by Layne Harper
Suzanne Long @JohnnyKniteIsMine
She’s so normal. If he doesn’t choose me at least pick a model or actress or someone with superpowers. #HateNoPinkCaddy
I don’t hear from Aaron for the rest of the evening, and I’m a bit relieved. Rest found me quite easily and not having to set an alarm was nice. I sleep in a bit and wake up on my own. My first day as a full-time employee of NoPinkCaddy. Stretching, I grab my phone and check my messages.
There’s a lot of positive feedback on the images of New Orleans I shared yesterday. The video of me dancing with the jazz band is doing very well on YouTube and has been picked up by other blogs. No complaints there. The comments are overwhelmingly positive. So far . . . so good . . .
Next I check my social media accounts. Well, the photos of Aaron and I eating lunch are all over Twitter, Instagram, gossip blogs, and websites. There’s nothing to say. It’s me and it’s him, and we’re eating. I don’t reply to the messages. When I’m ready to share with my followers that Johnny Knite is the boy I’ve been talking about, I will. Also, I choose to ignore his fans wishing death on me. As I’ve learned during the seven years I’ve had an online presence, people are crazy, and it’s best to ignore them.
My texts are the final thing I review.
Bella has shared details about the wedding and asks if we can go dress shopping this weekend. I reply back that Sunday works well for me.
I have a few texts from the ladies at the office. They wish me well and remind me not to be a stranger.
My sister texted me about the pic of Aaron and I at lunch. I get lots of emojis with hearts for eyes.
Finally, I get to Aaron’s texts. The first one came in at eleven-fifty at night. It reads, Recording music and wishing you were here.
The next one is at two forty-five. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone. Sleep well, sweetheart.
The final one was sent at six o’clock. About to go to bed. Wish I was with you. Even when you’re not around I’m always thinking about you.
Yes. They’re a bit cheesy, but after the men I’ve dated, I’ll take a little cheese. At least his texts aren’t practical.
I begin my first day being self-employed by taking a shower and getting dressed. I read it’s important to do that every morning so a routine is established. It’s chilly in my apartment. I put on a sweatshirt and fuzzy pants.
Next, I make a pot of coffee and turn on my laptop. Searching my cabinets for breakfast food, all I find is Aaron’s sugary garbage. My choices are Fruit Loops, Lucky Charms, or Apple Jacks. There are cinnamon and strawberry–flavored Pop Tarts and a breakfast protein bar which pretends to be healthy. Fortunately, Seamus bought bread so at least I can make toast.
I grab my phone and send Aaron a text, hoping his phone is on “do not disturb.”
Me: You eat like a child.
He responds immediately. That means he hasn’t slept in more than a day.
Aaron: I send you loving texts and you send me this. You are no sweetheart.
Smiling, I type . . .
Me: I never said I was. You nicknamed me that.
Aaron: I’m changing your name to Swamp Devil.
Me: Fine. Why aren’t you asleep?
Aaron: I need to be tucked in. Come over.
Not going to happen. I’ve got a lot to do.
Me: No. I’m about to start working.
Aaron: I need you more.
I roll my eyes.
Me: You haven’t slept in more than 24 hours. You’ve got to be exhausted. Shut your eyes.
Aaron: I can’t. You make the music stop.
I stare at my phone. The music he talked about in his head? My couple of psychology classes lead me to believe that he probably has Attention Deficient Disorder. I bet his teachers were so glad at the end of the year to be rid of him.
Me: I have to work, but you can come sleep here.
Aaron: Be there in five.
I shake my head. This is a mistake. We’re becoming too dependent on each other too fast. But I can’t slow it down, and I frankly don’t want to—that’s what scares me the most.
Seven minutes later, there’s a knock on my door. When I open it, I see a man who is running on fumes. “Come in.” I invite him with a sweeping hand motion.
He walks inside, kisses me on the forehead and heads straight for my bedroom as he begins dropping clothes while he’s still in my living room.
