by Haley Pierce
Him: Are you touching yourself, baby? Are you rubbing the place where my tongue wants to be? You’re so fucking hot, baby. I’m grabbing your tits and burying my face in your pussy and my tongue is going in and out of you, feasting on your juices. God, you’re so sweet.
But he doesn’t need to do another thing. The building feeling culminates and suddenly I can’t take it anymore. I’m thrashing in the water, sending it spraying all over the bathroom as my body pulsates again and again.
Still shuddering, I pick up the phone and type in: Oh, my gosh. I . . . oh my gosh.
Him: Did you come?
Me: I think so. I’ve never felt that way before.
And it’s true. I can barely find the ability to get my fingers on the right key. If that was coming, why the hell didn’t I do it to myself sooner?
The answer: I needed someone like Max to make me want. I’ve never wanted in this way before.
Him: God, I want to be there with you.
But the moment my body stops trembling, something new trickles in. Fear. This is pretend. He said it himself. And I just got off on a pretty piece of fiction that my pretend fiancé texted to me. He’s not even here. How could I let someone who isn’t even mine mean that much to me?
Me: I’m embarrassed.
Him: Read it over again. Because the next time I see you, I’m going to do it all to you, in person.
I blink. That’s purely the alcohol talking. He’s drunk, and horny. I need to get a hold of him, before he thinks that’s really what I want. Because I don’t. I think.
Me: What happened to professional?
Him: Fuck professional. I want you. I’m coming over.
I hold in a breath.
Me: You know you can’t. My family’s here.
Him: I don’t care. I need to be with you.
Me: No. You need to be with someone. Anyone. Because you’re drunk.
Him: No.
Me: You’ll forget all about this in the morning.
Him: May
I wait for more, but nothing comes. May what, exactly?
I think of sending him another text, but I don’t know what else to say. I mean, he had to be drunk off his ass, to say those things to me. I can just imagine him falling asleep in his scotch, mid-text.
“Sweet dreams, Max,” I whisper under my breath. I lift myself out of the water and wrap myself in a towel. I can’t think of anything else to say. I think we’ve said it all.
Max Winchester was just drunk-texting me.
And he made me come.
As I sit on the edge of the bed, I shiver, and a hollow feeling carves out my center. It was wrong. The kiss was a mistake. Our worlds are too different to ever unite. This is just business. I need to keep that in mind.
Even so, my body is like a runaway freight-train, powering down the tracks at full-speed, oblivious to reason. My body wants him to do it to me again. All of it. Next time, in person. Because if it was that good via the phone, it would clearly be mind-blowing with his hands, his mouth, on me.
I just have to remember that Max doesn’t do relationships. Anything he gives to me will be as meaningless as that text-conversation. It will leave me feeling empty, ashamed, and worst of all, alone.
Max
I wake the morning after my meeting with Dan and the board of Winchester Properties, feeling like a Grade A piece of shit.
My mouth is full of cotton and a sour, noxious taste. My head feels like a soccer ball after a championship game. As I tear open my eyes and look at the ceiling of my bedroom, it spins before me, the sunlight casting bright white rays that slice right into my skull.
I roll over, thinking of what had gotten me to that point.
Not, what, actually. Whom.
Fucking Dan.
I’d gone out with the board, the way I usually did. Most of those men were my father’s good friends, but I’d been working them for the past few years while filling my father’s shoes, and I considered them to be, maybe not friends, but allies. Seth was there, too, as my right-hand man, and he was my best friend. So I thought I was among those who wished me well. I went in there, shaking hands, offering to buy rounds, generally working them the way I always had.
And then Dan walked in, the specter at the feast, and almost instantly—like, within a snap of the fingers—all of the attention shifted to him. At first, I though it was just curiosity and excitement of seeing him after ten years away on the West Coast. But as time dragged on, I realized that he had, in fact, been meeting with them before this, in gatherings I hadn’t known about or been invited to. When I stood up to try to insert myself into the conversation as any helm of the company would do, Dan put a hand on my shoulder, pushed me down, and whispered in my ear, “I’ve got this, bro.”
I looked at Seth, my best friend, who just shrugged, like, what can you do?
I knew right then that in Dan’s mind, he was already in control.
Me? I was nothing. Everything I’d done to build Winchester Properties was worth nothing.
The real meeting between my father and Lily should be coming up, soon, but Dan was acting like my father had already made the decision.
I hope to god that’s not true.
So what had I done? I’d deadened the pain. If all they wanted was a stupid fucking yes-man to sit on his right side, I could easily do that while drunk off my ass. I lined up shot, after shot, after shot. And every time I downed one, I thought to myself, Fuck you, Dan.
He’d noticed. He leaned over before the meeting was even half over and said, “Aren’t you drinking a little too much?”
I’d smirked into my glass and said, “Actually, I’m drinking a lot too much.”
Not that it mattered. All the men liked to drink, and several drank too much. It was normal. The only person it seemed to bother was my goody-two-shoes brother, who’d probably get ripped apart when he really tried to take on the head of Winchester Properties.
