H was different though—a rare gem—and his cock was not of the cock-vomit variety, thank God. He’d been a frequent client in the beginning, standing out from the others because he was witty, somewhat gentlemanly, a smartarse, and charming. Damn, was he charming. He would always come back for more, each and every night, and I soon found myself waiting eagerly to chat with him.
A couple of months into our sexting, I’d also learned that he was divorced and had been so when we’d first established a rapport. Mind you, he and his wife had tried reconciling roughly eight months ago.
They’d failed.
I’d been a good girl and done the right thing, ignoring his texts during that time, but radio silence between the two of us never lasted long. I missed him when he was gone, and I’m more than positive he missed me too, because he’d told me so. He’d said that despite the dirty content we shared via our phones, he felt at ease with me, and comfortable, like he didn’t have to hide anything … except for the very thing he and I were—a breach of protocol.
Sighing, I washed my hands in the basin, paying attention to my arousal-covered finger. I didn’t like to think that I was weak when it came to him, but he did have me doing the most outrageous things—toilet-cubicle masturbation being one of them—and all with just his words. My God, his words.
I wanted the guilt they provided me just as much as I wanted the pleasure they gave. His words made me feel alive, something I hadn’t felt for quite a time before he came into my life. In fact, the best way I could describe H was that he was an unlikely flicker of light in a darkened time. His attention and his need were different from the others’. They felt genuine. Real. I wasn’t just spank-bank material for him like I was for my other clients … and that was okay. In the beginning, it all worked to shift my focus from what I didn’t want to accept—my depression. In the beginning, H was my antidepressant.
Well, he had been, until I finally accepted my condition and gathered the courage to see a doctor and be put on real antidepressants. I was also encouraged to keep a diary, to write notes of how I felt when unsure or scared—a confession or sorts—as reading them back could sometimes help me understand what I couldn’t beforehand. The diary, along with the meds, definitely helped for the most part, as my depression was now loosely threaded. It was no longer tightly-knit, nor was it gone completely—it never would be.
Soon after I began to see my own light once again, I questioned what H really meant to me. I asked myself time and time again if he was just a pleasurable high, nothing more, and if so, why I couldn’t just tell him that we had to stop what we were doing and focus on moving forward with other people? Time and time again I’d asked myself why I couldn’t just say goodbye, and time and time again my questions went unanswered.
They always did.
What I did know was that we both shared an unusual bond, and I wasn’t sure at what point it had formed. Maybe it was there from the beginning, from those very first messages of excitement and lust. Maybe it wasn’t. Or maybe it developed at the time he sent me a sext saying ‘I don’t need to imagine fucking you today, love. I just need to imagine you. It’s all I ever need to imagine’.
I remembered that text vividly. I remembered seeing it on my computer screen and it stopping me in my tracks. I remembered sucking in a deep breath and holding it while the echo of my heartbeat rang loudly in my ears. I remembered wondering … What. The. Fuck?
I also remembered that it was the point when I gave him my mobile phone number, and our communication moved from SexyTexts.com to a more private platform. It was also an unpaid platform, which kinda sucked. But it was my choice to move it, because I didn’t care about the loss on funds. I wanted his presence more often than what I’d been getting, and communicating with him via my phone allowed that. It was also the point in time where we’d never looked back.
That was just less than a year ago.
H’s texts were random and so spontaneous, and he always played fair. He let me challenge him just as much as he challenged me—like this evening, for example. He’d also tried to call me on several occasions, calls which I never answered, because he could never be more than what he was.
He could never really be real.
Rinsing the soap from my hands and drying them at the dryer, panic flushed through me when I realised how long my leave from the table had been. Shit-fuck! I needed to come up with a plausible excuse … not that little white lies weren’t my forte or anything.
Hmm… my sister, Sarah, is pregnant and having a breakdown over the phone? Um… no! Pregnancy means baby. Babies are real. And my phone conversation with Sarah wasn’t real.
