by Sarina Bowen
Jenny wanders into the room, holding a travel mug and a stack of mail. “Morning!” she says breezily.
“Morning,” I mumble.
“Someone’s grumpy.”
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I answer as I pour myself some coffee.
Jenny grins. “Oh you poor thing! Stayed up all night having sex! How dreadful.”
I flip her off while taking a huge gulp of my caffeine fix, then settle in one of the chairs around the table. “That today’s mail or yesterday’s?” I tip my mug toward the stack of envelopes.
“Today’s.” She heads to the coffeemaker. “Mostly bills, from the looks of it, but there’re a couple things for you and Jackson.”
Setting down my cup, I reach for the mail and begin flipping through it. One item catches my attention. It’s a white envelope addressed to me, with a familiar logo printed on the return section. Huh. It’s from the Toronto Women’s Business Association. I hope I didn’t forget to renew my annual membership fee. It’s a really useful organization to join for a female business owner, particularly for all the free workshops they run every month.
“Also,” Jenny is still chattering behind me, “you missed out on an epic Mr. Dick request last night. He ordered a hundred packages of Jell-O. Who needs that much Jell-O?!”
“Maybe he was hosting one of those naked Jell-O wrestling parties,” I say absently, sliding my fingernail under the flap of the envelope.
“Oh God! Imagine? I’d love to be a fly on the wall of his pervazoid house.” Jenny joins me at the table, lacing her fingers around her mug. “What’s that?”
“Don’t know yet.” I extract a single sheet of paper and unfold it. A small placard falls out of the paper. It’s printed on lovely, thick cardstock and done in calligraphy. It seems to be an invitation to the annual TWBA awards banquet. At first I’m bewildered, because I didn’t know the TWBA even gave out awards.
Then I’m stunned, because apparently not only do they give out awards, but…they’re giving one to me!
“Oh my God!” I squeal so loudly that Jenny jumps in her seat. “Oh my God, Jen! Look at this!”
I shove the paper and invitation across the table. Jenny quickly puts down her coffee and reads both, then lets out a squeal of her own.
“Holy shit! This is so awesome!”
Grinning like idiots, we both do a little happy dance—while still fully seated. Of course, Jackson chooses this exact moment to enter the break room. His eyes bug out as he looks from me to Jenny, taking in our happy squeals and gyrating arms.
“Um. Okay.” My ex-husband smiles as he goes to get himself some coffee. “And what are we celebrating?”
“Me!” I blurt out. I hop out of my chair and pat myself down for my cell phone. Crap. I left it in my office. But I have to call Matt and share this news. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Jenny and Jackson. “Don’t change the channel! I’m waiting for Mornings with Matilda.”
I’m pretty sure I leave two confused people in my wake, because they’ve both known me a long time, and not once had I ever expressed interest in morning television.
In my office, I grab my phone and pull up Matt’s name. He answers on the fourth ring, sounding groggy as hell.
“Hey, Hottie.”
“Hey, Snipes. You awake?” I can’t wipe the silly grin off my face as I stare at the piece of paper in my hands. I probably should’ve left it in the break room so Jackson would know what the heck I was freaking out about, but Jenny can fill him in.
“Barely. Someone kept me up last night.” I can almost hear the smile in his husky voice.
“Well, wake up for just one minute,” I beg. “Let me just tell you my news and then you can go back to sleep.”
“News?” I hear the bedsheets rustling, as if he’s sitting up. “What news?”
“Have you heard of the Toronto Women’s Business Association?” I’m practically bouncing up and down now, and it has nothing to do with the three cups of coffee I drank.
“No, but I’ll take your word that they exist,” he jokes.
“They do. And they’re one of the most influential networking organizations in the city for Toronto businesswomen.” I bounce some more. “And they’re giving me an award! I’ve just been named Entrepreneur Innovator of the Year.”
“Seriously? Fuck, Hottie, that’s incredible! Congratulations!”
