Daring Play (Dangerous Book 3)

by Romi Hart

  * * *

  “Wake up, sunshine!” David sings merrily, pouring me a cup of coffee at my desk.

  “Damn…” I say, groggy as always. “What time is it?” Christ, I fell asleep in the office again.

  “Nine AM, buddy boy,” he says. “And we’ve got the Cranz meeting today. So drink some caffeine and freshen up. And if that doesn’t work, you’re going to have to snort some shit because this meeting is really fucking important.”

  “Oh Cranz…that’s today. Okay, yeah, I remember.”

  “Were you up all night again? Sleeping at your desk? What’s wrong with you, kid?”

  “Well…it was just strange, to tell you the truth. I met some girls a few days ago. You know, the girl who denounced me on television and her friend.”

  “Go on. Wait, let me guess. Lesbian Olympics all night in your office?”

  “No! Well, just one of them, actually. I slept with the friend. Now Maya, the original girl, I didn’t sleep with hates me even more!”

  David grins wickedly. “Now her hate is amplified! What started as a cute little game has now become a full-fledged hatred. Sorry, buddy-boy, you called this one on yourself.”

  “Jesus, David! All I ever wanted was to apologize to this girl. And no matter what I say, she just hates me a little more every day!”

  “Well kid, maybe you shouldn’t have bonked her best friend. You should know women get very competitive with each other when it’s about a man. Especially if that man is the great Zander Troy!”

  “I guess I’m just oblivious to people’s sexual hang-ups. You know my father never allowed me to have hang-ups, David.”

  “I know…had an orgy for your first time. I heard about that.”

  “He told you?”

  “No, I heard from the maid. She was quite a gossip, you know.”

  “Jesus. I had no idea the whole household knew about my orgy! Look David, all I know is this Maya is trouble. She’s deranged. Insane, you know? Maybe we should get a restraining order against her.”

  “Look kid, I think I know what’s going on.”

  “Do you? Are you thinking what I’m thinking? That she’s a stalker?”

  “Stalker, no. But I think you’ve stumbled upon a marvel of nature so rare and exquisite, your mind has no idea how to reconcile it.”

  “Come again?”

  “I think little Maya is a virgin,” David says with a wide grin. “And stalkers are very oftentimes virgins. They’re not dangerous…they’re just sensitive little girls who wear their hearts on their sleeves. The symptom of confusion and erratic behavior persists until the CURE for that particular ailment. Losing that virginity!”

  “Virgin? No…no way. She couldn’t be.”

  “Virgins are rare but they do exist. How you managed to find one, Zander, heaven knows. I would have thought if the big man upstairs actually existed, he would have kept that poor girl locked away from the likes of you!”

  “Thanks, David.”

  “Just let her down gently. She’s a kid in a twenty-one-year-old’s body. Apologize and then say goodbye for good.”

  “A virgin…wow. I just never…I never…you really think she’s a virgin?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I just…I dunno. I’m surprised is all.”

  “Ah,” David says with a knowing smirk. “And if there’s one thing that Zander Troy yearns for, it’s a new challenge. Maybe consummating with a virgin gets you all hard, eh? Something forbidden…reclaiming your own innocence by corrupting a virgin girl’s purity!”

  “I’m not nearly as sinister as you make me sound, David. I mean, yeah, I’ve never actually been with a virgin before. It makes me think…you know…what I was like when I was a virgin.”

  “Ah, but unlike Maya, you’ve NEVER been innocent, have you, kid?”

  “No…I guess I haven’t.”

  * * *

  I may as well have slept through that Cranz meeting. I pretty much nodded off and let David and Artie, my CFO, do most of the talking. Where was my mind? Of course, still thinking about Maya.

  As if I wasn’t already fascinated by her, because of her hatred of my ill character, NOW that I found out she really is the complete opposite of me, the attraction only grows. I’m corrupted. I’m cynical. She’s pure, perfect, innocent and all-trusting.

