One And Done

by Cynthia Sax

  “There will be no counteroffers on this condition. I have an image to maintain.” The club owner’s voice hardens. “If you embarrass me, I’ll walk away from you. You don’t want that.”

  “No, I don’t.” Befuddled from the alcohol, I struggle to evaluate Smoke’s demand. What could he ask of me that I wouldn’t willingly give him? We’re having dinner in a fancy restaurant. He knows Edward. I trust the club owner.

  God, I’m tired. I rub my temples.

  “Do you agree to this condition?” Smoke pushes.

  “Okay. Okay. I agree.” I don’t have much choice. I need a date for tomorrow.

  “Good.” No man should have this sexy of a voice. “You’re drunk, baby, and you won’t remember our conversation tomorrow so I’m sending you a message with all of this fuckin’ information.”

  “I will remember this conversation. How could I forget it? You’re being so nice to me, Smoke, so very, very nice.” Tears prick my eyes.

  “I’m using your heartache to get laid, Jenella. That’s not an act of a nice man.” He ends our call.

  I roll out of bed and stumble to my dresser. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, I hurriedly write a diary entry of sorts, knowing I’ll forget the epic shit I did tonight.

  Chapter Nine

  When I wake, Smoke has sent me a message, outlining our so-called agreement. He’ll attend Edward’s dinner, posing as my date. In return, I’ll give him one titty fuck and allow myself to be fingered twice during the evening. I’ll also wear the outfit he chooses, look at him as though he’s a god, and bake chocolate chip cookies for his entire team.

  I shouldn’t negotiate when I’m drunk.

  I also should be more precise when I write these negotiations down. My recounting of our conversation varies vastly from his.

  This worries me because, according to my notes, I talked to Edward. I groan as I read the details. Did I really blabber on about having his babies?

  And if I recorded that embarrassing moment¸ what didn’t I write down?

  Azure can’t help me. My friend is missing, having left me a note that says ‘Gone to find brownies and men.’

  When Azure says men, she means more than one and all of them for her. The higher she gets, the more cocks she craves.

  If I ever work my way up to the ‘have a ménage’ challenge on my sexual to-do list, she’ll be the right person to ask for advice.

  I haul my hungover ass into work and suffer all damn day. My brain feels like it is splitting into two. I wince as people talk and talk and talk.

  I’d do anything for some peace and quiet.

  At noon, Edward sends me a reminder notification about tonight. It’s an automated message, with a meeting length of one hour, occurring from six p.m. to seven p.m.

  I confirm our attendance and forward this reminder to Smoke.

  Fifteen minutes later, the club owner replies with two words—‘How romantic.’

  I didn’t date Edward because he was romantic. I dated him because I thought he was reliable, my Steady Eddy.

  That thinking turned out to be wrong.

  Wanting to show him that I could have been the wild-and-crazy woman he seems to desire, I go to the hairdresser on my lunch hour to get red highlights. This is my first venture into dyeing my hair.

  Thankfully the Tylenols I’ve been taking kick in because Chi, my regular lady, is extra chatty today. She’s full into wedding season and tells me about the Bridezilla she wrangled with on Saturday.

  I would kill to be a Bridezilla.

  Instead, I’m alone, no fiancé, no boyfriend, no hope.

  When I return to the office, no one notices my new highlights. I walk by Azure’s desk. She isn’t there. I send a selfie to my mom. She texts me back, asking me if I’m having trouble sleeping.

  I decide not to send the selfie to anyone else.

  The commute home is torture. I’m stuck in the middle of a pack of construction workers. They smell like sweaty feet and are rubbing against me. I hope that hardness pressing into my right ass cheek is a hammer. The other possibility icks me out.

  Woofer stands at his post outside the building. “You just missed a McLaren P1, Miss ‘Nella. It has a 3.8-liter 727-hp V-8 paired with a 177-hp electric motor, hydro-pneumatic suspension and electro-hydraulic power assisted steering.”

  I have no idea what he just said. “A McLaren? So it’s a Scottish car,” I tease, hugging him.

  “It’s not a Scottish car.” He wiggles. “Why are you hugging me? Do you have food?”

