Bedding Mr. Birdsong

by Deborah Camp

  “I admit that I’m already having trouble thinking of her as someone I don’t want to fuck. Because I do. Badly.” He shared a grin with Seth. “Hell, it’s been a long time since I’ve fixated on a woman like this.” He paused at that because he couldn’t actually recall ever obsessing over a woman. Not even Carin.

  “It’s because she put you in the friend zone!” Seth pushed himself up higher in the chair and his voice rose with his body. “She’s forced you into the friend zone and it’s unnatural.”

  “She also put a spell on me.” Matt laughed at Seth’s befuddled expression. “That’s what I tell myself. She told me that we needed to stay friends because if I ever had her, I wouldn’t be able to let her go.” He chuckled at Seth’s scrunched up face. “Yeah, yeah, I know. She said it in this seductive way. About how she’d get in my blood and she’d own me, body and soul. I haven’t been able to forget that.”

  Seth slapped the chair arms. “She did that on purpose, buddy! You don’t think she wants to ride your stick horse? Of course, she does! She knows exactly what she’s doing to you.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Matt removed his glasses and ran a hand down his face. He’d been wearing the glasses more ever since Zaney had said she liked them. “She’s delightfully unfiltered and forthright.”

  “And female.” Seth straightened his tie and shoved up from the chair. “Don’t forget that, Matty. She’s a woman. You’re a man. If there is one scintilla of attraction between you two, friendship be damned.”

  The next two weekends Matt spent mainly with Zaney. One Saturday morning he ran into her and went with her to take Frito Pie for his walk. They had noticed flyers about a tag sale at a neighborhood school’s playground and went to it. She had purchased some old books about fashions and costumes and he’d bought an Art Deco lamp for his home office. They’d stopped at a taco truck for lunch and then decided to see a movie.

  It had been one of the best Saturdays he could recall. He enjoyed talking with her even when they disagreed on things. She kept it interesting and fun. She had a way about her that he found utterly charming. Her giggle always made him smile and when she laughed, so did he. She was contagious.

  The following day, he’d invited her to an art exhibit. They’d browsed through the showing and popped into a tavern for a beer, pretzels, and a long talk. They’d sat in a back booth and the lighting had been dim but illuminated her face enough for him to catch her expressions and admire the glimmer in her green eyes.

  He’d learned more about her work and he’d told her about a campaign he was working on and the progress they’d made on Foster’s ads, which were geared around a line of his clothing being featured in Bloomingdale’s through the fall and winter. It was so easy to talk to her. There was no editing. He just said what came to his mind and what fell off his tongue. He realized that with other women he had become careful what and how much he said. Also, he’d gotten into a habit of not listening closely to them. All were bad habits he’d picked up after his divorce. Zaney had broken him of them. At least, around her, he was not cautious and he listened and responded to her in a way that was freeing for him.

  That evening he’d gone to her place and they’d dined on Chinese take-out while they watched a season of The Walking Dead they’d both missed. Her fortune cookie had read, The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese. They’d had a good laugh over that. His made them both stop and stare at each other. A good friend is a gift you give to yourself. He’d been about to tell her that she was a gift, but she’d blushed and had gathered up the empty cartons and wrappers. The moment had passed, but he wished it hadn’t.

  The next Saturday he’d invited her over to his place for dinner, but before that they’d taken Frito for a walk and had given into temptation and visited a bookstore. She’d bought a few paperback romance novels and he’d chosen a pop-up book about New York and a coffee table book about the Apollo missions to the moon. For dinner, he’d prepared Coq au Vin with whipped sweet potatoes. He’d finished it off with crème brûlèe. She’d made him proud with her lavish compliments and swooning faces after almost every bite. No plans were made for Sunday, so he was happy to see her sitting at the window in Keno’s coffee shop that morning.

  “Hey, there.”

  She looked up from the novel she’d been reading. “Hey!” Her big smile changed to a cagey expression. “Are you following me?”

