by Celia Aaron
“About that—”
“I mean, I almost let him stick it in me. All the way. Not just the damn tip.” I licked the glaze off my fingers and took a swig from my coffee cup emblazoned with the letters “HBIC,” a gift from Nikki, of course.
She took her usual spot on my desk, her sassy red skirt riding up to reveal some black thigh highs.
“Are you fucking someone in the office?” I pointed to the lacy edges of her garters.
“No, this is for Braden later. He wanted to play naughty secretary.”
I laughed and brushed the scone crumbs from my light pink top.
“Easton came to see me over the weekend.”
I stopped brushing and my eyes rounded in surprise. “What?”
“He was desperate to find out why you won’t take his calls.”
I pressed my lips together, trying to hold in my anger. “And what did you tell him?”
She pressed her palms down onto my desk and stared at her knees. “The truth. That you were hurt before and that we saw the pictures of him being Captain FuckaHo.”
“Go on.” I couldn’t tell if I was angrier with Easton or with her for talking about me behind my back.
“He said those photos were taken months ago, long before he met you.”
“So?” I bit out. “Is that supposed to prove something?”
She looked at me through her lashes. “Yes. I think you know it does. I searched for any recent photos of him. There are none. He hasn’t been whoring around over the past week at all. Not since he met you.”
“One week doesn’t prove anything, Nikki.”
She tapped her nails along my desk and seemed to be wrestling with what to say next.
Her reticence made me fidget in my chair. “I’ve never known you to be at a loss for words. Out with it.”
Her gaze was frank as she lifted her face to mine, no more subterfuge. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think you’re being fair.”
I flinched, stung by her words. “Why are you taking his side? You know what happened with—”
“Yes, I know, Kyrie. I was there, remember? I held you night after night as you cried your heart out. I was there every weekend with you, having Netflix marathons and scouring celebrity gossip rags. I was there. Remember?”
God, I was such an asshole. Nikki was right. She’d always been there for me, always had my back. She was my rock after the breakup, helping me sell my wedding dress and explain the situation to wedding invitees. I couldn’t have gotten through the humiliation or the hurt without her. “Yes, I remember,” I said quietly as my eyes watered.
“I’m your girl. You know this. So when I say you aren’t being fair, it’s not without those considerations about the past, okay? But I really think he deserves a shot. He’s not the same as you-know-who. I wouldn’t have hooked you up with him if I thought they were anywhere near the same.” She leaned over and squeezed my shoulder, her friendly brown eyes glittering with tears. “I love you. But I think you’re wrong about him, and I think you’re going to regret passing him up. That’s all I wanted to say.”
“I love you, too.” I stood and hugged her.
“Jeez, I need implants,” she said and pressed me harder against her. “I want Braden to feel this every time I hug him.”
Grady, from the mailroom, walked past my door pushing his cart. Then he backed up and stared, a goofy grin overtaking his face as he watched the two of us embracing.
“Um, Nikki,” I whispered.
“Yeah, bestie with the chestie?”
“There’s a creeper on your six.”
“Is it Grady?”
He pretended to put some mail in the cubicle across from my office. The unoccupied cubicle.
“Yeah.”
“Squeeze my ass. Give him something to dream about.”
“Seriously?”
“Do it,” she urged into my ear.
“Fine.” I reached down and squeezed her butt.
Grady’s eyes widened and he hurried away, his dick likely pushing the cart for him.
“He’s gone.” I pulled away from her and shook my head. “You are insane.”
“You loved it, slut.” She gave me a peck on the cheek and hopped off my desk. “I’ll see you later. I need to work on my article for the next edition.”
“Oh, no. What did Tessa assign you this time?”
“This one may be my all-time fave assignment. It’s supposed to be about the new cultural norm of girl-on-girl action amongst teens.”
I sank into my chair and cocked my head to the side. “I’m pretty sure our readers’ parents won’t find that to be a cultural norm.”
She laughed. “I told Tessa it was all the rage. She believed me. So now I’m thinking of calling my piece ‘Dancing the Clitterbug’. You like it?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Out, you beautiful, insane woman, you. I have a baseball player to apologize to. Hop on down the bunny trail. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Tell Easton I said hi.” She blew me a kiss and disappeared out my door.
I reached for my cell phone, but my desk phone rang before I could pick it up. The number popped up on my phone’s digital screen, and I recognized it. Style and Substance. I squealed and then forced myself to affect a nonchalant tone.
“Hello, this is Kyrie.”
“Please hold for Ms. Froggart,” a woman’s voice chirped into my ear before the line went silent.
I shot up, stretching my phone cord to a perilous degree, and slammed my door closed. Once I sat back down, the line clicked.
“Ms. Kent?” A woman’s voice, thin and high. Graciela Froggart, the editor in chief of Style and Substance.
“This is she.” I tried to keep my tone even, despite my ears getting hot and my hands turning cold as ice. Nerves.
“I’m calling about your resume and writing samples. I’ll just cut to the chase. Your resume is perfect, your credentials spot on, and your last piece on this pop sensation Justin what’s-his-name was mechanically excellent.”
