Her Perfect 10

by Brianna Cash

  I could be way off base. Maybe I’m thinking this because it’s what I want. In case I’m wrong, every time I go home after smiling at Owen, I text 736.

  Or maybe I’m right. Maybe OC736 is Owen Conrad, brother to the guy that’s going to be marrying my best friend in two short days.

  If he is, does he know?

  Probably.

  I’m not a sneaky person. I’m awesome at keeping secrets, but I’ve opened up to 736 more than I have with most people, even after years of trying. If Owen is my writing partner, he knows so many of my secrets that if my best friends found out, they would make him—and all evidence of his existence—disappear before the end of the semester.

  Well, Roxy would. Alena would yell at her and list off all the things that could go wrong while compulsively wiping every surface within sight to rid it of fingerprints.

  “Hey, guys,” Clive greets us, leaning against the counter next to Owen.

  “Hey, Clive,” I answer, scribbling out a quick note.

  “What’s going on with you two? Anything new?”

  “I asked Sadie if I could join her for lunch today. She hasn’t answered yet.”

  I glare at Owen, holding on tightly to this note. Maybe I’m no longer pretending there’s nothing between us, but I don’t want to broadcast it, either. Not to anyone here at work. Especially not Clive, the mobile gossip magazine that announces its headlines as you approach, so you can pick and choose what information you want without reading a damn word.

  “Yeah?” Clive asks, his voice higher than usual. “I always thought you two would be good together!”

  Wait, what? Shooting a questioning look in Clive’s direction, I slide the folded paper toward Owen. He picks it up, unfolding and reading it as a smile sneaks onto his face. He tucks it into his pants pocket a second later.

  “I figured you could help Owen have a little fun, loosen up some,” Clive explains. “And Owen could help you calm down a little. Stay home once in a while instead of going out all the time and picking out new contestants.”

  My hands find my hips. When this became Judge Sadie time, I don’t know, but I don’t like it. “You go out with Sarah twice every weekend!”

  “Eh, that’s what she liked to do. We broke up though, so I’m stuck sitting at home again.”

  “I didn’t know you broke up. I’m sorry. You really liked her.”

  “And you hated her,” he points out with a sad smile.

  Owen taps his finger on the counter, regaining my attention and giving me a wicked grin that’s better reserved for limited company. Like, me and no one else. “Your suggestion is perfect, Sadie. What time are we meeting? I can go whenever works for you.”

  Shit, it’s really going to happen!

  Trying to act normal, like we’re not setting up a time to fuck in the closet down the hall, I pull up George’s schedule. He has meetings all afternoon, starting at twelve thirty. Which means I need to be back by twelve fifteen at the latest, since I’m still the only receptionist in the building and he covers my lunch. It’ll be an early break for Owen, but he’s the one who asked, so I don’t think he’ll mind too much.

  “It looks like I have to go early today. Eleven thirty. Is that ok?”

  “That sounds great. Should I stop by the desk, or meet you there?”

  “Ah…” I stutter, clenching my thighs together as all the fantasies I’ve had about us in that damn closet bombard me. My mind stops working. It’s stuck on a rotating set of dirty images, like one of him fucking me against the wall. Or of us knocking over a set of shelves with our frantic thrusting. Or him coming on my face, some of the warm, salty liquid dripping down my chin to land on my tits because I couldn’t catch it with my tongue fast enough.

  Or because I secretly wanted it there.

  One or both of those work.

  His fingers brush against the back of my hand and I drag my eyes to his as I try to control my ragged breathing. His smirk tells me he knows exactly what’s running through my head.

  Probably because I already told him, if he and 736 are the same person.

  “Seems like you’ve got a lot you’re trying to juggle today. If you’re here when I come down, I’ll wait for you. If you’re not, I’ll assume you’re…” He narrows his eyes, trying to pick the correct word choice, one that says I’m waiting for him to stuff his gorgeous cock inside whatever part of me he chooses. “Checking out the menu.”

  I already know what’s on the menu. I want all of it. Repeatedly.