How about her apartment was broken into? Maybe, although there is a risk of Cori bringing that up in conversation with Sarah, and that definitely would not be good.
Think, Em, think!
Stepping back up to the basin, I placed my hands on the benchtop and dropped my head, homing in on the drain for clarity. Because yeah, drains are miraculous like that.
“Argh!” I growled quietly, and that was when the best excuse ever materialised. Sarah was having plumbing issues, and as a result, she was loosing her shit. Yes! Oh, hang on a minute. That sounds all kinds of wrong.
Just as I quietly debated whether or not to use that excuse, the door to the ladies’ room opened and Cori walked in. “Hey! You alright? I was just about to send out a search-and-rescue party for you.”
“Sorry,” I sighed, apologetically. “Sarah was having plumbing issues, and then I had some of my own, if you know what I mean.” I tilted my head and shrugged, the lie pouring out of my mouth like the liquid deceit that it was. It was too easy, always too easy. And I hated myself for that.
“Oh, you’re surfing the crimson wave? Damn, your timing sucks.” She looked genuinely disappointed on my behalf.
I shook my head. “No, no. Not that kind of plumbing issue. The normal kind. The my-bladder-is-so-full-I-can’t-hold-it-anymore kind.”
“Oh … well that’s okay then. So are you done?”
“Yes. I’m done.”
“Good, because there is a set of twins out there who appear to be laying claim to you.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes, deliberately hiding my excitement. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Brad seems a little smitten, and Noah seems …” She paused for a second. “Well, he seems overly keen.”
“This is both good and bad, right?”
Cori’s head slowly began to bob forward and tilt back—a nod of agreement.
“Excellent! Just how I like it.”
***
Could air really be cut with a knife? I mean, if I were to pick up said utensil—that just so happens to lie on the table before me—and performed a Zorro-style slash, would the air fall victim to the blade? Or would I just look like a complete and utter ninja wannabe fucktard.
Glancing down at the shiny silver knife that flanked my dinner plate, and almost prepared to test my query, I decided against the assault on the atmosphere and drew attention to dessert instead—these twins needed sweetening up.
“I want something rich, sweet and bad for me,” I announced, “and I want it topped with cream and garnished with a strawberry.” My finger slowly descended the menu in my hands, scanning what was on offer until it stopped, together with the beating of my heart. My tongue, though, didn’t stop. Oh no, it never got the ‘stopping’ memo, because it practically danced the “Macarena” when I spotted Tim Tam Cheesecake on the menu. “Oh. My. Orgasm! Tim Tam Cheesecake!” I exclaimed, slamming the menu shut and placing it down in front of me. “Yep. That’s me done. No doubt about it.” I smiled eagerly and looked up to find Cori laughing. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said, with an endearing shake of the head. She then turned to Josh, who had his arm around her shoulder. “What do you fancy?”
Josh nudged her cheek with his nose, her head tilting in response, baring the skin on her neck for him. “What I fancy isn’t on the menu,” he responded bla
tantly, the hungry expression he wore indisputable.
Nice sex wit. He’d be a good sexter. I should totally recruit him.
“Right you are, Camera-smasher Josh. Cori’s pie isn’t on the list.” I gave him an apologetic head-tilt.
Brad, Dimps, Noah and Chief all burst into laughter.
“Elmer, a shame this is. Your pie, on the list, it should be.”
Elmer? Who the hell is Elmer?
Josh glared at Noah in warning. “Slick.”
“Not that I want to eat it,” Noah said, his hands rising in defence.
“Fuckin’ oath you won’t.”
Josh was more than pissed off, emphasising that Cori’s pie was off-limits with fury.
Suddenly, all eyes fell on Brad, and the atmosphere turned tense. Uh oh.
“That’s enough!” Cori said, standing up, her cheeks perfectly pink. “Stop talking about my pie. My pie is not a topic for discussion.” She walked away in the direction of the bar.