My heart swelled at her words, but it was tempered by the feeling that a “but” would be located at the end of her sentence.
Right on cue, she added, “But, your writings lack a certain je ne sais quoi.” Her French was heavily accented, probably perfect, and I was totally screwed.
“I’m not sure what—”
She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Though I wasn’t impressed with the heart of your writing thus far, I see talent. I want talent on my team. But, a diamond in the rough is still rough and nowhere near as valuable as a polished, glittering gem. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Maybe. “Yes.”
“Good. I expect a new, multifaceted piece from you within two weeks.”
“Thank you—”
The line went dead. I dropped the phone into the cradle and stuffed my freezing hands under my arms. I turned her words over in my mind like a coin—heart, multifaceted piece. The Justin piece, and all my other pieces for Teen Sparkle were mostly fluff, but I never thought they lacked heart. Then again, I hadn’t taken the fluff pieces seriously, only doing what I needed to in order to please Tessa.
“God.” I pulled out my hands and covered my face. Had I sabotaged myself by dreaming at the Style and Substance level but not following through at the Teen Sparkle level? I already knew the answer. Yes.
I sat for several minutes, running through my options. I didn’t have many, and I was certain an article on the reality TV stars of L.A. I’d been assigned wasn’t going to pass muster with Graciela Froggart. I would need to write something else, something that would catch her interest. All I had to do was figure out what that something else was.
I took a deep breath and picked up my cell phone. I needed time to think about how to impress Graciela, but there was something I could do right then that would smooth over another area of my life.
I ran my thumbs along the screen.
I’m sorry for judging y
ou the way I did. Can I make it up to you with dinner at Sal Antonio’s? Tonight? Meet you there at eight?
After I hit send, I rested my chin on my crossed forearms and stared at my phone. Easton was probably at practice. Maybe he was doing laundry. Perhaps he was with his sister at a doctor’s appointment, or saving orphans, or putting out a fire on a school bus—doing anything but ignoring my text the way I’d been ignoring his.
My phone pinged and I snatched it up, but it was only a message from Nikki asking if I’d talked to him yet. Disappointed, I texted her back in the negative and put my phone back into the staring-at-it-like-a-psycho position. Minutes ticked by and I sat up, resigned to do some work for the day, though I glanced to my phone every few seconds. I had to set up my travel plans to the West coast.
I logged into my travel account and was checking flight information when the ping sounded again. My heart leapt into my throat as I grabbed my phone and swiped across the screen. A message from Easton.
See you at 8.
It wasn’t a lot, but it was something, and I would take it. I called over to Nikki’s office.
“I’m meeting him at eight. What should I wear?”
“Something from my closet. Something red. Something—”
“I might be able to fit something from your closet around one of my legs. Try again.”
“Always rubbing those big tits in my face, aren’t you? Hang on. I’m going to write that line down for my Clitterbug piece.”
“Nikki! This is serious,” I hissed.
She popped her gum in my ear. “Okay then, Miss Serious. I have an idea.”
“Oh no. That’s never a good thing.”
“This time it is. We’ll go shopping and find the perfect dress. I’ll swing by your office at four, and we’ll sneak out.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” I examined the long list of unread emails in my inbox.
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell Tessa we’re going to interview some teen trysexuals.”
“What the hell is a trysexual?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She made a pfft noise. “A girl who’ll try anything once.”
“Where the hell do you even come up with this stuff?” I was genuinely amazed at her abilities.
“I have a very particular set of skills.” She gave her best Liam Neeson imitation—accent and all.
“I’ll see you at four.”
“I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want. But I will find you. And I will lick you. Click.”
I snorted. “Nikki?”
“Yeah.”
“When you say click, it doesn’t really have the same flair as if you’d actually hung up the ph—”
Click.
She probably heard my laughter from across the office.
EASTON
“FUCK YES!” I read Kyrie’s text at least four times in a row.
“Hey man, aren’t you—”
“Right here, son!” I held my fist out for the kid at the drive thru window. Someone needed to celebrate this shit with me. He grinned wide and gave me a fist bump.
“You’re Easton Holliday, right?” My food rattled around in the paper bag because his hand was shaking so damn much.
“Yeah man. Hey, question. So this chick has been ignoring me because well, not to get too specific, but she found out I used to kind of play the field if you know what I mean. She blew me off for days and not in a good way. She finally texted me and said she’d go on a date. What should I say to her?” I took my drink and bag of food before he strangled it to death, then stared back at him.
“Umm—” He paused for a good ten seconds.
A car honked behind me. I leaned out the window. “Hey, I got serious shit going on up here. Wait a minute.” I turned back to the kid. I’d never felt this way in my life and I did not want to fuck it up. “Well?”
“Seems like, maybe you should umm, send her something so you at least set the date. Right?”
“Yes. Yes! That’s good.” I nodded.
Another horn honked, longer this time. I stuck my head out the window once more. “Look bitch, I’ll get you free tickets to the game Thursday. Just call the front office and tell them you’re the asshole with the horn. They’ll be waiting at will call!”
