by Amy Brent
“Ladies,” I drawled as I slipped by them. I gave them a slight nod and chuckled to myself as I stepped out of the restroom, and a chorus of giggles erupted behind me.
Chapter 2
Allie
I leaned forward to rest my forehead on the top of my desk. It was presently littered with pieces of paper, my lunch box, and general office debris. My boss, James Lipton, CEO of Lipton Publishing, had filled my day with numerous tasks that had turned my brain to complete mush. Being his assistant was no walk in the park, and today was the sort of day I dreaded.
I had arrived at eight in the morning with his usual cup of coffee in hand: a triple grande Americano Misto with one pump of vanilla syrup. After delivering it to him in his office, he had handed me a sheet of paper with a list of the day’s priorities. After arranging and prepping his three board meetings that day, I had to interview six potential candidates for a summer internship, process the monthly order of new office supplies, and confirm James’s appointments for the rest of the week.
Now, it was nearly four thirty, and I ached for time to hurry along. I hated Mondays. They were too abrupt for me after a weekend. Especially my slow paced, easy going, do nothing all day and night kind of weekend. I had watched Netflix and eaten a tub of chocolate mint ice cream by myself between Friday and Sunday night.
The highlight of my weekend had been the phone call I received from Steven on Sunday afternoon. He wanted to get dinner on Monday night, and my eagerness to see him was only making time pass slower.
I always enjoyed my time with Steven. He made me laugh, regardless of how terrible my day had been. He was in general great company. We had been close friends since freshman year, and I had been completely infatuated with him since then.
I lifted my head from the desk and peered at the clock on my computer screen. Still twenty more minutes before I could go home and get ready for dinner. Steven was going to meet me at our favorite spot, a little Italian restaurant called The Italian Corner. I conjured up an image of him in my head sitting across the table from me at dinner.
I pictured his perfect head of dark brown hair, and how some of it always managed to fall so that it grazed the ends of his eyelashes. This made his bright blue eyes look mysterious. I thought of his broad shoulders and the way he sometimes wore the collar of his shirt open, exposing just the right amount of chest.
I swallowed when I felt a sudden heat begin to burn below my belly.
Steven and I had been friends for too long, and I knew he would never want to pursue anything with me. He was a player, and always had been, and I was thankful to at least be his friend. If there was one thing I was sure of, it was that I needed Steven in my life. I would do anything for him, and I suspected he would do anything for me.
Except, of course, fall for me the way that I had fallen for him all those years ago.
I hopped out of the taxi and straightened my jacket. Underneath I was wearing my favorite black dress that hugged my body in all the right places. I had completed the ensemble with a pair of heels that were on the edge of suitable enough for me to walk in without making a fool out of myself.
I spotted Steven sitting at one of the tables by the window. The candle burning in front of him cast an elegant, warm light onto his face, and I took a moment to admire him. He would never notice. He was focused on his phone, probably sending a text or an email.
I sighed and clutched my purse tighter to my side. Get a grip, girl, he’s your friend, nothing else. I nodded to myself as if to confirm what I was thinking. Nothing else. Just a friend.
I made my way into the restaurant. The hostess recognized me right away, smiled, and pointed to where Steven was sitting. He was still staring at the screen on his phone. I approached the table, slipped my jacket off my shoulders, and draped it over the back of the chair.
“Hey,” I said.
Steven looked up. His face brightened with a huge smile. He dropped his phone into his pocket and stood, stepping around the chair between us to pull me into a hug. I relished the momentary feeling of his arms around me. When he drew away, his hands were on my upper arms. He held me in place and looked me over. “You look beautiful,” he said. “New shoes?”
“No.” I smiled. “Just an old pair I don’t usually wear.” Because they don’t have arch support and they squish my toes.
“I like them,” he said, stepping back and returning to his seat.
I sat down across from him and pulled my chair up to the table. “You look great too,” I said, gesturing at all of him. He always looked great.
He grinned sheepishly and waved off my compliment. Our server arrived, and Steven ordered us a bottle of Merlot before asking me if I was ready to order. I had already decided what I was going to eat the previous afternoon when he called me and invited me out. We ordered our meals, and once we had our privacy back, I asked Steven what was new with him.
“Oh you know, same old stuff. Went out with Chance last night. He asked how you were doing. I told him all about your little fender bender the other week. He told me I was an ass.” Steven shrugged. “But we all knew that already.”
I shook my head in mock dismay and laughed. “I knew you wouldn’t keep that to yourself. So embarrassing.”
“Why?”
