“Yes.” I nod. He stares at me. “What?”
“Nothing. You’re just ... you’re a rare breed, Charlotte McKendrick.” He looks mystified. I shrug. “So,” he starts. “I need to head up to my house in Andover to check on a few things. You’ll meet me and we’ll stay there tonight.”
“What about this place? You’ve already paid for tonight.”
“So what?” he asks, continuing with his lunch. I just stare at him.
I sigh. “I should introduce you to my Aunt Clara.”
“Why’s that?” He takes a sip of his flavored water.
“She has more money than sense, too.”
“Charlotte,” Mitch says, and closes his eyes to compose himself ... I think. “Have I once put you down for not having any money?”
“No.”
“Then don’t put me down for having it!” he snaps.
“Uh ... sor ... sorry,” I stammer, feeling like a complete idiot. He’s right. That was rude of me.
“I’ll give you the address before you leave. That was good, baby, thanks.” He throws his container back into the bag.
“Oh, good—can’t go wrong with a Cobb salad, it has a bit of everything. There are some huge soft oatmeal-raisin cookies in there.” I point to the other bag.
“I’ll wait for you.” He props his elbow on the table and leans his head against his closed fist.
“Few more bites ... I’m getting full.” I chew on another piece. “Mitch, don’t do that,” I plead.
“Don’t do what—talk with my mouth full?”
I roll my eyes and swallow. “Don’t just sit there and stare at me like you’re trying to figure me out.”
“I’d have to be a genius to figure you out in one night. Truth be told, I have a feeling I’ll never really figure you out.” He reaches forward and thumbs away the dressing at the corner of my mouth. I grab his hand and take his thumb between my lips. My tongue swirls around the tip before I suck purposefully at it. His breath hitches.
“Damn it, Charlotte,” he says under his breath. I release his thumb and shoot him a mischievous smile. I take my last bite and start cleaning the table. I peek at the clock—thirty minutes. I come back to the table to stand next to Mitch and grab the bag with dessert. Mitch takes it out of my hand and tosses it. “My dessert isn’t in that package,” he says, pulling me to him by the waist of my jean capris. He pushes his chair back and moves me in front of him. “Do you know what I thought about the entire time I was in that meeting?” he asks, keeping a steady lock on my eyes. His fingers work at my button and zipper.
“What?” I can barely hear myself.
“I thought about,” he says, pulling my capris and panties down, “these lovely legs wrapped around my neck. Then I thought about my face buried between them, my tongue tasting this sweet pussy of yours.” A single finger traces my cleft.
“Jesus, Mitch,” I gasp and feel myself turn about a hundred shades of red.
“Are you always going to gasp when I say that word, baby?” He smiles—proud of himself, I think.
“Well ... it’s the middle of the day.” Wow ... really, Pollyanna? Mitch laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m sorry. You’re just so cute.” He shakes my hips.
“Well, just don’t call it the C-word. I hate that word.” I sigh.
“Cunt?” He raises his brows.
“Yes. It’s a turnoff—don’t do it.”
“I wouldn’t. I don’t like it either.” He pats the table and I sit on it. “Besides,” he says, nudging me to lean back on my elbows, “I couldn’t call something so soft, that purrs every time I touch it, anything but a pussy.” He opens my legs, sits, and places them over his shoulders. “You ready for your pussy to start purring, baby?” He yanks my hips down to him.
“I think it’s already started, Mitch,” I say truthfully.
“Jesus, Charlotte,” he gasps, then dives in.
I’ve got one word with four syllables: me—fucking—ow!
Slowly (and by that I mean fifty miles per hour) I merge onto I-93 North to head home. I should’ve left half an hour ago, but Mitch was all like, Purr for me, baby, and I was all like, Purr, Mitch, and so on and so forth.
“Ugh!” I groan and grab my cell to text Mitch.
Why didn’t you remind me that it’s Wednesday? I just rushed off frantically so I could be surrounded by all the other assholes trying to get home from Boston @ 4:30!
Don’t text and drive, Charlotte!