Crap. That was my fault.
Josh stood and went to follow her, so I quickly pushed my chair back and rose to my feet. “I’ll go,” I said, all playfulness gone.
He nodded, so I took off after her, stopping when I reached the bar. “Want to tell me what that was all about? And why did Noah call you Elmer?”
She huffed but didn’t look at me. “Elmer is my stupid ‘Wild Nights’ nickname.”
“Why Elmer?” My lips were pursed, hysterical outburst pending.
“Because Josh’s nickname is Bugs,” she answered, as if it were all the clarification I’d need.
It wasn’t.
“What? Why?” I was thoroughly confused. And why do guys always feel the need to nickname each other?
Cori raised her finger to the barman to indicate we wished to order drinks.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“Malibu and Coke.” Cori turned to face me. “Do you want another beer?”
“Hell no. That was like drinking hair of the dog, and I wasn’t even hungover.”
She laughed mildly, and I could tell something was still on her mind, so I ordered my drink quickly. “I’ll have a Vodka, Red Bull and OJ, thanks.”
“Sure. Coming right up.” The barman winked and turned his back to prepare our drinks.
I took a moment to appreciate his arse but then resumed my probing … of the question-asking kind. “Okay, back to why Josh is called Bugs.”
Amusement danced across her face as her eyebrow lifted. “Have you never noticed his teeth?”
I thought about it for a second, and I could honestly say I hadn’t. And that was probably because my eyes struggled to look past his Atlas-like shoulder porn. I mean sheesh … those shoulders were mountains in their own right.
“Nope. Never noticed them.”
“Well, do me a favour. Next time he speaks, look at his teeth and you’ll have your answer.”
I was suddenly intrigued. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing,” she said with a laugh.
The barman slid our drinks toward us and added the bill to our room account. He then wiped the bar top and moved to serve his next customer.
“So … what happened back at the table?” I asked, sipping my drink.
She shrugged. “Nothing. I just don’t want everyone talking about my pie.”
“Why not? It’s a good pie, right? Unless it’s not. Oh my God, Cori!” I slammed my drink down, purposefully over-dramatising my actions. “What’s wrong with your pie?”
“Shh … stop it. Not so loud. Nothing is wrong with my pie. My pie is perfectly fine.”
“Warm and soft inside? Smooth and—”
“Em! Really?” she interrupted.
I draped my arm around her shoulder. “Cor, it’s just a pie. Talk of eating it is nothing. You need to relax. Why are you so up tight?”
“Because Brad ate my pie last night, Em. And everyone knows it. That’s why I’m so uptight. I don’t want my pie or the eating of it to be discussed any further. Okay?”
My arm fell to my side. Well … that sure as hell shut me up. Last night? He ate her pie only last night? “Okay. Pie is blacklisted. Wow!”
An awkward silence descended upon us, a silence I wished wasn’t called Brad-the-Cori-pie-eater. When she’d told me earlier on that she’d fucked him to get back at Josh, I’d just assumed it had been longer than twenty-fours ago.
I’d assumed wrong.
“Em, why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m a whore.”
“Hey! I’m not.”
Cori placed her elbow on the bar and covered her face with her hand. “I shouldn’t have done it. It was wrong.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because I wanted Josh to feel the pain I felt when he did it to me.”
I gave her shoulder a quick rub and pulled her body next to mine, resting my head against hers. “What’s done is done. You can’t change it. All you can do is move forward. And anyway, all three of you seem fine with one another … as if nothing even happened. It’s actually quite weird.”
She lifted her head, and the look of regret she wore hit me right in the chest. “Please don’t be angry with me, Em.”
“Angry? Why would I be angry?” I asked, sipping my drink again. “It’s not like I’m a perfect celibate angel.”
“Oh, I know that. But that’s not what I meant. I just don’t want you to be angry that I’ve shoved Brad in your face … and practically into your panties.”