  The boy is hungry. “I’ll make some sandwiches for you.” It won’t be a hot meal but it’ll be better than nothing. “Wait around for me.”

  “Do you have any oatmeal raisin cookies?” Woofer slips out of my grasp.

  “No but I’ll be baking chocolate chip cookies tonight.” I move toward the door.

  “For him.” He curls his top lip.

  “Not for him.” I suppress a sigh. The kid won’t see Edward again.

  At least, this breakup will make one person happy.

  I enter the building and take the elevator. As I open the door to our apartment, Azure wanders out of her room. She’s clad in her colorful hemp robe, her feet bare.

  “You have a delivery.” She waves at the garment bag and paper shopping bag set on the living room floor. “Duke signed for it.”

  “What did I do?” Her coworker strides out of her bedroom, completely naked. “I heard my name.” His flaccid cock is as long and scrawny as the rest of him.

  “I told her you signed for her packages.” Azure smiles.

  “Yeah.” He casually fondles his balls. “The delivery guy was huge.”

  The delivery guy was likely one of Smoke’s men. I close my eyes for a second, pinching the bridge of my nose. I hope Duke wore clothes when he accepted the packages.

  “Do you have anything to eat?” Mikie The Wonder Kid is next to exit my friend’s room. He’s also naked, except for his glasses. His body is as pale as mine. “Yikes.” He squeaks as he sees me. “Didn’t know, I mean, oh.” He returns to the safety of the room.

  Azure laughs. “He’s so cute.”

  “I should comfort him.” Duke follows the kid, stroking his hardening cock as he moves.

  “Mikie had better be legal.” I whisper to my friend.

  “He is.” She grins. “He’s nineteen and don’t worry. They’ll be gone by the time your mysterious date gets here.”

  “As long as they’re dressed, they can stay.” I unzip the garment bag. The dress is blue metallic jersey, the full skirt falls to the knee, and the wrap bodice is surprisingly tasteful.

  “Pretty.” Azure stands beside me. “But I wonder…how many sweat shop workers slaved over that dress?”

  “You can be a real downer, did you know that?” I open the shopping bag. Matching sandals are nestled in white tissue paper. “He remembered the color of my toenails.” All this blue can’t be a coincidence.

  “Tarun is bisexual also.”

  I glance at Azure. “Smoke isn’t bisexual.” Is he? And if he is, do I care? We’re not in a relationship. I don’t plan to marry the guy.

  But the possibility of not being enough for yet another man unnerves me.

  “I don’t know many straight men with the ability to coordinate an outfit.” My friend shrugs. “Gotta get back to the boys.” She struts into her bedroom, leaving me to ponder the outfit and Smoke’s sexuality.

  I dress, do my hair and makeup, taking extra time with my appearance. Edward should be the man I’m primping for.

  He isn’t. Smoke is on my mind.

  Woofer isn’t forgotten. I put together a brown bag filled with food for him. As I’m packing the bag into my tote, I receive a message from Smoke.

 

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I rush to the bedroom. The bra wasn’t necessary. Support wa
s built into the dress. I slip off the sexiest panties I own, black lace numbers, and toss them into the laundry hamper.

  I return to the kitchen. Being bare under my dress is a unique experience for me. With every stride I take around the apartment, cool air rushes up my skirt, brushing against my pussy lips. Fabric sweeps over the most interesting places.

  It’s distracting and extremely arousing.

  I’m no longer regretting the being fingered twice clause in our unofficial contract.

  The doorbell rings.

  I open the door. Smoke stands there, dressed in a black suit, gray shirt, black tie, carrying a bouquet of cranberry-colored roses.

  I stare at him. He gazes back at me, appreciation and a flattering amount of lust shining in his brown eyes.

  Hot damn. He’s by far the hunkiest man I’ve ever dated and he wants me, not disguising his attraction.

  “Here, baby.” Smoke hands me the flowers. “These are beautiful but not as beautiful as you.”

  My groan is echoed behind Azure’s bedroom door. My friend is spying on us.

  “That was a terrible line.” I ignore her.

