Rich S.O.B.: A Romantic Comedy

by Bijou Hunter

  “Would you be here with me if not for my bank account?”

  “Oh, Asher, you have awful listening skills or perhaps a terrible memory. Which do you think it is?”

  I cross my arms. “That’s right. You’re only interested in me for my looks.”

  “You’re sexy, and you know it too,” she says and winks.

  Junie takes a big bite out of her breadstick and chews it while holding my gaze. I admire her confidence about the situation with her coworker, but I’d feel better if the guy was gone. The idea of him leering at her day in and out sends an angry heat through me.

  “What now?” she asks, finishing up her food and shoving the leftovers into a doggy bag. “Are we done for today?”

  “Should we be?”

  “You look tense as if bothered by sharing the same air with so many peons.”

  “That’s how you see me?”

  “You’re either an elitist or a weirdo. Which is it?”

  “I grew up in a middle-class family and lived in a modest home in an admittedly good neighborhood in Dietrich. My father worked two jobs to ensure we could afford that house, and he instilled in me the importance of hard work.”

  “If you’re not an elitist, are you a weirdo then?”

  “I assume so.”

  Junie stands up and takes her doggy bag. “Of course, you’re weird. Everyone worth knowing is, and I’m glad to know you.”

  Standing up, I want to surprise her in the way she always does with me. Except what would surprise her?

  “Kiss me,” she says, leaning forward. “Then take me home.”

  “I’m not a child.”

  “With me fantasizing about you naked, I would certainly hope not.”

  Wrapping an arm around her waist, I tug Junie against me. Her eyes widen, startled by the roughness of my gesture. She wants me to play, yet I don’t think she expects me to.

  “I’m going to kiss you now. Think you can handle it?”

  “Only time will tell.”

  I kiss Junie like I’m making a statement. Not only to her but the stoner behind the counter and her coworker and any other man who might have designs on this woman.

  After setting aside her doggy bag, she swings her arms around my neck and holds me as tightly as I have her pressed against my body. Sucking and nipping wildly, our lips struggle for dominance. Junie finally relents enough for my tongue to claim her. She softens in my arms and moans her approval. When her thighs spread, I slide my leg between them. My dick reacts to the presence of her warm body, and Junie widens her stance to increase the pressure between her legs.

  “Stop,” I murmur and step back.

  Junie nearly topples without me to hold her up. She shakes out her arms and steadies herself.

  “You taste great, Asher,” she says, resting her hands on my chest. “We could do this more at my place.”

  I wipe my lips and regain my bearings. My dick throbs painfully, wanting relief I can’t find with Junie. Not when I barely know her, let alone trust her. She’s a stranger, and I fear handing her more power over me.

  Handing her the doggy bag, I gesture for us to leave. Junie remains close to me as we head outside to the car. Once inside the Lexus, I exhale roughly.

  “Come to my home for dinner tomorrow.”

  Saying nothing, Junie works through her arousal. Once she’s under control, she asks, “Is six okay?”

  “Yes.”

  Understanding how we won’t finish the kiss in her bed, Junie sulks during the drive home. I can’t think of the words to explain why I won’t fuck her in the car. Most men would. If she’s interested in that kind of behavior, she needs to find someone else. I can’t—no, more like won’t—change for anyone, not even this gorgeous, bold woman.

  “I’m glad you went out with me,” I say once the SUV is parked in front of her place.

  “I can’t talk to you right now,” Junie says, patting my hand. “I need to go inside and play tiddlywinks with myself. We’ll chat tomorrow.”

  Junie leaves the SUV before I can ask what “tiddlywinks” means. By the time she’s upstairs and entering her apartment, I figure out the answer and accept how I’ll have to tiddlywinks myself too. Hopefully, tomorrow night I’ll trust Junie enough for us to tiddlywinks together

  ‧:❉:‧ ♂ ♀ ‧:❉:‧

  ❁ Junie ❁

  My body craves Asher in the insane way it does sugar during my period. No doubt if a man stood between me and Asher’s dick, I’d smash him in the head with a coffee pot. Too bad the guy keeping me from satisfaction is someone I can’t beat on. Though I wish I had considered begging for a quickie in the car. After all, I’m simply horrible at tiddlywinks on my own.

