Rich S.O.B.: A Romantic Comedy

by Bijou Hunter

  Junie’s bare legs shine when she stretches them out. I catch more than one leering asshole enjoying the view. She doesn’t care, of course. As long as she isn’t flashing her panties, she doesn’t see the big deal.

  “No, really, what is the big deal?” she asks when I tell her to tuck her legs tighter under the table.

  “I don’t want you flashing the restaurant.”

  “We could have been eating in the privacy of your bachelor pad, but someone decided he preferred a public meal.”

  Grumbling under my breath, I focus on something besides the men making eyes at the beautiful woman at my side.

  Next to me, Junie remains oblivious to my concerns. Instead, she wipes her mouth after trying the pork medallion and complaining how it’d taste better with bread, lettuce, tomato, and condiments. Basically, she wants a sandwich.

  “I’m glad you’re paying for dinner tonight,” she says, snuggling against me enough to hide her legs. “I wouldn’t want to waste money on this food.”

  “You could say it a little louder, so the chef hears you.”

  “Would he cry?” she asks and takes my hand. “Would he spit in my dessert? Wait, we are getting dessert, right?”

  “You can have the brownie.”

  “Can I, Papa? Are you sure?”

  Junie laughs and adjusts her position in the booth so much that I figure she might climb on my lap soon.

  “Why are you squirming?” I ask.

  “I crave your hot body, but I can’t get close enough without holding you down and forcing myself on you.”

  Smiling, I give into the urge I’ve fought since first admiring Junie tonight. My lips find hers, and she instantly stops squirming. Sucking at my lower lip, she runs her nails gently over the top of my hand. The small gesture relaxes me more than I think possible. Almost as if she flips a switch inside me, forcing the restaurant full of people to fade into the background.

  ‧:❉:‧ ♂ ♀ ‧:❉:‧

  ❁ Junie ❁

  In my head, I imagine Asher inviting me upstairs to his private sanctuary where we’ll talk, kiss, and finally mate like wild—and likely uncoordinated—animals. I assume his place will be pristine and likely professionally decorated. It’ll look like a page in a magazine rather than a real person’s home, but that fits Asher who exists in a specifically constructed bubble.

  Even if his penthouse ends up looking like a sterile surgical room, I want to go somewhere alone with him and test how hot his kisses will burn once we’re alone.

  Instead, Asher continues his hard to get routine, tempting me to flip him off and skate into the sunset. Why am I trying so hard for a man so willing to tell me no?

  “I tell everyone no,” he says after we leave The Rosemary and wait for the elevator.

  Glancing upward, I think about his home so close yet so far away. “I do too. Perhaps, I should start doing so with you.”

  “No,” he says, leaning over to kiss the nape of my neck.

  Shivering from his hot breath on my skin, I give up any upper hand. He knows I want him, and he knows I’ll wait. For now anyway.

  We take the elevator down to the lobby where he plans to ditch me. Holding onto his arm possessively until we reach the front doors, I turn to him and lift my lips. Asher obeys my silent command by giving me a quick kiss.

  Just to prove his kiss hasn’t stolen my backbone, I smile after his lips leave mine and pat his cheek.

  “Good seeing you, Asher. I’ll call you.”

  Spinning in the fluid way only roller skates allow, I leave him behind and refuse to look back even though I really want to see his reaction. Is he upset? Did he shrug off my cold shoulder? I’m dying to know the answer, but I bite my inner cheek hard enough to distract from the urge.

  The ball is now squarely in Asher’s court. Unless I get sick of waiting for him. Then I’ll either ditch his ass or more likely come crawling back. Ugh, relationships are the worst.

  CH 10

  ❁ Asher ❁

  Junie rolls away in a hurry, and I watch her disappear into the parking lot. Once she’s out of sight, I walk to the security room and check the cameras to ensure she safely arrives at her car. Junie never looks back, and I wonder if this was a calculated move on her part to make me worry she’s losing interest.