Who’s driving?! Certainly not me!
Well, come back here. I’ll give you a ride. ;-p
It’s your ride, sir, that has me delayed! I could’ve been in the middle of this party a whole half an hour ago!
It was a good ride, though ... so purrfect. Here, kitty kitty.
Oh, shut up you! I can’t believe you branded her with the name Kitty!
Actually, Kitty Wans’more is her full name.
Okay 007! BTW ... Kitty did wans’more.
Christ—morale is through the roof here!
Bypassed the ceiling, did he?
And the other five fucking floors!
This is Kitty Wans’more, reporting live from the Zakim Bridge ...
How are things in the belly of the beast? Any signs of movement, Kitty?
I’m afraid not, Morale, and I hate to say it but it’s a sad scene down in the trenches. I’m surrounded by dissatisfied people who all look zombish.
Zombish is not a word ...
It says right here, “Looks like a zombie but isn’t really one ... just looks that way.”
Says right here where? (Eye roll)
In the McKendrick I-know-my-shit-so-shut-up dictionary.
Tell me to “shut up” one more time and you will find yourself across my knees tonight!
SHUT
the front door! Guy on my left has a very satisfied smirk on his face.
Why—is he looking at you? :)
Aw ... but no. I am no match for what has brought on such a satisfied smirk.
Shall I guess?
You’ll never get it ...
I believe I did.
*Blush* Now guess—you only get 3 chances!
Is he slappin’ Pappy?
X
Making nut butter?
XX and ... good God ... WHAT?
Taking a shake break? Slinging jelly? Doing the Roman Helmet Rhumba? Punchin’ the Munchkin? Hacking the hog?
XXX and ... you lied ...
About?
You have WAY too much time on your hands!
:| *Blush*
Dirty boy! Would you like to know what has satisfied the man next to me so?
Did you flash him your tits? :) WAIT—did you flash him your tits? :(
I tried, but like I said, what he has is far more interesting.
I give up! What is it?
He has retrieved something the size of Rhode Island out of his nose! It looks a bit suspect. He’s been staring at it and playing with it for five minutes now! His satisfied smirk seems evil. It may very well be RI. You should call the President, just in case. If RI is missing—he’s our guy!
You saw through the Booger Shield? Is that your superpower?
Holy crap! It must be! How else could I have seen him pick his nose through the clear window of his car? The Booger Shield must have gone up so no one could see!
But you did! Amazing!
And now, I must do something else.
What are you doing?
I’ve beeped my horn ...
And?
I’ve got his attention ...
And?
I’ve asked him to roll down his window.
No you didn’t!
Yes ... shh ... I’m asking him ...
Asking him what?
Asking him what, Charlotte?!
Oh dear ... it couldn’t be helped.
What?!
I had to do it ... I had to ask.
Charlotte, goddamn it! What?
I said, “Dude ...”
Ugh ... What?!
“You gonna eat that?” But in a tone that said “‘Cause if you’re not, I’m totally on it!”
Damn it ... you just made me laugh like a girl! What did he say?
He said ...
Ugh!
“Here ... I’m still full from yesterday’s.”
I can’t stand you!
True story ...
My ass!
Yes ... you do have a nice “ending”! Traffic’s moving, baby. Thanks for keeping me company! :)
Flat leaver ... again!
Can we stop being 12 now?
You started it! :)
I plug my phone into the car, hit the Pandora app, and put my cello station on. I need to analyze my new situation. That requires a station I won’t sing along to. Minimal distractions ... only ... 2Cellos just came on with their version of “With or Without You.” Damn it! I’m totally gonna belt that shit out—it would be illegal not too!
I look down at my speedometer as the slow crawl picks up pace. I can almost hear her scream, That’s it, baby ... that’s it ... give me needle! She climaxes at sixty-five miles per hour. I giggle at my thoughts. I’d like to blame Mitch for this side of me, but I’ve always been a closet whore—so to speak. I have a dirty mind with a clean mouth ... well, an acceptable mouth. I think Mitch has cracked my closet door open, though!