  “Sometimes it works.” Smoke’s lips hitch upward.

  “Sometimes it doesn’t.” I bend my head and inhale the flowers’ delicate scent. The roses are working, however.

  “I try.” Smoke shrugs. “I’m told flowers are still the gift to give a date.”

  “You’re told?” I find a vase in a kitchen cupboard and fill the delicate crystal container with water. “Players don’t date?”

  “All it takes to seduce most women is a couple of drinks.” He paces around our small apartment, looking at our photographs, our collection of movies, the view from the window. When he reaches Azure’s partially closed door, he stops. “We’re being watched.” A grin spreads across his tanned face. “Should I finger you now?”

  “Azure would like that.” My face heats. “Don’t reward her bad behavior.”

  “Naughtiness should always be rewarded.” Smoke returns to my side. “Let’s give her a taste.” He pulls me into his arms and covers my lips with his. I gasp. He pushes inside me, stroking his tongue along mine. Our bodies grind, my breasts rubbing against his chest, my mons brushing against the bulge in his dress pants.

  I forget about our audience, forget everything except him, his mouth, his hands, the hardness of his form, so unlike that of the other men I’ve dated. Smoke isn’t safe. He isn’t predictable. He’s dangerous and wild and I kiss him with everything I have, clinging to the lapels of his suit jacket.

  We move, dancing as we embrace. There’s no music yet I follow his lead, matching his tempo, sucking on his tongue as I’d like to suck on the rest of him.

  I’m an oral girl and I savor the minty taste of his mouth, relishing that additional flavor I suspect is man.

  The dance ends too soon. Smoke pulls away from me, his eyes as black as night. “Now you’re ready to face Eddy.” His gaze drops to my kiss-swollen lips. “I’ll have her back to the apartment by midnight, Azure,” he says loudly. “Don’t call the police until then.”

  “I’ll give you until one a.m.,” Azure yells back. “She needs a good fingering.”

  “Oh my God.” Mortified, I grab my tote and push Smoke toward the door. “Don’t encourage her.”

  He laughs and grasps my hand. We walk along the hallway, cuddle during the short elevator ride. It feels nice, right. Too right. I remind myself this is one date and there won’t be another one. Smoke has one-night stands, not relationships.

  We exit the building. A sleek silver Lamborghini is parked in front of it.

  I gaze at the sports car with dismay. If this is his car, I’m fucked. My fat ass won’t fit into it.

  “Did anyone touch the car?” Smoke asks Woofer. The kid is staring at the Lambo, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as though it’s his every teenage dream come true.

  “One guy got too near to it, sir.” He pulls his thin frame up proudly. “I thought he might touch it so I told him to move along.”

  “Thank you.” Smoke pushes a twenty-dollar bill into the kid’s newsprint-stained hands. “That was the right thing to do.”

  “I made two turkey sandwiches for you this time.” I take the food I prepared for Woofer out of my tote. “There are chocolate chip cookies and some carrot sticks.”

  “Not the carrot sticks again.” The boy groans. “I hate them.”

  “There’s only a tiny bag. I expect you to eat all of them.” I ruffle his hair. “Where’s my payment?”

  “I paid you earlier.” He inches toward me, his actions belying his words.

  He wants to hug me. “That was for the cookies, not the sandwiches.”

  Woofer glances at Smoke. “Can I pay you later for them?”

  He doesn’t want to hug me in front of the man. “Smoke, can you turn around for a moment?” I ask. The club owner obligingly faces his car. “I don’t take I-O-U’s. You’ll pay me now or I’m keeping the sandwiches.”

  “Okay, okay.” Woofer hugs me. “Sometimes I really hate you.”

  “I know you do.” I squeeze him tight, not at all offended, having heard worse from him. “Go to a shelter.” I release him. “Smoke, it’s safe to look again. The hugging is over.”

  “I don’t hug girls.” Woofer stiffens. “That’s nasty.”

  “I’m not much of a hugger either.” The club owner sounds amused. “But we do whatever it takes to make the people we care about happy.”

  “I don’t care about nobody.” The boy shakes with indignation.