  If so, her ploy works.

  I wish I’d invited her upstairs. The main problem with having her inside my home is once she crosses that line that she can never uncross it.

  No girlfriend has ever stepped into my penthouse. I don’t want them getting comfortable in my sanctuary, and Junie would most definitely make herself at home.

  I miss her as soon as she’s out of my sight. The unease haunting me for weeks grows stronger each morning. I wake knowing I both need Junie to be happy and I’ll have to give up my comfort to have her. Unwilling to do the latter yet, I’m stuck longing for her and regretting the distance I force between us.

  Egor remains in the penthouse until I return. I’m startled to see him, but I shouldn’t be. He takes his job very seriously.

  “Was dinner satisfactory?” he asks while taking my suit jacket.

  “Yes. You didn’t need to stay late.”

  “Your dinner plans changed so suddenly that I felt I should wait until you returned.”

  Walking to the wall-length windows, I wonder how close Junie is to arriving home. I hate imagining her alone in the city. Her fearlessness only makes her a bigger target in my mind.

  “Should I run the shower for you, sir?” Egor asks.

  Normally after visiting with a woman, I insist on scrubbing away their scents and flavor. With Junie, I don’t want to forget the feel of her against me.

  “No, thank you. Egor, you can leave for the evening. I’m fine really.”

  My assistant lingers despite my words. I look away from the windows and glance back at him.

  “In the morning, call the private investigator and have him put a tail on Junie Voss,” I say and then add in case Egor thinks I don’t trust her, “I want someone capable of protecting her if there are ever any issues.”

  Nodding, Egor leaves me alone with my thoughts. I stand at the windows for nearly an hour, replaying every moment of my dinner with Junie. Her touch remains on my skin. Her smile is burned into my mind. I wish she was with me, but I fear staking my claim with Julie only to fail at being who she needs.

  CH 11

  ❁ Junie ❁

  The overpriced food at the restaurant leaves me hungry an hour later. Once home, I order breadsticks and chicken wings. Mallory joins me on the couch where we watch Naked and Afraid while eating my second dinner of the evening.

  “He doesn’t want people in his home,” Mallory says during a commercial. “You’re dating your mom.”

  “He’s hotter than my mom.”

  “She’s a looker, though.”

  “Stop coming on to my mom when she isn’t here,” I say and playfully nudge her.

  Mallory snorts and wipes sauce from her lips. “My mom is better looking than me too, but I’ve learned to let it go.”

  I think about Mallory’s mother. Every time I see her, she says, “Hi, I’m Trisha, but you can call me Trish,” even though I’ve met her dozens of times and always refer to her as Trish even before she repeats her preference. Once again, I’m reminded that my agoraphobic mother is still miles better than some of the alternatives. Mainly, Trisha who prefers to be called Trish.

  “Hello,” Mallory mumbles with her mouth full. “Where did you go?”

  “I was thinking about Asher,” I lie.

  “He’s got you wound up something stupid, that’s for sure.”

  Nodding, I think about the next step in my relationship with Asher. I’d like to see that sexy man in a sexy naked position. “You know I don’t believe in waxing Mistress Beaver and feeding into society’s desire to turn grown women into hairless children.”

  “Yes, I believe you’ve mentioned that on occasion.”

  “Well, now th
at I’m hoping to get in Asher’s pants, I wonder if I should consider, you know, dealing with my out of control crotch mane.”

  “How out of control are we talking?”

  “Seventies porn crotch.”

  “Oh, I was imagining Life After People kind of overgrown.”

  “I did tell Asher on our first date that I’m hairy and don’t wax. Shouldn’t I take his continued interest as approval of my hairiness?”

  “Did he hear you say that or was he too busy checking out your boobs? I only ask because I remember the shirt you wore that day and there definitely could have been cleavage distraction.”

  “I’m fairly certain he heard. Asher’s very focused. You know, like a computer with great cheekbones.”