“Seems like maybe you should, I don’t know, say the bare minimum until you know exactly what you want to tell her?” He looked like he might faint.
“You’re a pretty sharp kid. I like it. Thanks, man!”
“No problem, Mr. Holliday, sir. Huge fan. I’m sure I’ll tell this story the rest of my life. But, I think these people are going to murder us if you don’t let them get their food.” He motioned to the line now wrapping around the building.
“Got it, chief. You want tickets to the game Thursday?”
“Hell yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“Mitch Mitchell.”
“Hah! Seriously?”
“Yes sir.”
“You a drummer?”
“No. But nobody ever catches on to that.” The kid grinned again and a horn went off.
“Fuckers. Anyway, they’ll be at will call, Mitch. I’ll try and come say hi after.”
I sped off before the fast food line turned into a steel cage match. Picking up my phone, I swiped the screen and read her message one more time. A tingling sensation radiated from my face and ended in my stomach. Say the bare minimum. Just like Mitch told you. Mitch is wise.
See you at 8.
All at once, my predicament hit me. What am I going to wear? What am I going to say? I knew the conversation wouldn’t be light and flirty. Kyrie would ask me tough questions and want reasonable explanations. I need Kasey.
Despite the fact that my sister told filthier jokes than Andrew Dice Clay, underneath her layers was a real girl, and I needed her to channel that bitch as soon as possible to provide me with some sage advice.
“Look Easton, if she starts hassling you about your past, just lick on her clit a little. It’s the easiest way out of a difficult conversation.”
She stood in the middle of my bedroom while I rifled through my closet like a mad man and searched for something to wear. “Will you quit fucking around? I’m serious. I need girl Kasey. Not bro Kasey.” I grabbed a long sleeved light blue button down and stared at it, then slung it against the wall of my closet. “Not good enough.” It fell into a pile of at least ten other shirts still on hangers.
“Fine, asshole. Make me be a chick. You owe me one, buddy.” She tapped her chin. “What would a girl that loves baseball dick now, but used to hate it, but loved it before she hated it—what would she want?” She shook her head. “It’s a toughie.”
Shirts flew against the wall faster every time Kasey spoke, and I was starting to sweat.
“You are out of control, big bro. You need to relax. I won’t mention an Asian massage parlor, because I’m being a ‘lady of manners’ right now. But the first thing I’d do if I was you was release some of that tension.”
“You really want to make a jerk off motion with your hand right now, don’t you?”
“Can I? Please?” She begged.
“No.” I shook my head and grinned. Her hand trembled in anticipation against her leg.
“Such a dick.” She frowned.
“Fine. Go on.”
I couldn’t even get the words before she jerked off in the air and threw the imaginary semen at me like she’d puffed a jizz cloud. “God, if I had a dick I would beat off non-stop. I’d slap stuff with it all the time. Sneak up on people and rest it on their shoulder like it was business as usual. And coming on titties? Fuck. I’d do just about anything to Jackson Pollock a pair of flop rockets. That’s the dream right there.”
“Jesus Christ, Kasey. Focus.”
“Okay, okay. I’m a girl. I’m Kyrie, what do I want?” She folded her arms. “I want honesty. I’m a straight shooter, no bullshit. If I’m Kyrie, I gather information and then make informed decisions after lookin
g at it from all angles.”
“That’s actually—helpful.” I stopped rummaging for an outfit.
“Thanks for acting all surprised, prick.” Kasey ran a finger over my entertainment center and inspected it. She was a neat freak. Well, she was when she wasn’t fucked up on pain pills.
“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Wait.” Kasey’s eyes glanced up to the ceiling and then back to me.
“What?”
“Well, it’s just, I’m also an editor. That means I’m all literary and artsy and shit. Not to mention we are delving into the realms of love and feels.” She made a gagging noise.
I glared at her.
“Sorry. I’m still getting into character. It’s a process. She wasn’t really all that rational using her past experience to judge you. Look, Easton. Do you like this girl? Do you want a relationship with her? These are the clinger questions you need to ask yourself.”
“Easy. Yes and yes.” I fumbled through shoes. Maybe if I picked out the right pair of shoes it’d help me choose the rest of my outfit. I grabbed a pair and looked at Kasey.
“Those say ‘I want to let Braden fuck me tonight.’ Throw them away.” She chortled at her joke.
“Dating is hard.” I ran a hand through my hair.
“Easton?” Kasey stared at me.
I glanced back at her. “Yeah?”
“Do you love her?”
I looked away far too quickly.
“Tell her the truth then.”
I walked over and hugged Kasey, despite her protest. She patted me awkwardly on the back.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“Yeah yeah. As much as I love watching you sweat like a bitch, let’s find you something to wear. That light blue shirt would’ve been great, but now it’s in a pile. Good thing you own like five of them, you fucking woman.”
She sidestepped the pile of clothes I’d hurled into the floor and handed me a pair of medium gray slacks, another light blue button down, and a navy blazer.
“Thanks again.”