  “Not yet.” He sat beside her. Grabbing the book, he turned it to see the cover. “One of the romances you bought. Is it good?”

  “Very good. You interrupted a bed scene.”

  “How rude of me.” He scooted his stool closer. She smelled of sunshine and lemons. “Let me read over your shoulder.” He called to the barista, “I’ll have a coffee, please, with creamer. Do you have any croissants? Two of them with lots of butter.”

  “You’re hungry this morning,” she noted.

  “One is for you.” He switched his sunglasses for his reading glasses before collecting his coffee and the rolls. Seated again beside her, he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Let’s see about this bed scene. It’s sex, right? They’re not just in bed together having a snooze.”

  “It’s sex,” she assured him. “Two characters sleeping would be pretty dull reading.”

  “Point taken.” He focused on the book and started reading about Gavin and Lindsay removing each other’s clothing. “Whoa!”

  “What?”

  “This is a romance novel? It reads like porn.”

  “It does not.” She scoffed at him.

  “But I thought in these books the writers used euphemisms like ‘manhood’ and ‘maidenhood.’ The actual words are here.”

  “Yes, well, grownups read these and we know the actual words for body parts. You’re thinking of ‘sweet’ romances for young readers or women with delicate dispositions. I am neither.”

  He read another couple of paragraphs. Lindsay was impressed with Gavin’s physique and blushed when he exposed himself. He couldn’t help but chuckle, recalling how often he’d caught Zaney blushing. He hadn’t noticed other women growing pink-cheeked before Zaney.

  “What’s funny?” she asked, her tone bordering on affront.

  “The part about her staring at his erection and getting embarrassed.” He drank some coffee and tasted one of the croissants. “She’s not a virgin, is she?”

  “No. But the first time you see someone’s . . . uh, privates is always awkward.”

  “I thought you knew the words. You know them, but won’t speak them aloud.”

  “Cock. Okay? Cock!”

  The barista and a couple of patrons paused to check them out. Matt cleared his throat as he watched Zaney’s ears turn bright red.

  “Tell me more about your new chickens,” he said, barely able to keep from laughing.

  She smothered a giggle by taking a drink of coffee. “Thanks, but I don’t think anyone believes I’m a chicken farmer.”

  Matt tore off a piece of her roll, slathered some butter on it, and offered it to her. “Open wide.” He smiled when she obeyed and he popped the treat into her mouth. As she savored it, he prepared another bite for himself. “Is it always awkward?”

  “What?”

  “Seeing each other’s sexy parts.”

  “Sure. There’s that stab of inadequacy. Will he like what he sees? Is he disappointed with the size of my boobs? And the guy is probably wondering how he measures up with her previous bed mates and if she has a problem with him being cut or uncut.”

  “Hmmm.” He enjoyed another bite of the buttery croissant, mulling over how different her ideas of how a man’s mind works were from his. He dusted crumbs off his fingers. “Zaney, my dear, let me impart something important to you.” He leaned sideways to see her eyes. “By the time a man has undressed a woman and/or she has undressed him, he has one thing zinging through his mind.” He angled close enough to count her lashes. “Get in, get in, get in.” He grinned.

  �
��Get in?”

  He nodded. “Inside. You.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head in a sad, pitying way. “You are selling yourself short, Mr. Birdsong. Women do not flock to your apartment because you ‘get in and get it done.’ You have more finesse going for you than that. Maybe that’s what a fifteen-year-old boy thinks, but a man with moves is thinking about pleasuring his woman more than he is about popping his cap gun.” She turned back to the novel.

  Feeling complimented and loving it, Matt tried to focus on the sex scene in the book, but the one in his head was more interesting. A blushing, wide-eyed Zaney staring at his hefty rod winking at her. As a pearly drop emerged from the tip, Zaney forgot about being timid and licked it right up, causing a ripple reaction of lust that traveled from the head of his penis to the base of his spine and then right up to explode in his brain.