“Thank you.” I can’t quit smiling. “And there’s this huge gala next week for the awards ceremony. It’s black tie, open bar.” I hesitate, only for a beat, before continuing, “It’s on Wednesday night. Will you go with me?”
There’s no hesitation on Matt’s end. “Hell yeah I will! Timing works out great, huh? My flight from Nashville lands Wednesday afternoon, so that should give me plenty of time to throw on my penguin suit and be your plus one.”
Happiness ripples through me. “This is the coolest news ever, Matt. I honestly didn’t expect it.”
“The best things in life are the ones you don’t expect,” he says softly.
I hold those words close to my heart as we say goodbye, and I head back to the break room. Just in time, too, because the moment I walk in, Jenny shrieks and points to the television mounted to the wall.
“He just mentioned Fetch! ON LIVE TV!”
“What? Who?” I hurry over to her and Jackson, both of whom look shell-shocked. On the screen, I’m startled to find Blake Riley sitting on Matilda Morgan’s beige upholstered couch. He’s wearing a gray wool suit with a Toronto jersey under the jacket instead of a dress shirt. And either I’m imagining things, or Blake really is talking about our company.
“Miracle workers,” he’s saying. “Like, you realize how easy my life is now, Matilda? All those things I used to want at three in the morning and couldn’t get because I was a Lazy Lou? I get ’em all now.”
The bleached-blond, Botox-faced morning show host giggles loudly. “Well, Mr. Riley, you can’t just tease our viewers like that and not offer some details. What does a professional athlete require at three in the morning?”
Blake’s expression is solemn. “Pie. I always crave apple pie at night. Oh, and once I ran out of puppy food for Puddles.” He winks at Matilda. “But this is why I use Fetch now, feel me?”
The host changes the subject to Blake’s childhood, but my brain is still stuck on the previous topic. Did Blake Riley just endorse our company on live television?
“Did Blake Riley just endorse our company on live television?” Stunned, Jackson voices my exact thoughts.
I slowly turn toward him. “I…think he just did.”
Nineteen
Not the Chocolates’ Fault
Matt
I have a box of chocolates clutched in my hand, and I’m sitting on the team jet, hating them.
It’s not the chocolates’ fault, though.
I cancelled another date with Hailey tonight. Third time this month. The team was supposed to get back to Toronto at six, which should have been plenty of time to make it to the bowling alley and wow her with my horrible bowling. It would have been fun.
But we were late to the Denver airport, and we lost our takeoff time. Then it started snowing on the Rockies, and the whole airport got backed up because of visibility issues. If that weren’t enough, Toronto airspace is too crowded, and now we’re actually circling, waiting to land.
All the chocolates in the world aren’t enough to make up for dating a guy who stands you up every time he says he wants to take you out to dinner.
My brooding is interrupted by a howl of victory across the aisle. Chad Lemming has just defeated Will O’Connor at whatever video game they’re obsessed with this week.
“You got owned, OC!” Blake says, peering over their seats from the row behind. “I’m up next, right?”
O’Connor gets up and sidesteps, parking himself in the empty seat beside me, allowing Blake to take his place. “What’s up with you, E?” he asks, signaling the flight attendant for a drink.
“Nothing much.” I sigh, checking the time yet again. I wonder what Hailey is doing right now. I hope she took me up on my offer to head over to my place and wait for me.
Except…ugh. Waiting. That’s the very thing my ex hated about being with me. And she let me know pretty damned frequently during the last year of our marriage.
O’Connor accepts a diet soda from the flight attendant and gives me an appraising glance. “Something wrong?”
Yeah. But I’m not whining to this youngster about it. “You and Lemming were brawling just the other day,” I point out, changing the subject. “Did you kiss and make up?”
“It was a misunderstanding,” O’Connor says, stretching his neck.
I snicker. “Lemming just misunderstood your intention to move in on his conquest?”
“Yeah he did.” O’Connor narrows his eyes. “I took that girl home and walked her to her door. Handed her off to her parents.”
“Parents?” Jesus.