Good Lord, what that man has done to my body! I have never been touched like that! Sure, I have three kids—I’ve been touched—but that, that was worship status. His hands felt so incredible on my skin, like they were made to touch my body only. His words were so hypnotic; I was completely under his erotic spell. “Baby.” His voice was so soft, matching the light touch of his fingertips. “Your body knows it. Look at how it responds. It knows it belongs to me.”
His fingers slid down my neck to my breast, a barely there touch as he circled my nipple. It hardened so fast—painfully fast. He took it in his mouth, sucking long and hard before biting it. My hips wasted no time moving obsequiously. He had me right there, ready for the taking, but he didn’t take me. He was patient and attentive to every inch of my skin. After half an hour or so, I was shivering. And not because I was cold. It was adrenaline ... the anticipation was killing me. I wanted him to fuck me like the dirty whore I was aspiring to be (well, not really, but you know what I’m getting at).
He flipped me onto my belly. I thought surely he’d make me get on my knees and bang the shit out of me, but no! His hands began to worship my backside. Oh, the way he bit my ass! Oh, the way his hands felt. Oh, the sexy way he told me he would have me there, too. I shamelessly pushed my ass hard into his hands. “Oh, baby ... soon ... when you’re ready to take me there.” Christ—damn him and his sexy voice! He had me so riled up; I wanted him inside me. I didn’t care where. He could’ve tried to fuck my ear and I would’ve been all, Hell yes, Mitch!
“Oh ... God!” I yell out. Good Lord ... I just Kegeled my way to an orgasm on I-93 North exit 36. How the hell did he make Kitty purr for him without being remotely close to me? I pull over and grab my phone.
Kitty just purred for you at exit 36. Damn you and your sexy voice and seducing hands!
I get back on the highway. After a few minutes, my phone pings.
Tell Kitty when I see her, she is so FUCKED! And you think my voice is sexy? :)
Don’t text and drive!
Okay :)
My phone rings. I answer.
“I said don’t text and drive!” Mitch yells.
“Not so sexy now, are we?” I ask, a hint of smile in my voice.
“Kitty purred, baby?” Sexy voice ... damn him!
“Oh, did Kitty purr.” I’ll give you sexy, bitch.
“Why, baby?” Even sexier. He’s killing me.
“Mitch ... stop.” The ache in me is unbearable.
“Morale is down ... he misses Kitty. We need to have a staff meeting, stat.”
“Hey, you haven’t yelled at me for calling you Mitch.” I have a way with impeccably timing what I mention.
“I’m picking my battles.”
“Oh yeah? What battle are you picking next?” I smile as I switch lanes.
“I’m going to have a huge battle with Kitty tonight,” he says.
“How come?” Oh, the aching ...
“She’s getting out of line.”
“You gonna put her in her place, baby?” My sexy, seductive voice beams in all its glory.
“Jesus, Charlotte ... I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you might split into two.” There’s urgency in his voice.
“Don’t worry, baby—I have nine lives.” I give him a smooch sound and hang up. After a beat, my phone rings. It’s Mitch. I hit ignore and smile.
Within no time, I’m getting off exit three in New Hampshire. It’s like every neuron in my body can sense that we’re almost home. I feel calmer, clearer. Everything’s back in its place, surrounded by an invisible safety net—my comfort zone. I pull up to my brick-red Colonial and smile as the kids wave to me from the window. I navigate around the bikes in the driveway and pull up to the garage. Turning off the car, I take a deep breath before grabbing my bag and heading in.
“There’s my little girl!” Dad barks out his standard greeting for me.
“Hi, Daddy, how’s the fort holding up?” I smile as I walk into his arms.
“Well, we’ve got ‘Giggles’ dancing to The Wiggles in the living room. No fever today. Brogan was a champ and got his homework done straight away. He’s setting the table now. And Bennett is assisting Gramma in the kitchen. Charley ... his speech is improving every time I see him, I swear. It’s because you’re a great mom. I’m so proud of you.” He kisses my cheek and hugs me a little harder. I suddenly feel the urge to cry. If he only knew what I’ve done, it would break his heart for sure.