  “Let’s be super honest here and state for a fact that you will not wax Mistress Beaver. Not only because of your anti-waxing for society stance. It’ll hurt, and you avoid pain.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Some people seek out pain.”

  “True. Well, you’re right. I have no interest in harming Mistress Beaver for a sexual event. Though,” I pause and exhale slowly, “if I’m totally honest, I will probably wax my entire body to get Asher in bed. He makes Mistress Beaver excited enough to make an exception.”

  “If I was interested in having sex and my partner wanted me waxed, I’d insist he or she did it first.”

  “Even if they looked like Asher?”

  “Yes, but then again, you had principles before meeting him too so…” Mallory says, waving her hand around. “Apparently, sexual arousal causes people to lose their brain cells, pride, and ethics.”

  “Yeah, it’s an outstanding feeling that I hope you can one day experience,” I say, patting her arm.

  “Nope.”

  “Fine, you can watch me experience it.”

  “How? Like on a video or something?”

  “No, probably not. Asher likely would not be cool with taping our sexual adventures.”

  “Because he knows you two will mostly just lie perfectly still with occasional grunting and twitching.”

  “Well, those are my trademark moves.”

  Mallory snorts before shaking her head. “The sauce is spicier than I remember.”

  “Speaking of spicy, I worry I’ll give up too much just to make Asher happy. First, it’s waxing Mistress Beaver. Then it’ll be eating healthy food or taking fewer deductions on my taxes.”

  “Why would he care about your taxes?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t want to change in any way whatsoever.”

  “I don’t know if you heard, but if you have to change to make him like you, then he’s not really your friend.”

  “Sage advice, Mom.”

  “A rich guy like him could help you travel the world. Think of touring Southeast Asia with his money versus our discount trips.”

  “Hey, I like our discount trips,” I whine.

  “Me too, but he can afford to go places we never could.”

  “Asher doesn’t travel. I don’t think he even leaves his building all that much.”

  “He could change for you.”

  “He won’t. It’s not his nature.”

  “You never know. As recently as an hour ago, you were squarely against waxing Mistress Beaver. Now you’re ready to tear hair from your flesh to appease him.”

  “I’d only wax for the oral stuff, but he’ll need to wax for me too. I mean, hairy guys are the worst.”

  Mallory spits up her beer, making a mess on her shirt. I hand her a napkin without taking my gaze off the TV.

  “It’s possible,” I say while she cleans her shirt, “Asher will never see Mistress Beaver. He doesn’t want me at his place, and I don’t think he’d like my smaller and better-than-his apartment. I also can’t imagine us doing it in a car.”

  “I’m sorry you might not get laid. This must be a difficult time for you.”

  “You’ll never understand just how disappointed I’ll be if Asher never puts out. He’s a great kisser, and I suspect he’ll be good at other things.”

  “That’s not how that works.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Because my cat is a great cuddler, but that doesn’t mean he’s good at other stuff.”

  “It’s a cat, Mallory.”

  “Emory is dating a turtle, Junie. Let’s not make assumptions about anything relationship related, okay?”

  “When you’re right, you’re right.”

  Despite my silence, I remain focused on Asher and what to do with the sexy, frustrating bastard. I’d like very much to seduce him into bed and then using my sexual talents—that I’ll need to gain from somewhere—I can heal his weirdness. We’ll be together in a normal way that won’t at all affect my weirdness.

  Thinking of it that way, I realize I’m worried over nothing and our happy ending will effortlessly fall into place.

  CH 12

  ❁ Asher ❁

  My mother is a former beauty pageant winner. Even after all these years since her reign as Miss Minnesota (runner-up), Ellen Ferrer still walks with the grace of a woman looking to take home a trophy. I watch her on the security feed as she strolls into the lobby and heads for the elevator to take her to The Rosemary where we’ll meet for lunch. I’d hoped Dad would come with her, yet I’m not particularly surprised by his absence. He loathes the restaurant’s fussy nature even more than Junie.

