by Rylee Swann
“Here,” I say, pressing the bills into her hand. “You were amazing.” I hesitate for a moment, looking down at her as she gazes up at me with wide inviting eyes. “I’ll call you soon for another go.”
I finish dressing while she watches me. I don’t want to leave, but I have to stay professional about this. “The room is paid for. You can stay as long as you like,” I say, bending down to kiss her once more. Then I quickly stride from the room before changing my mind.
This is the job, staying unemotional and detached. I can’t have her getting the wrong idea.
Shutting the door behind me, I curse. Almost turn and open the door again.
What the fuck?
CHAPTER 11
I’m well-fucked and exhausted, want to be tucked into my own bed, but the thought of driving home right now just makes my head hurt.
So what to do?
Gotta love Brooklyn.
There’s a place to sit and get a cup of coffee on almost every street corner.
I’m not in the mood for coffee. That kind of hit of caffeine isn’t what I’m seeking, so when the waitress arrives at my table, I ask for a cup of hot chocolate, hold the whipped cream. I’m almost on a diet, I argue with myself. She nods and is back in a moment with the steaming brew.
Taking a sip, I shut my eyes as the cocoa comfort washes over me. And then the guilt hits.
What am I doing? Who have I become?
I shake my head and sigh heavily. Maybe things will look better in the morning. Or, rather, when I wake up next.
Sure the sex is mind-blowing. Seriously, mind-blowing, but this isn’t exactly how I ever imagined earning a living. That reminds me. I open my handbag and look at the six one hundred dollar bills Michael gave me. What had he said? I’d earned every penny. I was amazing.
I shake my head again, take another sip of my cocoa and fold my arms on the table in front of me. It looks like a great pillow, so I rest my head on my arms. Everything hurts. My pussy, my body, my head, my heart, my brain.
I must have shut my eyes because the next thing I know is someone with a deep voice is asking if I’m alright. I hadn’t fallen asleep, but it must have looked like it.
I look up with bleary eyes and squint at the man standing in front of me. And then I gape at him. This guy is Chippendale’s hot. Abercrombie & Fitch hot. Come here to mama hot. I think I’ve become oversexed because arousal pools between my legs. I can’t possibly want more right now. But… just look at him!
The opposite of Michael, this guy’s hair is blond and expertly coiffed for that sexy “just out of bed” look, and his eyes are the bluest I’ve ever seen. So blue they sparkle. He’s so bright and sunshiny, I want to put on sunglasses. His face is flawless with high cheekbones and an overall boyish, approachable appearance.
Wearing shorts and a t-shirt, it’s easy to see how lean and hard his body is. He’s in shape. He must spend every day at the gym. I foolishly start wondering why he’s not there right now. But he’s not overly bulky. He’s swimmer’s body is perfection. Surfer dude pretty. I can just imagine him hanging ten. He clears his throat and smiles, and I realize that I’ve been staring gape jawed at him without answering. His smile seems to hypnotize me, and I stare for another beat before gathering my wits. He’s just that handsome.
“I’m fine. Just tired. Thanks for checking.”
“No problem. I just wanted to be sure. Better safe than sorry, you know?”
Is that a rhetorical question or does he expect an answer? I really am tired and stunned by his blinding good looks. I’ve been in a drought for a long time, and now it’s suddenly pouring. “Thanks. Like I said, I’m just tired.”
“Sure, I hear you.” But he continues standing there. Do I look so bad he’s that concerned? “I’m Scott, by the way.”
“Kim,” I say automatically. I was raised right, not that my mama would think so right now. “Nice to meet you.”
He beams a smile and motions to the chair across from me. “Mind if I join you?”
I look around the diner thinking he must suddenly be talking to someone else. But it’s just me in the vicinity. “Are you a serial killer?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “No, ma’am, I promise.”
“Wouldn’t a serial killer give me the same answer?” Banter? Where is this banter coming from?
Who am I?