  “Are you ready?”

  Her voice whirled into his mind, mingling with the scene. He nodded. Yes, he was ready to feel her mouth all over his cock . . .

  “You’ve finished reading this page?”

  The scene in his head dissolved. If only his hard-on would diminish with it. He shifted on the hard seat. What had she asked him? Oh, right. The book. “Yes, I’m finished.” Actually, he was just starting.

  He’d missed some important stuff on the other pages because Gavin had Lindsey on all fours on the bed and he was getting ready to go doggy on her. She wiggled her butt at him. Matt swallowed a groan and grabbed the rest of the croissant. He shoved it into his mouth to keep from making uncivilized noises. He cut his eyes at Zaney, wondering how she could read this and not be turned on. Even a little? His gaze drifted down to where her blouse fluttered ever so slightly. She was breathing fast! Ah-ha! The skin at the base of her neck was pink, too. She crossed and uncrossed her legs under the table. More evidence.

  Matt skipped to the last paragraph on the right-hand page. Lindsay was in the throes of a screaming orgasm. Maybe he shouldn’t have skipped ahead. What had Gavin done to this woman? He read quickly . . . Gavin rammed her hard, pulled her up against him so that her back was against his front and he could reach around and thrum her clit while he whispered in her ear about how she felt, how she smelled, how she tasted. Yeah. That would do it. The guy had great technique.

  “Gavin knows his business.” Had he said that aloud? He hadn’t meant to.

  Zaney laughed. “This is her third orgasm.”

  “Superman’s got nothing on him.”

  “I’ve read romances where the guy is never not hard or semi-hard.”

  “I think you’re supposed to call your doctor when that happens.”

  She giggled and closed the book. “I think you’re right.” Tearing off some of the croissant, she spread butter on it and then slowly – or it seemed that way to Matt – placed it on her tongue and chewed. Her eyes closed and she gave a little hum of appreciation. Matt’s cock gave a little jerk, trying to escape his jeans.

  “I dread and look forward to next week.”

  He forced himself to focus on what she was saying instead of the shape of her lips. She’d applied a coral gloss to them and they looked moist and soft. “What’s going on next week?”

  Her green eyes widened. “Fashion Week! Duh!”

  “Oh.” He nodded. Yeah, if his brain had adequate blood supply, he would have remembered that.

  “I’ll be at work all of the time. In fact, I’ll be gone most of the month. My mother is taking Frito Pie to her place in Buffalo. After the show here, it’s London, then Milan, and then Paris.” She made a figure eight on the table with her fingertip. “Everything is on schedule. Foster’s line is stupendous. It’s the best he’s ever presented. That’s why Bloomingdale’s took notice. Their buyers know when a designer hits his stride. Foster is there. This ad campaign you’re doing? It’s perfect timing. It will rocket him right up to the top-of-mind with fashion consumers.” She stared at him a few moments. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  He drank some coffee, giving himself a moment to compose himself. He’d been thinking how much he was going to miss hanging out with her. A whole month with no Zaney would be tough. “I love your passion. The passion you have for your work. I get it.”

  “I know you do. You couldn’t build a successful ad agency in a matter of five or six years without being hopelessly devoted to it.”

  He grinned. “Olivia Newton John and I thank you for that.” He drank the rest of his coffee. “You could have left Frito Pie with me.”

  “I didn’t want to impose. Besides, Toodles might not care for him.”

  “It wouldn’t be imposing. We’re friends, right?” He liked the sound of that, but it also seemed too lightweight for what they had going.

  She hesitated for a few seconds before nodding. “Certainly. Thanks for offering. Mom adores Frito Pie, so she’s looking forward to babysitting him.” She glanced around at the others enjoying their morning brews. “Did you start your agency right out of college?”

  “No. I wasn’t that bold. I worked for a big agency at first. I’d interned with them my senior year and they hired me. Of course, I didn’t do any actual ad work. I was a glorified gofer. That’s where I met Seth.”