  I give him an equally dirty smile. “I hear everything’s really good there.” Amazingly good. “Word is they’ve received several perfect scores.”

  “I’ve heard the same.” He taps his finger against the counter, giving me that grin that was supposed to stay in the Caribbean. “If you get there first, why don’t you start without me and order for both of us? There’s nothing I don’t like when dining at the Y.”

  Oh my God, he’s going to go down on me at lunch! Which means he’s going to have my scent all over his face for the rest of the day. Which means he’ll be thinking about my pussy and sex with me, all day long!

  Squeezing my thighs together again, I swallow hard and watch him leave, sipping my caramel coffee and hoping time passes quickly.

  “Where’s the Y?” Clive asks, killing my daydreams and making me sigh heavily. “It sounds good, but I haven’t heard of it before.”

  Owen

  “Fuck! Owen!” Sadie cries out, and I pull her mostly upright so I can clamp my hand over her mouth. She whimpers behind my fingers, grabbing my wrist to hang on, shoving her hips back to encourage me to keep going.

  I push her hands up to grip a shelf against the wall in front of us, then drive into her again as she moans softly from behind my fingertips.

  “Can you stay quiet?”

  “I think so,” she whispers, her entire body bouncing with every one of my thrusts.

  “Don’t scream.”

  There’s no way we’ll stay hidden if she does.

  “Ugh…” Her cry is muffled and quiet, so I squeeze her hips and close the distance repeatedly. Her muscles twitch around me as she balances on the brink.

  “How do you want me?”

  One thrust, two, three. I pray she answers before her orgasm hits. I’m almost there myself and I won’t last long after she lets go. I don’t know why, but she’s holding back with everything she has. “Sadie?”

  “In my mouth!” she gasps. “Come in my mouth!”

  “Get there first, Sadie.”

  She nods, and I slam into her again, trying to get deeper than our bodies will allow. Sadie doesn’t have a favorite position; she has a favorite depth. When I find it, she tightens around me with her breathless release. Her entire body tenses, a low moan being dragged out of her lungs kicking and screaming.

  My fingers dig into her flesh as I hold on. Just three more seconds. Maybe five, but not quite yet!

  As soon as she gasps that first post-orgasmic breath, I pull out and spin her around. She drops to her knees and opens her mouth, still panting, but looking up at me with anticipation regardless.

  Groaning at the sight of her like this, I yank off the condom and let my dick smack her gently on the cheek before finding a home on her tongue. She pulls the head greedily into her mouth, sucking and using her hands to work me over completely. I moan, and the first stream erupts out of me. She smiles while I’m still in her mouth, swallowing with her eyes on mine. Then she pulls my cock from between her lips and points it down, onto her breasts, which are only half exposed we were in such a hurry.

  My cum streaks across her skin, and she massages it over her curves while she cleans me with her mouth. Just like in her texted fantasy to her writing partner.

  When I offer her my hand, she smiles and grabs it, letting me pull her into a standing position and silently thanking me with a kiss. I pull her closer, cupping her ass in my hands, wishing we had a lot more time to spend in here. Or anywhere, really.

&
nbsp; “When are you leaving tomorrow?”

  “Early morning. To beat rush-hour traffic,” she replies, pulling the cups of her bra back into place once I release her.

  “Come with me.”

  Her wide eyes meet mine. She pulls her panties into place while I tuck myself into my boxer briefs and zip my pants. “Ok. Are you staying in a hotel?”

  “Yeah. My whole family is. I’m rooming with Rob tomorrow night.”

  Her bottom lip pokes out into a slight pout. I wish she could stay with me, too. If I thought we’d be able to keep our hands to ourselves for the six to eight hours we’ll be in bed, I’d tell her to stay with me anyway.

  “What about tonight?”

  We sneak back out into the hallway, and I can’t help but smile. “Are you asking if you can stay with me tonight?”

  “Yeah. I’ll go home and pack, then we can leave from your place in the morning. It’ll add almost an hour to our drive if you come into the city to pick me up.”