Somewhere in the haze, I remember looking over at Seth, who was getting just as shitfaced as I was, and asking him what the deal was with Dan, and why I got the distinct feeling that meetings were going on behind my back. He’d said, “If they’re going on behind your back, dude, they’re going on behind mine, too.”
I tear the sheets off my body and realize I’d stripped off everything and had slept in the buff. That’s strange. I usually wear boxer briefs, at least. But I guess I was in no condition to be thinking normally, since I don’t remember getting home. I must have taken the limo, but I can’t recall the ride, in the least.
I pick up my phone, hoping it will shed some light on the mystery of last night, and the first thing I see is that it’s open to a text window.
To Lily.
I stare at her name, confused. I certainly don’t remember texting with her last night, but I must have, likely to make plans for the next time my father summons me to his home, when I’ll finally have her meet him. I start to scroll up the messages and . . .
Holy fuck.
I read them. Then I read them again. And one more time, trying to get it through my head. And then my tongue delves into your hole and god, you’re so sweet. And then I’m fucking you with my tongue, in and out, and you’re trembling and so I fuck you harder.
What the hell?
It all comes flooding back to me, then, the way I’d sat there, feeling like hell, if my work life was falling apart, what did I have? And the first thing I’d thought of? Lily.
Right now, Lily is the most exciting part of my life.
Of course I’d thought of her. And of course I’d thought of sucking her cunt. It seemed to be on my mind most of the time, these days, getting my body between her virginal legs, even though I’d convinced myself I wouldn’t act on it, that it was better this way.
But did I really have to text her dirty messages? I’ve likely offended her delicate virginal sensibilities, and now she’ll never talk to me again.
Shit.
Backpedaling into damage-control mode, I open
a text to her and say, Hello, Lily. About those texts I send you last night . . .
A moment later: Don’t worry. Already forgotten.
I let out a sigh of relief. Then, I find myself feeling shitty about it. She’s already forgotten what I texted her? Really?
I scroll back up and read her texts, trying to find some indication that my lusty messages, however misguided, were well-received. As I scan, I come to the part where, most definitely . . . I’d made her come. For the first time.
She’d been rubbing herself, getting off on me.
Score.
Though the rest of me feels as though it’s been run over by a truck, my cock throbs at the thought, ready to go. I picture Lily, lying in her bathtub, her tits all soaped up, rubbing herself between her legs.
And I know that no matter what she says, she hasn’t completely forgotten it.
Well, I just want to say I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again.
A moment later, she comes back with: No reason to be sorry. I actually kind of thought it was . . . interesting.
The breath I was holding in comes out in a rush. I don’t want to let her go. She’s meeting my father tomorrow, and I still feel unprepared for it.
Would you like to do lunch today?
I watch those three dancing dots, praying that she agrees. I need to see her.
I’m at the hospital with Joey.
Shit. Right, of course, she has her little brother to worry about. I start to type in a question about how the little guy’s doing when another text comes through from her:
But you can stop by if you want. He’s in pediatric oncology.
I find myself nodding. Yeah. Okay. I will.
I put down the phone and pad toward the bathroom, my surroundings spinning around me. When I crank on the shower, the nausea overpowers me. I vomit in the toilet, then look at the dark circles under my bloodshot eyes, my unshaven jaw, in the mirror.
I look like shit.
I hope it’s nothing that a good shower and a few strong cups of coffee won’t fix. Because I have a date.
Lily
Joey looks like a little angel when he sleeps.
His cheeks pudgy and bloated from the medicine, his brown curls falling in his face, one would think he was just a normal child, if he didn’t have all those wires and tubes attached to him. He clutches his Spiderman doll to his chest and dozes, his nostrils flaring and chest rising and falling in breath. I stroke the pale skin of his forehead, thinking that maybe they seem a little less pale. Maybe the medication is working.
At noon, I give my little sleeping brother a kiss on the forehead and then take the elevator downstairs to cafeteria. I weave my way through the traffic of doctors, patients and visitors traversing the busy hallway, to see Talia’s smiling face. She waves at me.
“Hi!” I say, approaching her, exhaling in relief that I don’t have to put on the brave face I always sport in front of Joey anymore.
Talia is wearing her pale rose-colored hospital scrubs and comfy shoes, even though, as office administrator for a dermatologist across the street, she never even touches a patient. She has her kinky black hair up in a high ponytail on her head, and no make-up, her usual work look. If one saw her in the Suitors Club, they wouldn’t recognize her. She does that on purpose. She’d hate to have one of her clients walk in to get a mole removed and see her behind the desk.
We grab our trays and go inside, and I order the meatball sub special and Talia gets a packaged salad with dressing on the side. The food at the hospital is abysmal, but I’ve gotten used to it, since I eat most of my lunches here. When we pay for our lunches and sit down at a table by the window, overlooking the front of the hospital, Talia leans forward. “So?”
“So what?” I ask, batting my eyelashes innocently.
“Don’t give me that. Mr. Hot Stuff Winchester. Is he positively dreamy?”
I shrug. Yes, he’s beyond that. I find myself straying to his drunken text messages and fight the blush that’s starting to climb onto my cheeks. “He’s attractive.”