  She believes in good and evil. To her, I am an evil man. She doesn’t understand moral complexity. Maybe she doesn’t even understand the concept of a man’s WEAKNESS. Everything is power to her, strength…the ability to wait and resist.

  My rational answer should be a resolute WHO CARES? But for once, I find myself actually caring what someone thinks of me. Why? Do I want her to despise me or forgive me? Do I want her to wipe the stains away from my decadent existence? Do I want to confess my sins to her, since maybe the idea of an innocent virgin girl with an idealistic heart is MORE impressive to me than a hypocritical preacher man?

  Or do I just want to invade that perfectly sculpted virginal snatch?

  For once, I don’t know my own thoughts or desires. I don’t know if I feel lust, greed or something else.

  But I know…now more than ever, I can’t just walk away from this attraction. If my hope was to forget Maya, that’s an impossibility. I’ve turned my curiosity into a full obsession.

  I know what I want, just not my ultimate motivation. I want to WIN her over. I want her to like me, to worship me. Maybe even to look at me the same way she did when I first shook her hand but hardly knew who she was.

  I want to go back to that, that place of mutual respect.

  I want to erase her hatred and fill her heart with love, letting her keep her hope, keep her idealism.

  And yeah…if I’m admitting it to myself, maybe I do just WANT her. To have her, to possess her, even if it’s just for one night. Sex is entirely optional, of course. If she chose me, which she might not…I don’t know…I’m not exactly a one-car owner, you know. I couldn’t very well resent her for not wanting the prodigal son…the man-whore who even bedded her friend out of weakness. Out of sheer arrogance!

  I could buy her, I could buy a dozen girls just like her by barely opening my wallet. But I don’t want sex with THEM. For some reason, I want her. And I want dialog, not just consummation. More than sex, I want to penetrate her mind. I want to know why she hates me, why she hates men. Why she hates the world…is it the same reason I hate the world? Or is it something else?

  Or maybe I just want to know what it’s like to be young and hopeful again. Maybe we both want the same thing. To feel special…to feel innocent.

  Whatever it is, I do feel the need to speak with Maya right away. But maybe a change of scenery is necessary. Maybe it’s time she learns that I really am not that terrible a guy…just slightly jaded from a lifetime of getting too much of a good thing.

  3

  Maya

  It’s such a hard blow to take when you find out your instincts are wrong. Being wrong is not that bad. Being a kid in school, you’re always wrong. It’s no big deal. Choosing the wrong answer, making an impulsive decision, everyone is wrong sometimes.

  But when your instincts are wrong, your judgment is wrong…it’s such a devastating blow to take. It’s no longer about you speaking out of line or you not getting the lesson. It’s about your flawed perspective of life. Your stupidity. Your completely oblivious nature. You’re fucking Darwinism ready to happen. You can’t think for yourself. Every decision you ever make is wrong. You were so sure of something, weren’t you? But your values were stupid. Your intelligence was non-existent.

  I never thought Zander was a great man, or even a nice respectable gentleman. I accepted that he was a diamond in the rough, a man who needed a big heart to heal him or love him like his parents never could.

  You know, the same stupid virgin shit that every stupid virgin girl says about her teen heartthrob—before she realizes how full of shit he is. Well, Zander is no teen heartthrob. He’s a man of the people. Loved for his humani
tarian work. Loved for his charity. But what’s he like as a person? A piece of shit who fucks anything that moves. That I know from experience.

  My parents warned me about him. I didn’t listen because I thought I understood something…not about him, but something deep and profound about life. Believing all this horseshit about people deserving a second chance. About hoping for the best in humanity. No one should ever feel this way…no one should ever believe in anything.

  Maybe, all things considered, it’s better that I just stay alone this Valentine’s Day. Maybe I should just suffer and contemplate how love is all a sham and how only rich dickheads prosper in the world.

  “Hey,” I hear a voice call from behind me. I’m so alarmed I drop my Subway sandwich. Who can blame me…pondering on the futility of love makes a girl very hungry.