Yes, I’m tired, but what I’ve been doing with Michael makes me feel powerful. Secure. Maybe even confident. And the banter is coming naturally. Go me.
He chuckles and shrugs. “Well, I guess you got me. But it might be better if I joined you rather than waiting for you around the corner?” I just stare at him in awe. His teeth are so white, and his eyes are so blue. “Hey, sorry. You know I was joking, I hope.”
I laugh at the genuine concern on his face, and his smile relaxes. I nod to the empty chair. “Sure, why not?”
He eases into the chair and wags a finger at me. “You had me for a minute. I thought I’d really frightened you. I didn’t mean to, you know.”
“I know.” I smile back at him. “Like I said, just tired. My brain’s having trouble giving directions to my mouth.” I shrug and take a sip of my cooling hot chocolate.
He nods. “You work nights?”
I nearly spit cocoa all over the table but choke it down just in time. Work nights. Yeah, I guess you could say that. “Ah, no. Was just visiting a friend. We stayed up all night talking.”
“Sounds like fun.” He motions to the waitress, and she arrives in a moment with a check.
I blink at her, then at him. “You don’t have to do that.”
Scott smiles at me then at the waitress, and she hands him another check. What? “The first check was mine,” he explains. “I was drinking coffee over there when I saw you.” He indicates another table. “The second check is yours. And, I insist. A dollar fifty isn’t going to break me, I guarantee you, Kim.”
I like the way he says my name and I giggle a bit in embarrassment. What the hell am I? Fifteen? “Well, alright. Thank you.” I take a couple of long sips of my hot chocolate and grimace. It’s cooled too much to be tasty. Setting the cup down, I stand. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Thanks for the drink.”
“Sure, anytime.” He stands too. “Let me walk you out?”
I blink at him. He’s such a gentleman. I’m not used to this. “Well, my car is just down the block.”
“Great, then I’ll walk you to your car.” He favors me with another one of his supernova smiles and I just nod and head to the exit. He leaves a few dollars on the table and follows me out onto the street. “I thought you might work nights because I’m just coming off my shift, so I guess it was a natural assumption.”
I’m walking down the street with a god from Olympus, and I imagine that everyone is staring. Go on, stare. You’re all just jealous. And me? I think I’m dreaming. Wait. Did he just say something? Should I be answering? Is he waiting for me to say something again? He’s going to think I’m slow. Okay, think. Something about his job. “What do you do?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I’m a cop,” he says nonchalantly.
My brain cells freeze.
Oh my god. He’s going to arrest me! He knows what I’ve been doing with Michael! “Seriously? A cop?” I squeak at him.
He nods. “Yep.” He leans in closer as if to speak conspiratorially. “I get that reaction a lot. No one believes me.” He chuckles. “Not even my parents. I’m a first-generation police officer.”
He’s close enough to smell, and he smells good. I expect the ocean from him, like Michael. But this surfer dude smells… well, just clean… like soap. It’s nice. “Did you just take a shower?” I find myself blurting out.
A deep laugh that comes from the belly erupts from Scott, and I smile in return, certain that my cheeks are flaming red. “That was random,” he teases. “But, yes. I told you. I just got off shift. My precinct’s just a few blocks down that way.” He points up the street. “Wait. I don’t smel
l bad, do I?” He puts on a mock expression of horror and sniffs under each armpit. “No, I don’t smell anything.”
I’m laughing now too. “No, you’re safe. I don’t know why I said that.” We’ve arrived at my car, and I pull my keys from my handbag. “Well, this is mine.” I unlock the driver’s side door.
His hand is on the door handle in a flash. “Allow me.” He opens the door, and I fumble out a thank you. “Don’t mention it,” he says, then looks at me with a serious expression. “Are you sure you’re alright to drive?”
I smile at his concern. “Yes, I’m not that tired. Really.”
“Well, okay.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a cell phone. “I’d like to know you got home safe and sound, though. Give me your phone number so I can call and make sure.”