“I rear-ended someone because I was jamming too hard to Backstreet Boys. I can’t help it. You know what happens to me when their music comes on. It’s like I’m fourteen all over again. How is that not embarrassing?”
Steven chuckled. “Chance thought it was kind of endearing.”
“Endearing. That’s my middle name,” I said as the waitress returned with our bottle of wine. She poured mine first. I smelled it and took a sip, pretending to know what I was doing, before smiling approvingly. She topped up my glass and then filled Steven’s, and we were once again left on our own.
Between the arrival of our meals, we discussed all the new things going on with us since I had seen Steven last. I told him all about my boss and how needy he had been lately. He told me about new developments with his app, and the potential new direction he was going to take it.
“Oh, Andrew says hi, by the way,” Steven said after a sip of wine. “I saw him yesterday evening. He asked about you, so naturally, he knows the whole Backstreet Boys fiasco as well.”
I groaned and buried my face in my palms. “You’re just the worst,” I lied.
Steven only seemed encouraged by my humiliation. He laughed mostly to himself, but when he realized that I was genuinely mortified, he apologized. “Listen, things like that happen to people all the time.”
“Oh, really?” I asked skeptically. I took a sip of wine and shook my head. “I highly doubt things like that happen to you. You don’t get embarrassed.”
“Sure I do.”
“Liar.”
“I am not.” Steven laughed. “Two weekends ago I had a terrible evening with a girl who insisted on calling me ‘Kent’ because she thought I looked like Superman. Also, I should note, she was drunk when she arrived at dinner and smelled like she had just rolled out of a smoke room.”
“Wow, that must have been terrible for you,” I said sarcastically. “How dare she insult you by suggesting you look like a Kryptonian God.”
“You’re such a dork.”
I shrugged my shoulders. That was true, and he and I both knew it. I held up one finger and fixed him under my accusing stare. “Let me guess, despite your humiliation,” I said while performing air quotes, “you still went through with the whole date, took her home, and made sweet love to her.” I hated that the words were coming out of my mouth, but it was a defense mechanism. I knew I could never be the kind of girl that Steven laid with or loved. Not that I had ever heard of him loving anyone besides his mother. So I had to settle for the friend who sat and listened to him talk about the women he had sex with. Sometimes, I would go home and envision myself as one of those women.
“Well,” he said, leaning back in his chair and draping his arm over the b
ackrest. “I didn’t not sleep with her, that’s for sure. She was hot, and definitely kinky, and definitely worth the awkward meal.”
I rolled my eyes to conceal how uncomfortable I was. “So predictable, Steven Marx, so predictable.”
“And you’re not, Allie Wright? Let me guess, you spent your weekend cuddled up in your pajamas drinking tea and watching TV.”
“That’s beside the point,” I said defensively.
“I’m not trying to make a point. I’m just saying. Don’t judge me and my extracurricular activities when you don’t have any.”
“I don’t want to fuck strangers, okay?”
Steven winked at me. I knew I would be thinking about that while I tried to fall asleep later.
“Fucking strangers is great. No strings attached. No expectations. Just sex. I’m telling you, you should try it.”
“Mmm, no thanks. I’ll stick to watching my Netflix shows, thank you very much.”
“Suit yourself,” Steven said as the waitress arrived with our food.
While we ate, we discussed less sensitive things, which I was grateful for. We laughed a lot, as always, and shared food off of each other’s plates. This was routine for us; Steven ordered steak while I ordered pasta tossed in a creamy marinara sauce. This way we both got the best of both worlds. Sometimes, if I were really lucky, Steven would feed me pieces of meat from his fork, and I would pretend for the briefest moment that I was his date. His real date.
When both of our plates were empty, I dabbed my mouth with my napkin, leaned back, and patted my belly. “Well, that hit the spot,” I said happily.
Steven agreed and plucked the dessert menu from its holder beside the salt and pepper. “Sure was. Want to share dessert? I’ve been craving chocolate for at least four days now and haven’t gotten around to satisfying my sweet tooth.”
I could relate. I’d been craving Steven for eight years and had never been able to satisfy that itch.
“Sure,” I said, “I’ll have a couple bites.”
“Uh huh, says the girl who’s infamous for promising she isn’t hungry but eats a man’s whole order of french fries five minutes later.”
“You know me too well,” I smiled, resting my elbows on the table and placing my chin in my hands. I watched Steven read the menu. His eyes scanned the text back and forth, and the muscles in his sharp jaw worked while he deliberated what he wanted. I sighed.
Steven looked up. “Everything alright?”
“What?”
“You sighed, you okay?”
“Oh, yes,” I said, feeling my cheeks starting to burn. “I didn’t even notice I did it. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, you’re allowed to sigh.”