  “Hey yourself,” I say almost vengefully. I turn around and notice a guy standing there. Kind of tall, a little stocky, balding and tan. He seems like the type of guy I would usually patronize, just to be nice, just to let him think he has a chance with me.

  “You’re really pretty.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sorry, I know that’s weird and awkward to say. But I just saw you sitting here, looking all sad and beautiful, and I thought maybe I could cheer you up.”

  “Well,” I laugh the idea off, “I doubt it. But I guess you can try.”

  “Well my name’s Billy and I raise chickens.”

  “For real? Chickens? Like real chickens?”

  “Yeah, real chickens, not like those fake robot chickens.”

  I laugh against my will. “Ah, cool. Real chickens. Name’s Maya.”

  “Well, anyway,” he continues, “I was constructing a chicken coop last week because I sell them on the side. And I realized I only had two doors to attach to the frame. Weird, right?”

  “Chicken coops only have two doors?”

  “Well yeah…because if they had four doors it would be called a chicken sedan.”

  “Chicken sedan? What is that…oh, fuck me!” I laugh harder, dropping most of the lettuce out of my sandwich.

  “You fell for it.”

  “You don’t really raise chickens, do you?”

  “No, I’m actually an agronomy sales representative. But I meet so many farmers, I’ve heard just about every chicken joke ever written. You know what you call a dirty chicken joke?”

  “No, what?”

  “Fowl language.”

  I laugh again, amused at Billy’s innocent smile and his childish sense of humor. He is definitely the opposite of Zander Troy. And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe sometimes a virgin just deserves someone sweet.

  * * *

  Billy’s fashion choices make me laugh. He’s the type of guy who would just throw on a t-shirt and jeans, not really giving a damn what anyone thinks about him. His smile is contagious, so oblivious to the insecurity of rich, good-looking people. He really is another being altogether, someone not easily phased or easily bought and traded.

  I gave my number to Billy, since he asked in a hurried moment right before we said goodbye. I almost said no. I even started to recall my notes about the whole, “Not attracted to you” thing. But then I suddenly decided, you know what? Why bother.

  Why am I judging Billy for being just a regular guy? Why am I resenting him for being the opposite of Zander and making me laugh and feel good about myself? Maybe my new philosophy in life SHOULD be to just be nice to nice guys, until they turn out to be dickheads. Like Zander was and is and always will be.

  Now Billy is talking to me again. He called me once before, but I blew him off because I was tired and starving for a private lunch. Just like an obedient dog, he heeded…and now he’s back again. Calling me late at night before bed, probably when I’m at my most vulnerable.

  Should I resent him for trying to earn points with me? Or should I respect him for trying so hard when I certainly don’t deserve anything better than a creep like Zander?

  “Hey Billy,” I say tiredly, rolling over in bed and feeling the intimacy of his voice against my ear.

  “Just called to wish you a good night.”

  “Well, aren’t you sweet.”

  “Oh crap. That’s not what a guy wants to hear.”

  I laugh. “Why would you say that? There’s nothing wrong with being sweet.”

  “Nothing much right about it either. I have to be honest. I just really like you. When I first saw you, a powerful force came over me, saying…Oh my god. This is the best looking woman I am ever going to meet. I have to at least say hello!”

  “Aww.”

  “No, don’t ‘aww’!” he replies to my laughter. “And now I have the strange urge to just lay it all out there and humiliate myself. I have to ask you out. I have to have a conversation with you. My curiosity just won’t leave me alone. I really just want to have tacos with you and entertain you with poorly written jokes.”

  “Well, there’s nothing much to tell, Billy. I’m pretty dull.”

  “No way. You got the look.”

  “The look?”

  “Yeah, the look! Like you’re almost too smart for your own good. Like you’re a poet or a deep thinker. Or someone who’s going to be a winner in the game of life. Maybe that’s why you were looking so sad the other day. All geniuses are a little sad.”

  “Hmm…you may be right about that. I accept the title of genius.”