I swallowed my disappointment and stared at my drink. “I’m not angry, Cor. I get why you did it. But in future, a little heads up wouldn’t go astray, yeah? That way I won’t get excited nor get the wrong impression.”
She swivelled in her stool to face me. “What? No, Em. What are you talking about?”
“Brad wanted you. He had you. He probably still wants you. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be his consolation prize. I love you, and I know you want the spotlight taken away from what happened, but I refuse to be a pawn, Cor.”
“No! No, no, no, no. Em!” She grabbed my hand “That’s not what this is. God no. I would never do that to you. Ever!”
I studied the dismay on her face and fought back my own hurt reaction. “Then what is it?”
“Fuck! I’m such a fucking idiot. I should’ve seen it earlier. I would never have slept with Brad had I picked up on it back then.” She turned back to face the bar and sucked hard on her straw.
“Seen what?”
“That you and Brad would make a great couple. Honestly, the two of you are perfect for each other.”
I rolled my eyes. “Cori, you couldn’t possibly know that.”
“You’re wrong. I’ve spent eleven years of my life with you in it, and every day of a month with Brad. Trust me, the two of you are two peas in a kinky-fun pod.”
A laugh escaped my throat. “He likes you, hon. Not me.”
“Wrong again,” she said loudly and with her typical know-it-all cockiness. “He likes you. Couldn’t wait to meet you. And ever since he’s laid eyes on you, he hasn’t been able to take them back. Honestly, babe, Brad and I are just friends, friends who fucked up for all the wrong reasons.”
I went to argue her point once more but was interrupted when Josh and the others approached, Brad carrying my Tim Tam Cheesecake.
“They’re closing the restaurant, so I ordered this for you,” he said, his timid expression super-cute. Aw … what a sweetie.
Brad’s eyes flicked toward Cori, his uncertainty obvious when they shifted back to me at the speed of light. It was clear from his apologetic demeanour that he cared for her feelings, cared that she struggled with the situation. It was also nice to know that she had a good guy looking out for her—as well as her boyfriend—even if that good guy was a guy I could’ve seen myself having some fun with.
“Thanks,” I said, somewhat reserved, accepting the plate of chocolate euphoria.
He
nodded, and I could tell he sensed my demeanour had changed.
“And she’s fine, you know.” I nodded in Cori’s direction while giving him a sincere smile. “She just doesn’t want you all thinking about her pie.”
“I don’t want to think about her pie,” he said abruptly. “I’m over her pie. I mean, I don’t like her pie. I mean … fuck!”
He stood back and ran his hands through his hair, gripping it with frustration, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Men were serious word-wankers.
“It’s okay. I get your drift, Brad.” I picked up my dessert fork, and scooping a massive piece of cheesecake into my mouth, moaned my delight as the chocolate, biscuity flavour caressed my tastebuds. “O y od! iss is o ood!” I mumbled, closing my eyes and practically swaying.
He laughed, and I could tell by the tone that he was no longer angry with himself, that my dismissing of his word-vomit had put him at ease.
I smiled to myself. “Yes! Oh my God, yes!”
“Do you need a moment?”
I nodded.
“Do you and the cheesecake need a room?”
I nodded, but tried to suppress a giggle.
“Do you and the cheesecake like threesomes?”
This time I burst into laughter, choking on the remnants in my mouth and opening my eyes to find him studying my face. He’d crept closer while I was in cheesecake heaven, close enough for me to see the freckle on his nose and the scar on his chin. He smiled, the warmth in his eyes heating me instantly, and I could tell by their illumination and expanded pupils that his interest in me was genuine. Eyes didn’t lie.
What was also apparent was just how beautiful the man really was. No doubt about it. Except his beauty didn’t diminish the virility that dripped from his body. It complemented it. Amplified it tenfold.
Reveal (A Wild Nights Novel) Page 4