  Wait. It’s Thursday. Shouldn’t she be busy? With our writing assignment, whatever it might be this week…

  “I…have something I need to do this evening,” I answer slowly. Maybe she’s testing me? “You could always come over after.”

  Her head tilts as she crinkles her nose. “The bus schedule doesn’t run very consistently at night.”

  “The bus schedule? Why don’t you drive?”

  “I don’t have a car. I rent one when I have to go home.”

  She doesn’t have a car?

  Yes, she does. She wrote in one of her assignments about how she bought a car. I know she did.

  Wait. Is she really not SD?

  No way. What she just did proves she’s SD. They have to be the same person.

  “Do you wanna stay with me tomorrow night?” Her voice is quiet, and her eyes are sweeter than syrup, dripping with hope as she shrugs one shoulder like it doesn’t matter one way or the other. “You’d have to meet my mom, but otherwise…”

  “So, sleep, but no sex?”

  Her hand waves in an easy dismissal. “I’m twenty-eight, Mom knows I’m not a virgin. We’ll just have to be quiet.”

  Finally, her age! Smiling at this gift she’s unknowingly given me, I kiss her chastely on the mouth. But she turns her head, making my lips land on her cheek, instead. We’re not in hiding, we’re not on an island, we’re not at my apartment. We’re at work, out in the open, and her boss is standing ten feet away at her desk. Anyone could see us if they happen to walk by.

  I don’t care, though. I want Sadie as more than a secret fling. If that’s all she wants me for, why is she asking me to meet her mom?

  “Quiet, like today…?” My brow raises. “I’ll meet your mom, Sadie. And I’ll keep one of my hands free, to make sure you don’t get too loud.”

  “That was hot.” Her eyes light up with her quiet confession. “I almost came when you did that.”

  “Where should I pick you up tomorrow? And when? We have to be at the rehearsal dinner by five, right?”

  She gives me her address, writing it on the back of a business card, like I did when I told her to come to my place. We agree on a time. And before she returns to her normal place behind the desk, she discreetly rubs her fingers along her chest, then sucks them into her mouth, smiling at me with a sweet, innocent expression as she greets her boss.

  Chapter 23

  Assignment #10

  Explain the meaning in this image as if you’re the painter.

  To: oc736@solc.edu, profmereeder@solc.edu

  From: sd275@solc.edu

  Subject: The new slogan for today’s society.

  Today’s society is filled with self-importance. It’s a tar-ish black paint that covers the world and my canvas.

  Everyone out there thinks they’re the top dog, more deserving than anyone else. Parents aren’t teaching their kids the difference between good and bad. Teenagers believe they’re above having to deal with consequences. Adults think their problems are worse than everyone else’s.

  Woe is me is the new slogan for this era. The one where everyone talks about how hard life is, how unfair, how meaningless.

  It wasn’t always this way. Life used to be filled with pretty colors that saturated the air and our souls. But as we slowly began to think more about me, and less about everyone else, joy, compassion, and faith that people are good, the colors slowly got sucked out of the atmosphere and into another dimension.

  We’ll soon have nothing but black and white, no colors left to find.

  To: sd275@solc.edu, profmereeder@solc.edu

  From: oc736@solc.edu

  Subject: Assignment #10

  I stare at the homework I’ve been given, trying to absorb the words and the meaning in them.

  Put yourself in her shoes. Imagine you’ve hit rock bottom. There’s nothing else to lose, nowhere else to fall. Every step you make is now going to pull you up, but you have to consciously choose to make each step.

  Draw your journey.

  It feels like a joke. My rock bottom is so far above hers. Her rock bottom is miles below what I’d consider the worst to ever happen. How can I put myself in her shoes when I’d never willingly let myself fall that far?

  My brush, doused in black paint, hits the canvas. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t force it in any direction except down. It slants across the almost-blank painting in a diagonal as I battle with the direction. She never chose to make a step that would pull her up from rock bottom. She always did the absolute minimum required.