  “I thought you knew him in college.”

  “We’d been in classes together at college, but we’d never hung out with each other until we both landed at the same agency. We’d have drinks after work and complain about not being heard or even being asked for our ideas on any project. Naturally, we thought our ideas were tons better than our bosses’. After a year of this, Seth said we should start our own agency and blow those old battleaxes out of the water.” The retelling of his earlier years had settled his libido.

  “When you and Seth started your own agency, were you scared?”

  “Petrified.” He chuckled, recalling the panic he’d felt that first year on their own. “We started with one customer. Seth’s aunt. She made clothes for dogs.”

  Zaney had taken a sip of coffee and almost choked on it when she giggled. Matt laughed with her.

  “That’s right. She had poodles and she made clothes for them. They were really nice, though. We created a website for her and took product pictures. We blasted them all over social media and her sales quadrupled in sixty days. She had to hire six other people to help her keep up with orders.”

  “You were a hit with doggy couture!”

  “She paid us next to nothing. Seth had financed our business. I had squat when it came to a nest egg. But Seth had inherited some money and so the deal was that he’d foot the expenses at the beginning and I would pay him back over a period of eight to twelve months. And I did. I don’t know how I managed it, but I did.”

  “You worked like a madman ad man,” she quipped.

  “You’re right. I practically lived at the office. We rented two rooms in a decrepit building a couple of blocks from Times Square that has since been torn down. It was noisy and the air conditioning barely functioned. The communal bathroom on that floor smelled like someone had painted the walls with urine. But we were so high about having our own agency, it was the fucking Taj Mahal to us.” He laughed softly as memories of those salad days with Seth darted through his mind like a crazy slideshow. They’d spent hours at their computers and at the white board, shouting ideas to each other, laughing at the lunacy of their situation, and telling each other that they were going to make it.

  “Must have been tough, being newly married and starting your own business. Carin worked then, too, didn’t she?”

  “Yes. She had a business and teaching degree. She was a teacher for a year and didn’t like it. So, she quit and worked on Wall Street for a brokerage firm. Later, she worked for insurance companies and then got into real estate.”

  “Did she know Seth in college?”

  “No, and they never got along.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  He huffed out a laugh. “It was like she was jealous of him. She said that I spent more time wi
th Seth than I did with her.” When she made no comment about that, he glanced at her and felt her reticence. “You were saying?”

  “Huh?” She looked confused for a second and then caught his meaning. “Oh, sorry. Well, I was wondering if she was wrong. Weren’t you spending most of your time working?”

  Memories of those troubling months with Carin felt like an ink blot on his spirit. “I explained to her that opening the business was going to consume me. But, if we could get it going, then I could cut back on my hours and we would make up for the lost time.”

  “But it didn’t pan out that way.”

  “No, it sure as hell didn’t.” The resentment rose up in him and he beat it down. “You’re going to miss me while you’re away.” He forced a smile to his lips.

  “Honey, I’ll be so busy I won’t have a minute to spare wishing for your company.” Her wiseacre smirk made him chuckle. “You’re welcome to come to Foster’s show. I’m surprised he hasn’t already given you passes.”

  “He offered them to us, but it’s Thursday evening and Seth and I have a client meeting scheduled then. One of our top tier clients who lives in Washington and is in New York just for a day or two. Will you get some time off after you get back?”

  “I usually take a few days off in October. It can be hectic for a little while afterward because buyers are making decisions on which pieces they want, orders are placed, individual clients ask for private showings, and the media asks to take photos of the most popular outfits from the line.”

  “Foster is launching his Bloomingdale line in October, so that will keep everyone hopping.”

  She rolled her eyes in dramatic fashion and held up her hands. “I have nothing to do with that, thank God. It’s all RTW.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Ready-to-wear. Off the rack,” she explained. “Those buyers don’t require private showings.” She glanced at her Wonder Woman watch. “What do you have going on this afternoon?”

  “Nothing much.”