What is happening? He wants my phone number? When does this ever really happen?
I recite the digits to him as he programs them into his phone. He really is throwing me for a loop at every turn. I get into my car and look up at him as I start the engine. He’s still smiling down at me.
“Drive safe, Kim. It was nice meeting you.” He stands there watching until I drive away.
What the hell just happened?
This never happens to me. Maybe things are finally starting to go my way. I have an income, and as long as I don’t think too much about how I’m earning that income, it’s okay. Then there’s Michael, who I like, have fun with, and who gives me the most amazing orgasms of my life. And now this. Scott. Chasing me. This might turn out to be one hell of a great summer.
My half smile turns into an enormous yawn, and I realize I should concentrate on the road instead of my luck.
CHAPTER 12
I know that I fell asleep as soon as my head hit my pillow because when I wake at four p.m., I feel rested and alert. I stretch, luxuriating in feeling good and roll over. That’s when my eyes hit my prize from the night before.
Six one hundred dollar bills.
And let’s not forget the invisible prize. A conversation with the hottest cop I’ve ever seen. He even took my phone number.
I’m a lucky girl!
I shower, prance around the apartment naked for a while and wish, not for the first time, that I had a girlfriend I could talk to about all this. Someone to confide in. The friends I made when I was with my ex didn’t carry over through the break-up. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway, I guess. I relocated for him, and now I’m back in New York.
I dress in shorts and a t-shirt and notice that my answering machine light is blinking. Pressing the playback button, I move to the kitchen and start making myself a bologna sandwich. Then I realize that I don’t have to eat like this anymore. I can go food shopping and get real food! That joy lasts all of two minutes as the first, second, and third messages play the same old tune.
I’d been on seven job interviews in the past two weeks. Each of the three messages was from one of those interviews, singing that familiar tune with different words.
We loved you but decided to go another way.
You were a top candidate but…
We’ll keep your resume on file.
I don’t expect to hear back from the four remaining job opportunities.
I bite down hard into my sandwich, which now tastes even more like cardboard than when I started, and plunk myself down in front of my computer.
I need someone to talk to. I’m going crazy inside my own head.
I open Facebook and look at my friend list. And sigh. Most of these people are no more than acquaintances, or former co-workers, or his friends. I should unfriend them in case I’m tempted to ask how my ex is doing. That would not be a healthy move for me, now or ever.
I scan the list, and my eyes alight on a name I haven’t thought of in some time.
Jennifer Williams.
I’ll be damned. We worked together at some temp job years ago and became inseparable. It didn’t matter at all that I was ten years older than her. She was fun, a wild thing, and I loved her like a sister, even sometimes like a mother. She loved the Goth scene. I wonder if she still dresses in all black.
I message her: Jenn, long time, right?
Thirty seconds later, she’s messaging me back: Pond? Is that really you? Shit girl, you flew off the radar like forever ago. Where the hell have you been?
I’d forgotten that she always called me by my last name. I smile and reply: Long, boring story, Jenn. How are you?
Her: Good, good. But I got plenty of time for long stories, girl! What are you doing tonight?
Now, I’m laughing.
Me: I guess I’m going out with you tonight.
Her: That’s right, you are! You still down in Long Beach? I’ll meet you at Minnesota’s at 8. Can’t wait to see you! It’s been too long!
I’m a little shocked by Jenn’s reaction. I guess I think time would have dulled the edge of our friendship.
Me: Great, see you there. Looking forward to it.
***
Jenn is at the bar when I arrive. She squeals like a teenager when she sees me, jumps up, and tackles me in a bear hug that takes my breath away.
“Pond, you look amazing, girl! What have you been doing? What’s your secret!”
Before I can even reply, she’s grabbing my hand and leading me to a bar stool next to hers. She motions to the bartender and looks at me. “What’s your poison tonight?”