“And?”
“And what?” I say again, making her throw up her hands in desperation.
“Stop making me play twenty questions!” she says, dropping her fork. “Tell me everything.”
“Fine.” So I do. I tell her about the day I met him, where he was very stiff and intimidating. I tell her that since then, though, he’s loosened up. I tell her how he came to my house and met the kids, and actually has a family-side to him. Then I tell her about the kiss.
Her jaw drops. “So you were holding out on me!”
I smile.
“So was it amazing? He must kiss like a fucking greek god.”
I nod, though I have no idea how a greek god would kiss. Perfectly? Yes, it was pretty perfect. “It was pretty amazing,” I admit. “But he said it was a mistake. And since then, he hasn’t touched me.”
She pouts. “Boo.”
“Though he did send me a few dirty texts last night.”
Her mouth widens to an O. “What’s that?”
“He was drunk, though.”
She motions to me to hand over my phone. Reluctantly, I do. She scrolls through the messages, her jaw dropping further and further into her salad plate. Then she looks at me. “Do you realize what this means? Max Winchester has it bad for you!”
“No, he doesn’t,” I argue. “He was drunk.”
“What’s that saying? In wine there’s truth? It’s totally true! A man like him probably has a thousand women in his contacts list. But he chose you.” She’s getting so excited, her backside is on the edge of her chair, and I’m afraid she’s going to lunge at me. She looks at my phone again and waves a hand in front of her face. “Wow, these are some seriously hot texts.”
I shrug like it’s nothing, even though I’ve read them over again, at least twelve times this morning. Each time, I get this fluttery feeling deep in my abdomen, and goosebumps pop out all over my skin.
She hands the phone back to me and dips a wilted piece of lettuce into her ranch dressing. Then she blinks, grabs the phone back from me, and stares at the last message. “Wait. Is he coming here for lunch?”
“Well, I said I’d be here if he wants to stop by.”
“What!” She drops her fork and starts fluffing her ponytail, all the while scanning the cafeteria. Then she grabs her bag and starts riffling through it. “Nice to give me fair warning, girl.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” she says, pulling out a tube of burgundy lipstick and a mirror. “If I’m going to meet the Max Winchester, I’d prefer to do it while not looking like something you’d find in the gutter.”
She opens the compact and checks her reflection, then adds a little powder to her nose. Satisfied, she snaps the mirror closed and starts scanning the doorway again, as if she expects the President of the United States to come walking through.
“Come on. It’s not that big a deal.”
I’m trying to be nonchalant about it, even parked myself facing away from the entrance, just to show how little I care, but really . . . I’m excited. Nervous. I want to see him again. Even though, after what happened last night, I know I’ll take one look at him and blush like the virgin I am.
She holds up a hand. “Whatever. Freak.” That poor piece of lettuce has been on her fork for an eternity and seems destined to never make it to her mouth, because the second she brings it close, her eyes, still fastened on the door, widen, and she lowers her fork again. “Oh. My. God.”
I can’t look. I know from the way she licks her lips that Max, indeed, has just walked into the cafeteria. It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room with his appearance, because I suddenly can’t breathe.
“That’s got to be him!” she blubbers like a love-struck schoolgirl. “He’s so . . . perfect!”
I turn in time to see Max, in his standard-issue three-piece suit, striding toward me. But though he’s gorgeous, with his hair slicked back, a smal
l shard hanging over his brow, it’s not his looks I notice first, for once.
It’s the giant stuffed polar bear with the balloon that he’s holding.
As he walks confidently past the tables, every female eye in the place follows him, ovaries exploding everywhere. He just commands the room, like royalty.
“Hello,” he says in a low voice, stopping at our table.
When he’s close, I noticed that his eyes are rimmed darkly, and his skin is sallow, likely from the hangover. He’s not his usual perfection, but from the way Talia’s mouth is hanging open, tongue descending like a waterslide, it’s enough.
“Hi.” I point over to Talia, who’s batting her eyelashes at him. “That’s my friend Talia.”
He holds out a hand which she shakes, and they exchange polite pleasantries.
To avoid the awkward silence, I smile and point at the bear. “Who’s your friend?”
“For your brother Joey.” He looks down at the floppy stuffed animal. “Would you give this to him with my best wishes?”
“Do you want to come up and give it to him yourself?” I ask. “The doctors say he can have visitors now.”
He shakes his head. “No. You enjoy your lunch.” He points vaguely outside. “I should be . . .”
Just then, Talia pops up. “Oh! Look at the time!” She throws the container top on her uneaten salad and starts to gather her things. “I’m late to get back to work.”
I blink at her as she pushes her chair over to him. She has at least forty-five minutes before she has to report back.
“Sit, guys. Talk. I’ll see you around, Lil.” And without waiting for a goodbye, she takes off.
I turn to Max, who seems unsure whether to sit. Finally, he does, moving the teddy bear to the seat next to him. And wouldn’t you know it? I’m blushing, full-on red, my face hotter than ever.
I look down at my meatball sandwich. I’d taken one bite, but really, I’m not hungry anymore. “Do you want to go get something at the café? I’ll wait.”