  Discarded vibrators and dildos fill a dresser drawer, long forgotten after they couldn’t get the job done. Mallory routinely buys new ones for my birthdays, but none of them has any chemistry with Mistress Beaver.

  Friction with a bundled blanket finally gives me relief when my fingers let me down. I pat the sexually used comforter before closing my eyes and resting on the bed. My body feels better, but it knows Asher can provide so much more fun. His skin was deliciously hot under my fingertips. I can’t imagine how good it would feel against my nipples. No doubt his dick will offer the magical chemistry that so many vibrators lacked.

  After a shower, I dress in a pale-yellow nightgown and relax on the couch. If Asher hadn’t stolen me away from work, I’d have another hour of boredom followed by a trip to Flamingo Exit and finally the bus ride home. Instead, I get an early afternoon of TV and napping with CP using me as his bed.

  Mallory wakes me hours later after I’ve suffered through a nightmare of sex with Timmy at the skating rink. She rolls her eyes through my story about Asher, Jellico, and the sex dream.

  “He’s going to break your heart,” she says, fixing dinner in my red, Southwestern-style kitchen. “Or at least disappoint Mistress Beaver. I can’t imagine a different outcome to this idiot dance you two are having.”

  I smile at her from the couch. “Can’t you understand how I have to try? When will I ever meet a man like Asher again? He’s got a shy nerd heart and a cranky jerk soul hidden inside his smoking hot body. Have I mentioned he’s so damn hot? When he claimed to work out, I never imagined he meant his lips.”

  “Do me a favor and go molest your comforter again. I can’t listen to this crap during dinner.”

  I glance at my bedroom but decide my bedding has suffered enough. Instead of pleasuring the mistress, I gently knock CP off my lap so I can join Mallory at the stove where she cooks chili.

  “If he loves you, the beans won’t be a turn-off,” she says when I scoff at her food choice. “He’ll think your farts are sexy.”

  “Saboteur.”

  “You knew what I was making tonight.”

  “I knew nothing!” I declare and stir in a bit more chili powder. “Okay, I did, but that was before Asher showed up for an impromptu lunch.”

  “Häagen-Dazs happens, darling. Now get away from the food before you make it inedible.”

  I sit at my tiny kitchen table and watch her cook. “How sexy should I go for my dinner with Asher tomorrow?”

  “Make him work for it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Wear overalls and knee-high fishing boots.”

  “You know I sold my boots years ago.”

  Mallory grins and dumps a diced onion into the pot. “You do what you want. It won’t work out anyway. He’s too prickly, and you’re too lazy to put up with his egocentricities.”

  “Big word there.”

  “Been reading big fat books on my skinny tablet.”

  I decide to add food to CP’s bowl before he notices a tiny bit of the container’s bottom is showing. The cat refuses to face a world where he might not have a crap ton of food at his disposal at all times. Couch Potato is a bit like Asher. They want the world to bend to their wills. I’ve managed to keep my cat pacified. Is it possible for me to do the same with
Asher?

  CH 9

  ❁ Junie ❁

  I wear my only dressy dress to Asher’s penthouse. The black, lacy baby doll is a tad extravagant—even possibly silly—for a meal at a guy’s place, but I want to knock his socks off with how well I clean up. I’ve gone all out and even asked Mallory to curl the ends of my hair. I’m the best-looking version of me when I arrive at the Dietrich Tower.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Mr. Ferrer isn't taking visitors this evening,” the front desk ginger named Randy tells me for the third time.

  I text Asher six times before he finally responds by calling me.

  “What’s the deal, Ferrer?” I ask.

  “There’s been a change of plans.”

  “If you blow me off, I swear I will never speak to you again. With that in mind, choose your next words very carefully.”

  Asher is silent for nearly a minute. “Meet me at The Rosemary.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s the tower’s restaurant. Ask the moron at the desk to stop staring at your breasts long enough to give you directions.”

