You’re welcome.”
With those words, I throw one leg over the seat of my bike and cycle away, taking my life into my own hands as I dodge the crazy New York taxis, so I don’t end up as roadkill. I fucking love this city. The noise and the energy and the spirit of optimism that you can be or do whatever the hell you want. The only limit is your own imagination.
Sienna has given me no real reason to give a shit what she does with her life. And really, I shouldn’t care. But the part of me that has been in a similar position, doing something that was wrong for me and doing it for all the wrong reasons, can sympathize with how hard it is to break out of your comfort zone and try something different.
For her sake, I hope she figures that out before
she ends up like I did.
6
Sienna
Was I really going to take the advice of a male stripper who barely knew me? Turns out I did. I didn’t take the job. I was sitting in that office across the desk from a bigwig in a suit who said all the right things and I felt like the walls were closing in on me. I couldn’t breathe, my head was buzzing, and my palms were all sweaty. And then I just stood up and said, “I can’t do this” and I walked out of that midtown office and I kept right on walking. Straight up Park Avenue until I got to Central Park. Which is where I am now, sitting on a bench doing absolutely nothing.
I’m not even surprised when I see Asher. It’s like I knew he’d be here and if I sat in one place long enough, he’d cycle past me. Which is crazy. The park is huge and there are a million different directions he could have gone in. But here he is, shirtless and covered in sweat on his fancy racing bike.
When he sees me, he coasts to a stop and wipes his face on the T-shirt that was tucked into the back of his black cycling shorts.
I stand and close the distance between us. “Hey Mike.”
“Hey Cruella.”
I smile and it’s a real smile. I don’t have a job and I don’t have a boyfriend and my life is a disaster but right at this very moment I feel happy. And I feel free. Like the world is my oyster and I can do whatever the hell I want. I run my hand over his abs and up his chest. “So... I’ve been thinking...”
“Ouch.”
I laugh. “Do you want to hang out sometime?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I thought maybe, if you’re not too busy, you can give me that orgasm you promised me.” I lick my lips. “And I’m sure I can find a way to return the favor.”
“On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“When you’re screaming my name, you call me Asher.”
“I think I should be able to manage that. Tonight then?”
“Tonight sounds good. You headed home now?”
I shake my head. “No. I think I’ll hang out and catch some sun on my face.” He nods and he’s about to cycle away when I grab his arm to stop him. “It’s just sex though. Nothing more.”
“Keep telling yourself that, baby. Sex with me is not just sex. It’s going to fucking blow your mind.”
So cocky. I watch him cycle away and then I kick off my shoes and walk through the grass. When I find the perfect spot, I lower myself to the ground and lie on my back with the sun on my face.
I’m hoping he makes good on his promise. I’m more than ready to have my mind blown.
Foot in the Door
A Lindell Lemur Prequel
Greer Bailey
Foot in the Door: A Lindell Lemur Prequel
Copyright © 2020 Greer Bailey
Editing by Greer Bailey’s Betas & Ms. K Edits
EBooks are not transferrable. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Cover Credit: Najla with Qamber Designs and Media
Synopsis
Flirting isn’t hard.
And before that stupid parent/teacher conference, I would’ve called myself an expert.
A smirk, a wink, a little inviting body language, and I was in.
McKenna Kaiser, my nephew’s new kindergarten teacher, seems to be immune to all three.
There are a million words I would use to describe her: perfect, gorgeous, kind, to name a few.
But after leaving the meeting, only one word came to mind: unimpressed.
Sticking a foot in my mouth isn’t physically possible, yet here I am chewing on a size twelve wingtip.
After a crash and burn of epic proportions, I would usually walk away and count my losses.
But I can't stop thinking about her.
I know I can change her mind about me.
I just need to get my foot in the door.
1
Kalen
“You come here often?”
Yes, the pickup line is cheesy, but for some reason it makes women laugh. They readily strike up a conversation.
At least they usually do.
But clearly the gorgeous woman standing just inside the front entrance of Lindell Elementary isn’t like most women.