  “Cool.”

  “But what is your title? If I’m a genius, what does that make you? What do you want to be known as?”

  “Hmm, I like the title Sex God.”

  I guffaw again. “Well that’s fair, I guess.”

  “Hey, I can always sample for you. You know, if there’s any doubt...”

  “Uhhh…I think I’d rather hear more about your job. Like what is agronomy?”

  “The art of telling chicken jokes,” he says. “Girl, if you were a chicken you’d be impeccable.”

  I laugh hard again, unable to defend myself at the sheer awfulness of these jokes.

  If anything, Billy has proven to me that he’s not “chicken” when it comes to trying to sweet-talk me. But I still feel bothered by the fact that I would rather him bore me with details about his job, and hear more “fowl jokes”, then actually let him try to be romantic. I’ve put up a shield against his advances and I don’t know why.

  He’s cooperating too, bless his heart. He knows he’s not supposed to be a horn dog if I’ve told him that’s not what I want from him. So why is it okay for Zander to be a horn dog, especially when I hate his guts? Is it some weird rule that says you have to resent people you have sex with?

  Or maybe my body just knows what it wants. That’s the theory I hear about all the time, that we don’t actually choose our lovers consciously. Our body chemistry just knows when we meet a compatible match. Our scent, our pheromones know what we need. We get together with people whose genes are evolutionarily beneficial.

  Not saying I believe that, of course, but it may explain the sad fact of why I don’t feel attracted to Billy…but still enjoy his company. Zander, on the other hand, I despise his company.

  But I still can’t seem to dump him mentally. Get him out of my head, once and for all. But maybe Billy will serve a purpose. Maybe if I spend more time with him I’ll gradually feel something. At least I won’t be alone for Valentine’s Day. He’ll get what he wants, sex—what all men want! —and I’ll get some reassurance that I am beautiful, lovable, and NOT some guy’s second choice.

  * * *

  My phone conversations with Billy have been somewhat bland. Very safe. Friendly. I like hearing him talk, I like him telling me I’m pretty. But I can’t seem to make the mental shift into letting him anywhere near my panties. Even over the phone. I just don’t want to talk to Phone Sex Billy. I don’t like that guy, have no interest in him. Fun, Goofy Billy is cool. Sex God Billy doesn’t work for me. His voice is not quite right. He’s goofy, he’s charming when he wants to be. But he doesn’t re
ally command my attention. He doesn’t look me in the eye and make me…

  Ugh.

  Speaking of looking me in the eye, I’m suddenly repulsed by my Subway sandwich and drop it down on the packaging. I actually love Subway, but lately, guys have made eating alone here awkward and annoying.

  “I thought I would find you here,” Zander says. Very surprised to know his ego could fit in the store!

  He walks towards me, nodding his head and ignoring my death-to-you stares. He doesn’t even ask for permission to sit down! He just kidnaps me into this conversation.

  “I do not consent!” I warn him.

  “Consent? Darling, I’m not even trying to steal third base yet, am I?”

  “Darling! There you go again. God, Zander. You really have no respect whatsoever, do you?”

  “Why is darling such a bad word nowadays?”

  “Because I do not consent to you calling me ‘darling’. I don’t consent to you sitting across from me at this table. But none of that matters to you, does it?”

  “I’m sorry, Maya. Okay? I actually came here to apologize. Nothing else.”

  “How the fuck did you even know I was here?!”

  “Well…someone told me you come here for lunch four out of five days a week.”

  “Ew. Seriously? You asked Renee where to find me?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Renee, who I no longer even LIKE, and who you had SEX with…you asked her for booty call information on me?”

  “No, no,” he says with a pained face. “This is not about sex. I promise. This is about me apologizing for my jackass behavior.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’m sorry I was rude to you.”

  “And?”

  “Let me finish! I’m sorry I scored with your best friend.”

  “She’s not my friend, not anymore. That’s not what girls do to each other. Renee knew I liked you and she betrayed me. You only get once chance with me.”