  I glance at Randy and find him indeed checking out my rack. Ignoring his leering eyes, I take a deep breath and try not to storm out of the tower right this moment. An odd man, Asher needs patience, and I can provide it to him. I’ve done it before with other people and Couch Potato and myself. There’s no need to make a stink out of his most recent oddity.

  “If you don’t show up in ten minutes,” I warn Asher in my most patient voice, “I will throw a massive public tantrum, screaming your name at regular intervals before I ditch you forever.”

  “Are you done threatening me?”

  “For now,” I say, hanging up and frowning at the guy behind the counter.

  “Asher Ferrer is watching you check out my boobs,” I declare, drawing the attention of the people in the lobby. “You should probably stop doing that.”

  Flushing bright red, Randy stammers with a lie, but I wave off his bull.

  “Where is The Rosemary?”

  He nearly trips over his feet hurrying around the counter, but finally, regains a professional vibe when we reach the elevator.

  “It’s on the third floor to the right. Would you prefer I walk with you?”

  “I don’t walk,” I say, glancing down at my black skates. “I’ll find my way while you return to your spot. And you might want to check out boobs in a stealthier way in the future.”

  Still bright red, Randy watches me until the elevator doors close. I take a deep breath and remind myself of Asher’s hot kisses from yesterday. He was so sexy, and I know he wants me. He just happens to be a big weirdo, which isn’t a deal breaker in my book.

  My mood chills until I reach the entrance of The Rosemary where I’m told I can’t enter unless I put on shoes. I don’t know why this particular request sets me off, but I lose the ability to speak English and begin yelling in Hungarian at the uppity wiener. My grandparents would be proud.

  ‧:❉:‧ ♂ ♀ ‧:❉:‧

  ❁ Asher ❁

  I arrive at the restaurant to find Junie waving her arms and challenging the maître d' in a foreign language I assume is Hungarian. Wearing a black dress and matching black roller skates, she’s a vision of beauty. Even the angry heat on her cheeks only makes her that more stunning.

  “Miss, the dress code is nonnegotiable,” the maître d' says in an overly patient voice, but Junie continues to rant.

  “Is there a problem with my guest?” I ask, coming up behind Junie and place a hand on the arch of her back.

  The maître d' blinks quickly, adjusting to the new information. “No, Mr. Ferrer, I’ll take you to your table.”

  Junie focuses her ire on me but says nothing until we reach the table. I pull a chair out for her that’ll face away from the restaurant.

  “Where are you sitting?” she asks.

  “Across from you. This way, your bare legs won’t be on display for the room.”

  “Nope,” she grunts and plops down on the booth side and waits for me to join her. “I’m close to dumping your vexing butt, so I need to see your handsome face up close and personal to keep me from leaving.”

  “You won’t dump me,” I say, unfolding a napkin and placing it on my lap after I sit next to her.

  “Why are you so certain?”

  “You feel what I do. It’s why you’ve put up with me for this long and why I can’t end things either.”

  “I suspect I’m better at depriving myself than you are, Mister Spoiled Britches.”

  “You eat crappy food, watch crappy movies, and chose an easy job that allows you to be lazy. When exactly do you deprive yourself?”

  Junie narrows her gaze. “Every time I don’t slap that smirk off your face.”

  “Noted,” I say, tapping the menu, so she’ll stop glaring at me and figure out what to order. “I don’t want to spend all evening in this fishbowl.”

  “You’re beyond weird, Asher. Have you considered having your brain shrunk?”

  “I’ve seen a psychiatrist. He wasn’t helpful.”

  “Of course not. The entire thing is a scam.”

  I consider whether I want to hear her views on psychiatry and decide against it. She’s already on edge, and I’m fairly certain Junie losing her shit over a conspiracy theory would end the night on a sour note.

  Once she picks something to eat, I order for us both. She barely waits for the waiter to leave before leaning against me and asking her question.

  “Why don’t you want me in your home?”