Aaron is solemn. This is new. I’ve never seen spent Aaron. He crawls under the covers on the side of the bed I usually sleep on, completely naked.
Following after him, I ask, “Need anything?”
He nods. “I want you to hold me.”
I slide in behind him, throwing my leg over his. “Will you take off your clothes?” he asks.
I oblige and get back under the covers in just my panties. His head is on my pillow with his blond hair fanned around his face. He’s my angel. Not the fallen one depicted in great works of art or the angel shown next to God. He’s a broken, flawed angel. One who doesn’t know where exactly he fits. I crawl behind him, pressing my front to his back. My arm holds him tight while my thigh keeps his right leg from vibrating. “Find sleep, Angel,” I whisper.
He lets out a long sigh. With time, he relaxes into elusive rest.
Once I’m sure he’s in a deep sleep, I’m careful not to disturb him as I scoot out of bed, grab my clothes, and head back into the living room to work. The door between the rooms is closed yet I still worry about waking him. I turn down the volume on my computer before I start focusing on my site.
The next time I check the clock, it’s one-thirty. Once again, I find my kitchen lacking in adult food. I settle for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a can of Orange Crush.
My phone rings just as I set the plate next to my computer. I don’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“Hi! Is this MK Landry?” a professional female voice asks.
“It is.”
“This is Grace Emerson. I’m Johnny Knite’s assistant. He asked me to call and give you the company credit card number to secure dinner reservations.”
“Hi Grace. Aaron said that you’d be calling. He asked me to choose a place for dinner tonight. There’s a great restaurant in the Quarter I take out-of-town visitors to. I think y’all will love it.”
“Interesting,” she says, not sounding the least bit interested. “Is this a cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“Great. I’ll text you the information.”
Then the phone goes dead. I stare at it for a moment, trying to process what just happened. Was she rude? No. Blunt, maybe. ‘Efficient’ could be another description. My first impression of her is that she’s very different than Aaron.
Shaking my head, I pick up my sandwich and take a bite. It’s been probably a decade since I’ve had nursery food like this, but it does bring back memories of a brown-haired, pigtailed girl in a navy plaid school uniform sitting at a lunch table laughing with Bella.
I shoot her a text.
Me: Oh bride-to-be, I miss you so. Working. Hope you’re having a great day. Looking forward to Sunday.
Bella: Me too. What happened with A?
I laugh. I swear I’ve lived a lifetime during the last day.
Me: It was his daughter. Michael said I was a bad employee, and I dropped the mic. Finally Googled A. And my rock star is sleeping in my bed while I try to work.
After hitting send, I receive the text from Grace. Once again, there are no niceties. The credit card number is listed along with a message asking me to delete this text after I use the number, as if I was going on an online shopping spree.
Kill them with kindness, my mother preaches.
Me: Grace, I’m making reservations now. Aaron talks so highly of you. I can’t wait to meet you this evening.
Grace: At the house. I assume he’s with you?
I stare at the screen. Yes. He’s with me now, but not with with me, like we’re hanging out. He’s just sleeping.
Me: I’m working, and he asked to sleep here.
It sounds bizarre. We’re both in our thirties. Why should it matter who sleeps where?
Grace: When he wakes, tell him that I’m here.
Me: Will do. Have a great day.
After it’s clear Grace is done with me, I read Bella’s message, which came through a couple of minutes ago. Very appropriately, she asks WTF?
I’ll call her later. Next, I dial the restaurant, name drop, and secure us a private room for dinner.
Then I decide to write a heartfelt blog post about my new relationship. I’ve written about my dating woes—might as well celebrate the happiness.
Focusing on my computer, I begin . . .
Full-Circle Moment
When I began this blog I was a recent college grad who’d been dumped by her college sweetheart and was working at a job I hated where he was my boss. You were my lifeline. I survived monotonous days knowing that when I got home, I could spill my heart out to you. You’ve read the posts about him marrying the girl who lived down the hall from me in college. I’ve cried my heart out to you when I found out she was pregnant.