“Yeah. She was underage and lying about it. I saw her real driver’s license when she took out her fake ID for the bartender. Lemming didn’t believe me. He was drunk and horny. And the girl was working it hard.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly. She was a high school girl, and that’s not cool. I like to have my fun, but everybody has to be a consenting adult, you know?”
“Hell,” I say. “I’ll be retired from the league by the time my girls are dating. But I’m planning to keep up with my bench press. The first time a boy comes to take one of my girls out for a date, I’m gonna ask the kid to spot me while I bench three hundo. Just so the kid knows I can take him.”
O’Connor laughs.
“So you patched things up with Lemming?”
“Yeah.” His smile fades. “Told him he needs to be more careful. And I promised I’d be the best wingman he ever met the next time we’re out at the bars. Like, Top Gun level.”
“Ah.” I’m a little stunned at this burst of humanity from our team’s resident asshole. But I guess it’s good to know he has a heart beating in there somewhere. My phone buzzes with a text, which means the jet’s Wi-Fi is back on. “’Scuse me,” I say. “Gotta do some groveling because we’re so late getting home.”
O’Connor lifts his eyebrows, and I brace myself for another helping of his cynicism about relationships, but it doesn’t come. He tips his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes.
I unlock my phone, and the message is from Hailey. She’s responding to my profuse apologies from earlier.
Hailey: Don’t worry about it. I used the extra hours to keep my head above water at work.
I’m sure that’s true. It’s just that one of these nights she’ll look up from her work and realize how much more fun it would be to date someone who was around more than two randomized nights a week.
Matt: And now? Are you at my place?
It takes a second until I get a response. But then my screen fills with a shot of Hailey’s bare feet crossed on my comforter. Her toenails are painted pink, and wouldn’t you know it, but Rufus’s nose is lying across her ankle.
Matt: Once again, I’m jealous of my dog. He’s not supposed to be on the bed, by the way.
Hailey: He’s good company.
Ouch.
Matt: I can’t wait to take his spot.
Hailey: :) You don’t need to sleep on my ankle, though. It’s okay if you use the pillow.
Matt: You know what would be fun?
Hailey: Three straight wins in a row this week? I thought you had excellent footspeed last night, BTW. Good hustle.
Matt: Um, thank you. You know what else would be fun? If you were naked in my bed when I got there.
There is no response for a couple of minutes.
Hailey: Rufus has been relocated to the dog bed in the living room. And I made myself more comfortable.
My groin tightens with expectation.
Matt: How comfortable are you?
A photograph appears on the screen. It’s a shot of Hailey’s naked breast in profile, the nipple rosy. Holy crap. Hottie sexted me! That’s out of character for my shy girl. As I look at the photo, I harden up just imagining how much I want to put my mouth there.
Matt: That is the best sight I’ve seen in a really long time. Can’t wait to put my mouth on you.
Hailey: It’s really warm in here, suddenly.
She adds a few flame emojis, and I’m grinning at my phone. Hailey is cute and sexy and I’m getting all kinds of turned on.
Matt: I love sucking on you. Makes you so wet. I’m going to run my tongue all over your tits, honey. Just how you like it.
Hailey: Wow. They really don’t make emojis to express how I feel right now. Think: Niagara Falls.
Matt: Put your hand on your breast. Tease your nipple.
I sit there, imagining it, getting hornier by the second. And a minute later I’m treated to another photo of her, and this time she’s pinching that tasty little peak. Gawd. I look around to make sure nobody else can see this. But the guys sitting behind me are sleeping. Across the aisle, Blake and Lemming are still locked in battle over their video game on Lemming’s laptop. And Will O’Connor has nodded off beside me.
Fine.
I stealthily unclip my seatbelt. Then I use one hand to gently tighten the wool of my trousers, until the obvious bulge is easy to spot. With my other hand, I snap a quick picture on my phone.
Five seconds later I’ve hit send, refastened my seatbelt and put a magazine over my boner. The picture takes a while to upload.
“Dude. Did you just take a photo of your package?”