  “I panicked about having you there.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought you’d touch everything and mock my taste.”

  “You weren’t wrong,” she says, patting my knee. “What do we do now? I can’t come to your home, and you can’t come to mine.”

  “Why can’t I come to yours?”

  “I’m afraid I’ll tie you to the bed and ravage you. Best not to chance that in your fragile state.”

  “Hilarious,” I mutter when she laughs at my expression. “I suspect we need more dates out in the world before I’ll feel comfortable having you in my home.”

  Junie leans her head on my shoulder and studies my face. I can’t look away from her tender gaze, and her smile charms me. With an expression so soft and patient, she looks as if she’ll wait forever for me to find my way.

  ‧:❉:‧ ♂ ♀ ‧:❉:‧

  ❁ Junie ❁

  Asher doesn’t trust the food set in front of him until he’s checked every spot for flaws. I watch him as does the waiter. When he takes a bite, I swear we exhale in unison. I’m probably more relieved than the waiter. After all, I want Asher focused on me rather than his tiny portioned, painfully expensive meal.

  “Were you always so fussy?” I ask, barely touching my food because its name stinks of arrogance and I prefer down-to-earth sandwiches and they don’t sell sandwiches at this preciously pretentious restaurant. “How did you survive childhood?”

  “I’ve always been particular,” he says, swapping out the word fussy. “Perhaps not as much as I am now.”

  “Is your family particular?”

  Asher smiles and leans back. “Would you like to meet my family?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “That step might lead to you thinking about meeting my mother, and I’m not a fan of that idea.”

  “I doubt I want to meet your mother any more than you want me to meet her.”

  “Because you’re afraid she’ll see right through your façade and warn me away from dating you?”

  “No, because she’ll likely push my buttons and I get enough of that from you.”

  Grinning, I pat his thigh. “Ah-ha. That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Hot Shot Brainiac. My mother and I are nothing alike. She’d give you a ton of space and hope you didn’t touch her crap. Hey, in fact, you’re both weird. I’ve heard of women dating their fathers but never their mothers. Not sexy.”

&nb
sp; “Are you done?”

  “What’s your mother like? I mean, beyond patient as hell to have dealt with you.”

  “You deal with me, and you’re not patient at all.”

  “Why are you distracting from your mother questions?” I ask full of feigned suspicion. “Is she super weird? I had a friend in elementary school whose mom was in a cult.”

  “Of course, you did.”

  “Were all of your friends snoozes like Garrett?” I ask, yanking off the Band-Aid to torment his festering wound underneath.

  Asher’s jaw clenches, and he immediately reaches for his scotch. I watch him drink two gulps—both going down rough—before he sets the glass on the table.

  “I wasn’t a popular kid and had few friends.”

  “I wasn’t popular either. I had really freaky teeth until braces, and the kids made fun of me. Then later, I suffered from my Sasquatch condition.”

  Smiling again, Asher relaxes enough to wrap an arm around my shoulders. “You are so beautiful that I have trouble believing your ‘poor me’ stories.”

  “I understand your confusion.”

  He studies my face for nearly a minute, and I’m admittedly intimidated by the passion in his shadowed eyes.

  “You better be thinking about kissing me.”

  A smile warms his unreadable expression. “I don’t approve of public displays of affection.”

  “Is that code for you want me to hump your leg? I’ll do it, but I won’t do it well.”

  Asher’s smile grows, and I lean closer as a hint for him to get on with our lip-smacking good time already. The hum of conversation in the restaurant falls away until only he and I exist. I mentally beg him to forget about the people around us and how he doesn’t want to show affection in front of them. Just see me. No one else. Take what you want and forget everything else.

  ‧:❉:‧ ♂ ♀ ‧:❉:‧

  ❁ Asher ❁

  I loathe the spectacle of adults sucking and grinding on each other in public. There’s something pathetic about the need to simulate sex for the world to see. Despite my hatred for the practice, I kissed Junie at the pizzeria, and I’m inclined to do so again. Mainly I’d like to ensure the men looking at her will get the message.