“Thank you, Daddy. Lucky for them, I have wonderful parents who I still learn from every day.” I take his arm as he leads me into the house from the mudroom. “Mmm ... Mom, smells good!” I kiss her on the cheek, then turn to Bennett. “Wutcha makin’, bacon?” I ask and sign to him.
“I’m nont bacon! I’m Bennint!” He smiles up at me with his huge dimples.
“Ben—net,” I say slowly.
“Ben—nint,” he replies.
“Getting there, buddy!” I kiss him again.
Brogan walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Mom, can I sleep over Colby’s house on Friday?”
“Hi to you too, pal!” I tap the bill of his cap. “Hats off in the house. Where are your glasses?”
“Uh,” he says, taking his hat off. “They broke, like, into smithereens. I’m sorry, Mom.” He looks down and my heart aches. At nine years old, he looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Too many nights this guy has snuck up on me when I was having a good cry. He rubs my back and tells me everything’s going to be okay. What nine-year-old boy does that?
“It’s okay Broge, we’ll go tomorrow and get you a new pair.” I pull him to me for a hug and kiss his messy, dirty-blond hair.
“But, Mom,” he whispers, “how can we do that?”
“Well, I guess I’ll make my announcement now,” I say.
“You got the job!” Dad throws his hands up in the air.
“I did, and with an advancement, so go ahead, Happy, and give us a jig!” I laugh because Happy is already ten steps into the little jig he does when he hears great news, or just gets excited about something. Everybody’s laughing at him as he twirls me around. God, I love my dad!
I started calling him “Happy” when I was around Brogan’s age because he just always was! He’s always laughing, singing, and dancing. Everybody loves to be around “Happy” Jack O’Brien—I swear most of my boyfriends loved hanging out with him more than me! He’s an insightful man who’s always ready with a good piece of advice, and he comes up with the best damn metaphors.
One day when I was feeling particularly pissy about things, I turned to his humm
ing self as we raked leaves on this very lawn and said, “Dad ... how the hell do you stay happy all of the time?”
“Charley ... you okay, babydoll?”
“Yes, I just don’t know how you do it—through the lemons and all!” I threw my arms up in defeat.
“Come, let’s sit on the stoop and take a break.” He gestured and I followed.
“Charley,” he started after a moment of sitting. “I want you to think of nice big pot of beef stew.” Dad loves him some beef stew! “Let’s talk about what we got in that stew. You got your carrots ... they help you to see. You got your onions ... they bring you to tears. You got your potatoes ... they give you comfort. You got your peas ... they give you sustenance. You’ve got your beef ... that’s your strength. Salt and pepper ... your balance. All of these ingredients work together to bring a well-blended flavor to your broth. Only you have control over the flour to make that broth rich and hearty. You know what the key is to keeping your stew in a well-blended, hearty condition?” He shook a finger out at no one.
“What’s the key, Dad?”
“To not let anyone come along and piss in your stew.”
“Dad,” I laughed. “Who would want to piss in a perfectly good stew?”
“The people who can’t get their own stew right, honey.” He patted my back.
“People really do that? Intentionally, I mean?”
“Honey ... the world is filled with wicked pissas.” Dad was so straight-faced when he said that—until we started laughing our asses off, of course.
“Were you afraid you wouldn’t get that in?”
“I was ... I was!” he gasped between his laughter.
“Dad, you want me to make you some beef stew now that you got your mouth watering?”
“Jesus, honey, would ya? Your mother’s stew is okay, but nothing compares to yours,” he whispered, even though Mom wasn’t around that day.
“Anything for my dear old pops. I am a little concerned, though,” I said.
“About what, honey?”
“Do you think someone’s pissing in mom’s stew?” I asked, and he swatted at my knee for teasing him.
“So tell us about the job,” Mom says after rolling her eyes at Dad and chuckling—her usual reaction to his “Happy” jig. She grabs her mashed-potato casserole to bring to the dining room but almost drops it.
Under Contract (The GEG Series) Page 6