  The stained tip of the brush forms a glob of dark, tainted emotion as I try again. I smear the color within the lines already there, creating nothing but streaks of darkness that leave no room for hope.

  That’s something she has right now. Hope. She always gets that back first. It’s hope for the wrong thing, but it’s hope, nonetheless.

  The blackened tip falls to the bottom and creates a jagged edge of a line, zigzagging a crooked road toward the point of black in the middle.

  Stepping back, I study what my subconscious has been working on and psychoanalyze the canvas. It’s a dark, forbidding mountain. An arduous, impossible-looking journey. What will make it worthwhile? What would make someone want to choose each step that will bring them away from their own rock bottom?

  Hope is colorful. I need to do more than just run the brush in a heavenly direction. I need color to lighten the dark, hellish looking image in front of me and morph it into something interesting, something with a little faith, a little expectation. And the color needs to be free to move, not confined by jagged harsh borders.

  Blues, pinks, greens, purples, yellows. The sky above the mountain ridge lights up like a dream, impossible in reality, but something to strive for, anyway. It’s strongest above the highest peak, the ultimate goal, the place where hope becomes a way of life instead of a fleeting emotion I fight to keep.

  Hope is abstract and beautiful and powerful. It turns the journey into something worthwhile. It turns the hard road ahead into a challenge, instead of an impossibility. Hope is what makes hitting rock bottom a place where you took a rest, a break, a breather from your life. Hope is what makes you get back up and continue the journey, instead of letting rock bottom become the rest of your life.

  Sadie

  I’m done with this writing course.

  I’ll never pass. It’s not possible at this point with all the crappy grades the professor has given me, so I’m done trying.

  And when Owen looked at me like I was crazy, like I shouldn’t have asked if he was free tonight, it told me everything I needed to know. He’s OC736, and he knows I’m SD. He wasn’t kidding when he said his great kisser and I were the same person in his head, because we are the same person. And he’s known it for quite some time.

  There’s a small publishing company in our building that had a job posted. I applied. They told me I didn’t have the qualifications needed. I figured I would take a couple classes and re-apply in a year or two.
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  Now, I don’t want to reapply. Life took a drastic turn and showed me there was absolutely a purpose for me taking that class. It wasn’t for me to find a new job, though. It was for me to find Owen.

  After reading his version of our assignment, I breathe out a sigh of defeat. I’m not a writer. I don’t want to write at all anymore. Not unless I’m allowed to pick the topics. I don’t like the ones the professor picks.

  My phone chimes beside me and I push my laptop to the side.

  OC736: You’re dismal again.

  736 never called me dismal. Owen did. Down on the beach that first night, after I asked him if he thought Alena and Rob’s love would be everlasting.

  Either way, I am dismal. Every time we get a new assignment, I’m dismal because I know I’m going to write another horrible piece and fail the course.

  Sadie: I know. You’re angry at some girl, but still optimistic. Always.

  OC736: Bad day?

  Sadie: Not at all. Fantastic day. Probably the best day I’ve ever had at work.

  OC736: Mine was great, too.

  Of course, it was. He got to live out my fantasy, the one he was very eager to participate in. He even worked our rendezvous so the ending was the same as the one I told him about last week.

  Sadie: I need to ask you for some information.

  OC736: Ask away, SD.

  Sadie: I gave you one of my fantasies.

  OC736: Thank you for that.

  Is he thanking me for telling him about it, or for playing it out with him? Or both?

  Probably both.

  Sadie: You’re very welcome. But I want one of yours.

  It takes a while for him to answer. Is he typing out a book? Hell, maybe he’s not going to answer. I’m much more open to talking about sex than he’s been.

  OC736: You’re more experienced than I am, yes? We can agree on that?

  Replaying our words from the beach, I tease him a little. Just for fun. Because he’s not nearly as inexperienced as Rob or my mysterious writing partner led me to believe. Maybe he hasn’t been around as many times as I have, but he definitely knows what he’s doing.