I laugh and order an Iced Tea. We’re on Long Island, so I don’t have to add that part.
“Seriously, Pond. You’re glowing. What’s going on with you?” Jenn asks while we watch my drink being made.
I look at her like she’s crazy. She’s not dressed all in black, and I’m almost disappointed, but I guess the Goth look, even at her age, starts to look inappropriate past a certain point. It saddens me to realize we’re not young anymore and can’t or shouldn’t try to pull off the latest youth fashions.
But Jenn still looks great. Jet black hair, ultra pale skin, a quirky smile. She still has that eccentric, hip look that I was never able to achieve. She’d still fit in at a Goth club. I’m momentarily envious.
“C’mon, Pond. Spill!” Jenn insists.
“Cut it out. Nothing’s going on.” I laugh and take a sip of my drink. It’s nice and strong and tasty. I nod my appreciation to the bartender. “What’s up with you?” I ask in the hopes of deflecting more questions.
She happily takes the opening and tells me her life story in the span of a drink. I laugh at the rush of information she bombards me with. Things are going well for her.
“So, what’s Tony doing tonight?” I ask as I bite into a fried mozzarella stick. Jenn had a disastrous first marriage, worse than mine, and Tony, she’s just informed me, is Mr. Right. Real marriage material. I hope so.
“He’s home babysitting the kidlet for me. You remember Zooey, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. How old is she now?”
“Six,” she beams at me. “And a handful! But isn’t that sweet of Tony?! When I told him you got in touch with me and we were going out, he immediately offered to sit. He’s a dream.” She smiles happily for a moment then turns to me with a serious expression. “Your turn, Pond. Spill.”
I take a deep breath. Spilling to Jenn is the reason I contacted her, but where to begin? I don’t want her thinking I’m some kind of crazy lunatic. I want her to... to… understand.
“Well… have you ever had sex with someone you didn’t know?” I ask in a low pitched, nervous voice.
“You mean a one-night stand?” She laughs. “Oh, Pond, more times than I want to admit to. But, oh… what fun. So exciting… dangerous… mysterious.” She loses herself in reminiscing for a minute then turns back to me. “So, what are you telling me?”
“I had one recently that was, well… amazing. Mind blowing, to be honest. You know how they say in the movies that they didn’t know it could be like that? Well… I finally understand what they mean.”
“Holy fuck, girl. Are you say
ing he’s the first man to make you orgasm?”
I feel heat explode in my cheeks and nod.
“Are you married?” she asks. I shake my head no again and she smiles. “Well, then, congratu-fucking-lations! How’d you meet him?”
“I, umm…” here we go, “answered an ad.”
“Adult Friend Finder?” she squeals eagerly.
“Shh, no.” I scrunch up my face in anticipation of her judgment. “Craig’s List.”
She stares at me for a second then bursts into laughter. “Casual Encounters! Oh, Pond, good for you. When did you get so daring?”
Relieved that she isn’t wagging a lecturing finger at me, I relax. “I needed the money.”
Her jaw sags. “What? You better tell me everything, like, right now.”
So, I do.
To Jenn’s credit, she sits and listens in rapt attention and doesn’t interrupt once. When I finish my tale, she takes a long sip of her drink and orders another one. I can’t tell from her expression what she’s thinking, and it’s driving me mad.
“So, can I meet him?” she finally says.
“What? Who?”
“Michael,” she says, and her smile tells me she’s thinking very dirty thoughts.
“Jenn, you are evil! What about Tony?”
She taps a fingernail on the rim of her glass. “Watching isn’t cheating, is it?”
I stare at her, open-mouthed, and she pops a pretzel into it. I gag, cough, then chew it up and swallow. “You want to watch Michael and me? Doing it?” I ask when I regain my voice.
“Yeah, why not? Sounds like a fucking blast! Don’t worry, I’ll pay. Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with your boss.” I can see the mirth behind her eyes.
Then we both burst out laughing.