“No!” I say too quickly, even before I get a look at Will O’Connor’s evil grin. Fuck. “I was just…”
The grin widens. “The guys are gonna be very amused.”
“Christ. How much will your silence cost? I’ll buy you a beer.”
“Forget the beer.” He’s ready with another blackmail request, but it isn’t anything I’m expecting. “Tell the trainer I’ve been working hard at sprints,” he says. “They’re nagging me about my skating.”
“We all need a little technique refresher at some point. It’s easy to form bad habits.” Nothing to be ashamed of, either. But a young hotshot like O’Connor might be the sort to assume he can’t afford to admit he needs the extra coaching.
Sure enough, he makes a face.
“Hey OC!” Lemming yaps from across the aisle. “You’re up, my man.”
Will takes his soda and moves seats again.
As soon as I’m alone, I open my phone again. There’s a text waiting.
Hailey: Someone misses me.
Matt: As if there was any doubt.
I hope she doesn’t doubt it. Kara always seemed to, though. And I miss Hailey like crazy.
Matt: Please tell me you’re completely naked in my bed right now.
Hailey: Would you like proof?
Matt: Would I? Does the pope wear funny hats? Is hockey the best sport ever? :)
A minute later my proof arrives, and it’s the very best kind. The photo is a black-and-white shot from above of Hailey’s naked torso, with one hand tucked demurely between her legs, covering my view of the good stuff.
Matt: Unngh, Hottie. I’ll be hard all the way over the Great Lakes, and it’s totally worth it.
Hailey: My work here is done.
Matt: And I love that you don’t include your face in these shots, honey. Because that means I don’t have to instantly delete them in case my phone goes astray. Gonna hang on to this one, that’s for sure.
Hailey: Where’s my no-face picture of your hot self, then? I’m way out on a limb here. But I find myself there a lot because of you. I never took a naked photo before. I also never did it on the kitchen counter. So thank you for checking that off my list last weekend.
Matt: Did I mention I’m dying here? In the best way. Thank you for going out on that limb for me. I’m honored to be the one who takes you there.
This is a hundred percent true
. And when Hailey confides in me that way—like I matter—I’m able to feel for a few minutes like I’m not the worst boyfriend ever.
Naturally our Wi-Fi cuts out right in the middle of this sexy, heartfelt exchange. There are no more messages from Hailey, and every other player is cursing up a storm about their lost connections, too.
Eventually we land in Toronto. Since I’ve spent the last hour thinking of all the things I want to do with naked Hailey, I’m stiff as a pipe as I deplane. We’ve got maybe ten minutes before our luggage arrives on the carousel, so I tuck the chocolates into my carryon and go into the men’s room in the charter terminal to brush my teeth.
Wes and O’Connor are having a conversation at the sinks, so I duck into a stall instead. I unzip and take out my phone. Hottie was right that fair is fair. I grip the base of my aching cock and frame the shot. It’s the perfect expression of how much I’m looking forward to an hour from now when I let myself into the apartment. I depress the shutter.
And the flash blinds me.
Shit. Maybe nobody noticed.
I tuck the phone away and zip up. Then I flush the toilet casually.
“Did you just take a selfie of your dick?” O’Connor asks as I emerge.
“No.” I walk over to the sink and wash my hands.
“Then why’d the flash go off?” Wes asks, looking amused.
“No idea.”
Blake Riley emerges from a stall. “What do you call a dick selfie?” he asks, his big face frowning thoughtfully. “Delfie is kinda awkward.”
“You ladies have a nice night,” I grumble, getting the hell out of there.
Their laughter follows me out the door.
An hour later I’m tapping the code into my security system. I drop my luggage on the floor, and then jump about a foot into the air as I see an unfamiliar shadow looming in the darkened corner.
Luckily I realize what it is before I give myself a coronary.
It’s a coatrack. Hottie’s coat is the only thing on it. I laugh quietly in the dim light. She got me a coatrack, because I’m obviously too dumb to remember to source one myself.