  I head downstairs and reach The Rosemary’s front doors just as my mother leaves the elevator. She smiles warmly, always willing to praise her least favorite son. Never an easy child, I grew into a prickly adult. My brother can’t keep a job for more than a few months, has two kids he can’t support, and parties every weekend. Yet he’s the son my parents understand. His bad behavior makes sense to them while my odd behavior leaves them scratching their heads and worrying about my assumed lonely future.

  “You spend too much time alone,” Mom says when I tell her my plans to spend the evening in the penthouse.

  I rest the menu on the table and examine her still beautiful face. Mom wears a few new lines around her eyes, and I notice a slight wince when she sits down. Age is catching up to the beauty queen like it does to us all.

  “I’m currently dating.”

  Mom lowers her menu and gives me an odd frown. “Does dating mean the same thing to you that it does to me, Ash?”

  “I don’t know. What does it mean to you?”

  “Going out on dates with someone special. What it doesn’t mean is going to business functions with a woman who won’t bother you.”

  “It’s the first one,” I say, sipping my water. “Her name is Junie, and she works in IT repair.”

  “A business associate?”

  “No. I met her at a diner on the east side.”

  Interest piqued, Mom leans forward. “You were at a diner?”

  “Yes. They have great chicken and waffles. Junie likes their strawberry waffles. We got to talking, and I asked her out,” I say, choosing to fudge a few details. “We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks.”

  “I’m assuming your feelings are serious if you’re mentioning her to me.”

  “She’s like no one I’ve ever met.”

  “And she’s aware you’re particular about how you live?”

  “Yes,” I mutter, disliking her implication. “Junie understands me.”

  Okay, now I’ve stepped fully into lying territory. Junie doesn’t get me, and she always seems ready to bolt. Despite reality, my mother’s negative attitude encourages me to marry Junie on the spot just to prove I’m not a weirdo incapable of loving another human being.

  “I’m happy for you, sweetheart. If things continue to go well, you could invite her to the house.” No doubt I’m wearing a disgusted expression because Mom exhales loudly. “Or not.”

  “Taking a woman to my parents’ home is a big step.”

  “Especially when you don’t like our home.”

  “I like it fine. I bough
t it for you after all.”

  “Yes, but you’re uncomfortable there.”

  “I’m uncomfortable in most places,” I point out.

  “But not at the diner?”

  “Yes, at the diner.”

  “But the chicken and waffles are worth it.”

  “So was the view of a beautiful woman.”

  Mom finally smiles, having heard something she can relate to from the son she never understood. Now I have a girlfriend which makes sense to a woman whose life has revolved around her husband and sons since she was out of college. Relationships are what make my mother tick. It’s how she puts up with my father’s constant desire to work in the yard or my brother’s need to piss away his every opportunity. She defines herself by the people around her, so having a son she can barely share a meal with has always left her unhappy. Now I’ve offered her a glimmer of hope that even I can evolve into someone easy to love.

  Of course, before I bring Junie home to meet the folks, I’ll need to spend more than an hour with her without finding a reason to leave.

  CH 13

  ❁ Junie ❁

  Many mornings on the bus, I enjoy a quiet spot near the back where I doze. A middle-aged black woman named Etta works in an office building down the street from IT Zen, and we’ve been bus buddies for years. She sits in the back, reading mysteries during the rides. She also wakes me when we near our spot or if I snore too loudly.

  On the way home, the bus is busier, so we can’t sleep or read with the extra noise. Etta talks about the grandson she’s raising while I share stories about my cat.

  “I think that man is following you,” she says as soon as she sits next to me on the way home.

  I look out the back windows where Etta’s pointing and see a middle-aged man driving a black sedan.

  “Why do you think he’s following me?”

  “Noticed him when we arrived at your stop this morning. For two days, he’s been there, and now I see him when we get on.”