She isn’t grinning or twirling her hair around her finger as she lets her eyes roam up and down my body.
The frown is unexpected, but since she doesn’t slap me in the face, it’s something I can work with.
You may think hitting on women at my nephew’s school is a little weird, and most of the time that might be the case, but Lindell is a small town, meaning the pickings are slim, as in so slim they’re nonexistent.
Letting a gorgeous woman walk by without attempting to get her number would be sheer stupidity on my part, and I’m not stupid very often.
“May I help you?” She plasters a fake-as-hell smile on her pretty lips, and there’s no joy in her eyes.
It’s like a slap to the face and makes me wonder how many other men in the community have hit on her already.
Anyone who crossed her path would be my guess, including Old Man Hinkle, if she has had any reason to step foot near the post office.
“You like to eat, right?”
Her eyes dart down the front of her shirt before snapping back up to me.
“Excuse me?”
Even the fake smile is no competition for the irritation now showing on her pretty face. Her bright green eyes narrow as she glares at me.
“Not that you’re that fat.” What the hell is wrong with me? She isn’t fat at all.
I’m a pro at this. Flirting is second nature to me. I do it all day, every day.
I lay it on thick when I need a little extra caffeine at Brew and Chew, the local café.
I’m not opposed to batting my eyelashes at Marlene down at the corner store when I know she’s hiding the good snacks in the back.
I’ve even winked at Peter Stanton when I thought he was going to take the last pecan pie the day before Thanksgiving.
My flirting works. My coffee always has an extra shot of espresso. Marlene grins and waves me toward the back room when she sees me walk in. Hell, Peter sent me a Christmas card last year.
“Excuse me?” she hisses, her cheeks turning a vibrant pink.
“I was asking if—” Her hands go to her hips, one foot turned out in agitation, and I realize this was over before it really began. “Do you know where the front office is?”
She points to a door. The words FRONT OFFICE are across the front, and it’s clear she thinks I’m an idiot.
“If you even hint to Marcy that you think she’s fat, she’ll tear your head off.”
She spins around, disappearing around the corner, leaving me with my mouth hanging open and a million excuses on the tip of my tongue.
The day just gets worse from here.
Marcy is in a mood of epic proportions, mostly stemming from the time we dated briefly in high school. She had four cats. I’m extremely allergic. She thought it was love. I knew it was borderline anaphylaxis.
She’s hated me ever since.
“Well, if it isn’t Kalen Alexander,” Marcy snarls when I pull open the heavy door leading into the front office. “Are you here to make more little kids cry?”
It was one time, and that kid was already crying before I approached.
“Marcy,” I say, aiming for casual and light and ending up staying close to the door. Just stepping into the room makes my nose itch. I fight back the urge to sneeze. “Always lovely to see you.”
“I’m a busy woman, Kalen. What do you need?”
“Kristina couldn’t make the parent/teacher conference, so I’m here.”
“Poor kid,” Marcy mutters.
“So, if you give me the room number—”
“I need you to complete this form.”
She slaps a clipboard on the counter in front of me, making the pen fly halfway across the room.
I want to tell her it was nearly fourteen years ago and that she should let go of the past, but after what happened in the hall moments ago, I know it’s best to just keep my mouth shut as I grab the pen from the floor.
When I turn back, she’s holding out her hand. “Your driver’s license?”
“My—” I roll my lips between my teeth and reach for my wallet. “Is this really necessary? You know who I am.”
The town is so small, everyone knows everyone else. The beauty in the hall earlier is the only stranger I’ve seen outside of work in months, but we get new faces all the time at the college.
“ID is required each time a visitor comes on campus. I don’t make the rules, Kalen, but I will follow them.”
“And,” I look down at the form on the clipboard, “you need my phone number, home and mailing address?”
“The form is required.”
I work on completing the form, including my email address as well as two personal references. I’ve rented a car without giving this much information before. As I hand over the form, I almost open my mouth to remind her that it’s for school use only, so she doesn’t get any ideas about using it to contact me or sign me up for some weird porn site, but she snaps the thing away from me so hard it makes the tips of my fingers burn.