  “Miss Jenella seems to care about you.” Smoke tilts his head, studying him. “Why is that?”

  “She cares about everyone,” he mumbles. “She’s crazy that way.”

  Smoke’s gaze slides to my face. “Do you care about everyone, even a street kid like him?” He throws this question at me as though it’s a challenge, one he expects me to fail. “There’s a reason he’s out here, hustling for a buck.”

  I place a hand on the kid’s bony shoulder, not liking Smoke’s tone, aware that if it hadn’t been for Grandma Whyte’s kindness, he could have been talking about me, about my dad or my mom. “Woofer might not be perfect but he’s out here, hustling for a buck as you say, because he’s a hard worker.” This is the truth. “And while I don’t care about everyone, I do care about him. Very much. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “I don’t care about you.” Woofer shrugs my hand away from him. “You’re old and fat and ugly.”

  I ignore his insults and continue to gaze at Smoke. The club owner and I stare at each other, locked in a silent standoff I’m determined to win.

  A part of me senses that this is about more than Woofer, that Smoke is being a bastard about this for some other reason.

  “No, I don’t have a problem with that,” he finally concedes, his voice soft. “Woofer, take this.” Smoke flicks a black business card into the air and the kid catches it. “Sometimes people want to touch our guests’ cars at the club. I could use the skills of someone like you to stop them.” He surprises both of us with this offer. “Show up tomorrow at three o’clock with this business card, no drugs or alcohol in your system.” His frown emphasizes this point. “Be ready to work.”

  “You giving me a job?” The kid gazes at the card with wonder.

  “I’m giving you a chance.” These five gruffly spoken words warm my heart.

  The boy looks at Smoke and then at the car. “You really started out like me?” They must have talked earlier, when I wasn’t around.

  “I started out worse than you.” Smoke unlocks the Lambo, slides the passenger door upward. The seat is very small and very low. “But I was a hard worker, the hardest worker my boss had ever seen.” He takes my tote from me. The tin of cookies and Edward’s tablet are packed inside. He places it on the floor of the vehicle. “He promoted me again and again until I was in charge.”

  “Your boss has never seen me work, sir.” The boy stands, his little chest puffed ou
t. “I’ll work even harder than you did.”

  “I’m counting on it.” Smoke clasps my hand and guides me into the car.

  I sink down, down, down. My knees give way and my ass plunks against the leather cushion. The seat back pinches my shoulders, folding me in two. I’m wedged in tightly, perhaps permanently.

  Smoke winks at me and closes the door. He moves to the driver’s side. Woofer continues to stare at us, clenching the business card in his hands.

  I wave at him as we drive away. The kid watches us, a soul-wrenching yearning on his baby face, until we turn a corner.

  My attention returns to my date for the evening.

  Smoke drives as he walks, smoothly, leisurely, taking the scenic route rather than the direct path.

  “That was a good thing, what you did for Woofer.” His offer meant a lot to me.

  He shrugs. “I always have positions for hard workers. Once he’s legal, I’ll move him inside the club, train him on one of the jobs there.”

  “Thank you.” I beam my approval. Not many men would treat a stranger like family, helping him, training him, caring for him. “I worry about the kid.”

  Silence stretches.

  I search for a topic of conversation. “You usually date anorexic Barbies, don’t you?” I wiggle. My shoulders are so compressed; I can no longer feel my hands.

  “I don’t date.” Smoke’s gaze flicks to me and then back to the road. “Not many women with your tits and ass come into the club. Pickings are slim.” His grin tells me he’s aware of his bad pun.

  I give him the expected groan. “With gems like that line, I wonder how they could stay away.”

  Smoke chuckles.

  I chatter about nonsense. He listens, replies with tidbits of wisdom sandwiched between terrible lines and profanities.

  As we draw closer to the restaurant, I become more and more nervous. Have I changed enough? I fluff my newly highlighted hair. Will Edward notice my improvements, realize what he’s missing, fall in love with me again?

  “You’re thinking of him.” Smoke’s lips flatten. “I’m your date tonight, not him.”

  “But—” Impressing Edward is the purpose of this dinner.