I’ve shared my dating woes and thrift shop finds. You’ve made my recipes and watched my restoration videos. I’ve never met most of you, yet I consider all of you my dear friends. So as friendships go, I get to share a couple of exciting things going on in my life.
First of all, I quit my job and am now focused on NoPinkCaddy full-time. That’s right! I’m the boss, CEO, assistant, and janitor. I couldn’t be more excited. Content should improve since I will not be as tired or rushed in the evenings. And I’ll be able to share more with you. I have so many great things planned: new projects, product reviews, thrift store shopping, sights of New Orleans, and recipes to try are just the tip of the iceberg. And . . . Bella’s wedding! She’s agreed to share every step of preparing for her special day with you.
And that brings me to my next bit of news. I MET A BOY! It’s true. He’s a beautiful man with a soul to match. He makes me happy and challenges me in all the best ways. The relationship is new. We’re still figuring out the next steps, but I can’t wait to introduce him to you. I’m sure you’ll fall in love with him also.
Have a great weekend, and I hope to have some fun pics to share with you on Monday.
I proof it a couple of times and make some tweaks before submitting. Exhaling, I hit refresh to ensure it’s live.
By now, it’s four o’clock. Sleeping Beauty has been out long enough. I open the door and pad across the wooden floor. Slipping under the covers, I snuggle against his back. I move the hair off of his face.
“Aaron, it’s time to wake up.” I lean down and kiss his temple.
He grumbles and rolls over so he’s facing me. His features are relaxed, and he looks peaceful. “You’re supposed to be naked,” he says as he grabs me around my middle and nuzzles my breast through my baggy sweatshirt.
“I’m not that type of working girl,” I quip.
“That’s right. You only work for me.” A sweet smile spreads his lips.
I brush the hair out of his eyes. “Your sister is at your house.”
He rolls on top. “She can wait.” Aaron sits back on my thighs and shows me how happy he is to see me by grabbing his package. “I need attention, woman.”
Rolling my eyes, “you always need attention.”
“So do you,” he quips giving my nipple a tug once again through my shirt.
We spend the next hour making love, and enjoying each other’s company.
When Aaron decides we’re done, he kisses the tip of my nose. “Let’s go meet everyone,” he says, looking like a kid headed to a birthday party.
“You go shower first,” I direct as I lounge naked on top of my comforter. I wish I had gotten more accomplished today, but since I’m looking at the next two weeks as an unexpected gift, I’ll write today off as successful.
“Join me,” he says, bouncing on the bed like a monkey. His poor balls flop around, and I wonder if his testicles are like my boobs. They would ache if I jumped up and down without a bra on. Suddenly, I feel sorry for them. Should I invent a ball sling? Shark Tank! I could make millions.
Of course, I don’t share this bizarre train of thought with Aaron. “Shower isn’t big enough,” I whine. “Go.”
“The shower at my place is.” He flashes me a rock star smile and grabs his package in the most vulgar way possible.
“I have to tell you . . .” I pause for dramatic effect. “In the history of ball grabbing and dick shaking, not one woman has ever rolled on her back and spread her legs because she was just that turned on.”
He gets the playful glint in his eye that I recognize as trouble. “You see, MK, when you’re a rock star, you don’t even have to grab your crotch to make the panties fly off. All I have to do is . . .”
I hold my hand up. “Fine. You win. I forget I’m playing against a stacked deck. I could probably outwit you in Catholic Church trivia, vampires, and the intricacies of preparing the perfect bread pudding. I concede sex.”
Aaron cocks his head to the side. “I’m not quite sure I actually won anything.” Then a shrug. “Oh well. Get up. We’ll shower at my place.”
“Nope. I’m not meeting your family and friends with you smelling like sex.”
He gets pouty. “But it’s my favorite scent, eau de MK.”
“Gross,” I laugh, not really thinking it’s gross. The human body is fascinating—nothing icky about it. Now, sitting on the toilet and eating a bowl of cereal is another story.
Fortunately, he doesn’t push back and heads into my bathroom. I get up, throw on a robe, and walk into my living room to check the responses on my post. Mostly they are congratulations sort of messages. I scan through those, very pleased people are happy for me. Then I see a message where someone posted the pictures of Aaron and I at the restaurant. Speculation begins running wild that he’s the boy I wrote about.
I walk into the bathroom where Aaron is already in the shower. “Hey! Did you know someone posted pictures of us at lunch yesterday?”
“My publicist said they were no big deal,” he replies, and goes right back to humming a tune.
“Yeah. I saw them last night and agree. But fans of my blog are putting two and two together.” I just drop the statement and see where he’s going to take it. “I haven’t called you by name on my blog.”
The water shuts off and he pulls back the shower curtain, putting himself on full display. “You’ve got fans. I’ve got fans. It is what it is.”
It’s interesting. I’ve never thought of myself as having fans. Sure I have a healthy following, but people don’t ask for my autograph or stop me in restaurants like they do Aaron. I guess I’ve been living a public life without really realizing it. His comment yesterday at the restaurant about how easy it was for him to find me sticks in my head like rubber cement. I wonder if it’s a problem. “Okay. Then if we’re public, I want a definition of what we are.”
He pulls a turquoise towel off the rack and wraps it around his hips. His head shakes back and forth slinging water around my black and white tiled bathroom and I put up my hands, trying to keep the droplets off me. “You can have another towel,” I scold as I open the cabinet above my toilet.
That apparently translates into wipe-your-wet-hair-all-over-my-bathrobe. Once Aaron’s done acting like he’s twelve, with a broad smile he says, “Pick a title. I’m good with significant other, lover, sex god, beef cake, man with giant cock, or you can choose.”
It seems obvious we’re dating. We agreed to be exclusive yesterday. Boyfriend and girlfriend feels like high school. Significant other feels rather formal. “Fuck buddy?”
“See, there’s that dirty mouth again.” He grabs his crotch through the towel. “Love it.”
I laugh and drop my robe as I climb into the shower.
“I just show you my cock and your clothes fly off. We’re made for each other.”
He�
�s so full of himself after a good day’s rest. Even though he drives me a bit crazy, I have to say I love that he keeps me on my toes and laughing. His boldness and irreverence challenges me in a good way.
Stepping under the warm spray, I think about it for a bit. What is he to me? And after a few minutes, I realize he’s the person I never want to be without. “What about person?”
“Huh?” he asks as I hear the drawers under my sink opening and then slamming shut. “Where in the hell is your mousse? You’re a girl. Girls have mousse.”
“Bottom drawer.” I put soap on the same washcloth he used. I could ask him to get me a fresh one, but why bother? “My person was coined on Grey’s Anatomy. You call someone ‘my person’ when they’re your favorite person to be with in the whole wide world.”
The shower curtain is ripped back. His eyes sparkle, and the smile on his face is full of white, perfect teeth. “I fucking love it.” He drops to one knee in front of my tub while water sprays all over the bathroom. “Mary Kay Landry, would you do me the honor of being my person?”
I throw back my head and laugh, not caring that a puddle of water is forming on my floor. “Yes, Aaron Charles Emerson. I’ll be your person.”
He grabs my bottle of mousse off the counter and takes my ring finger, drawing a circle. “It’s official. We’re each other’s persons.”
“Happiest girl in the world.” I laugh. “Now, grab some towels and mop my bathroom.”
I close the shower curtain.
“Your wish is my command, person.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lauren Loves Johnny @LaurenLovesJohnny
Trying to be happy for him. Trying not to stare at the picture of them holding hands. #HateNoPinkCaddy
Lauren Loves Johnny @LaurenLovesJohnny
JohnnyKniteIsMine Can you believe it? I just knew he would stay single or marry one of us. #HateNoPinkCaddy
My hand rests on his bouncing leg. “Why are you nervous? I thought I was supposed to be the one with butterflies in my tummy.”
He picks up my hand and gives it a kiss as he comes to a full and complete stop at the red light. “Just want everyone to get along.”