“Right,” I said, chewing the inside of my cheek. I resented the flutter of nervousness that started in my belly.
Steven tossed the menu down and scanned the room for our server. He really was craving something sweet. I watched his blue eyes settle on the waitress, and he waved her over. He ordered a brownie of some sort that I was sure would be the size of his fist. Then he turned back to me and mimicked my pose by resting his chin in his hands.
“So,” he said. “What’s your plan for the rest of the night?”
“Well, now that you mention it, I was wondering if you wanted to come over. I have popcorn with cheddar seasoning, and was thinking we could watch a movie or something?” I had deliberately mentioned the cheddar seasoning. I knew it was his favorite, and he had a hard time ever turning down salty snacks.
Steven pouted his lips at me and shook his head. My heart sank before he started speaking. “Sorry, Allie, but tonight is no good for me. I have an early start and a busy day tomorrow. Rain check?”
“Yes, of course,” I said, unable to stop the gut-wrenching thought of Steven going home to invite another woman over so that he could screw her brains out. I knew the sorts of things he got up to in his spare time. I didn’t resent him for it. I just wished it was me, and that I was enough for him.
The brownie appeared in front of us along with our bill. Steven swiped it off the table and insisted he pay the tab. I put up a small fight but conceded when he threatened to not let me have any of the brownie. We shared the sweet treat, and I left all the whip cream and caramel drizzle for him.
When the plate looked as if it had been licked clean, we both collected our jackets and made for the door. We emerged on the sidewalk, pressed up against each other to ward off the chill in the night air. Steven waved down a cab for me, and being the good friend that he was, paid my fare. He also told the cabbie in a somewhat protective, threatening voice, to make sure that he got me home safely and waited outside my house until I was inside.
“Steven, honestly, I can take care of myself,” I said as he crouched down in front of the open back door.
He watched me fasten my seatbelt. “Unless Backstreet Boys is playing. Then it’s mayhem.”
The laughter that bubbled up out of me made Steven laugh. He leaned in and kissed my cheek, squeezed my shoulder, and wished me a good night. Then he closed the door, and I watched him through the back window of the cab as we drove down the street. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his jeans and watched us drive away until we disappeared around the corner.
I sighed and fell heavily against the leather seat.
“Good date?” the cabbie asked me, looking at me in his rear-view mirror.
“No,” I said. “Not really.”
“Shame, maybe the next one, right?”
I offered him a forced smile and nodded, then spent the rest of the fifteen-minute drive home staring out the window, wondering if Steven was on his way home to meet one of the many girls whose numbers were saved in his phone.
I tried to reassure myself that he was not. That instead, he would be spending the night alone in his own bed in preparation for the busy day he had told me was ahead of him tomorrow. I failed miserably at it and continued to dwell in self-pity until the cab pulled up to the curb in front of my home.
I thanked the driver and made my way through the gate that led across a small garden to the steps of the duplex. I fumbled for my keys in my bag, pulled them out, and unlocked the door. Once it was opened, I turned back to the cab driver and gave him thumbs up. He drove away with a small wave, and I locked up behind me. Then I headed up the single flight of stairs to my second level apartment.
I let myself in, breathed in the relaxing smell of lavender and pine in my apartment, hung my jacket on the hooks beside my door, and blew out an exasperated breath. My time with Steven was always wonderful. It was the hours after my time with him that were so terrible.
I kicked off my heels and unzipped the gold zipper up the side of my dress. I tossed it carelessly over the back of the sofa as I trekked through the living room in my bra and panties. I went to the bathroom first, where I took my makeup off and readied myself for bed. Once my mouth was minty fresh, and I had applied all my necessary lotions for the evening, I went to my bedroom and climbed under my duvet.
I leaned over and fished my diary out from my nightstand table and flicked on the crystal lamp above it. I grabbed a pen, rolled on to my stomach, and began writing. I needed to get my feelings out if I had any hope of falling asleep.
Monday, October 2nd
I went to The Italian Corner tonight with Steven. He was wearing that shirt that I like—the one with the slightly open collar. God, he looked good. Why does he always have to look so good?
He paid for dinner, like always, and we shared our food. He told the cabbie to get me home safely. He even instructed him to wait before he left to make sure I made it inside. He’s such a gentleman. Sometimes.
I invited him over for movies and popcorn tonight, but he said he had an early morning. We’ll probably get together sometime soon, though. We usually do. It’s not very often that he passes up on our movie nights. Which is why I think he’s going home to a girl. Probably a girl he met at some bar.
I wish I could be one of those
girls to him. No. I wish I could be the girl to him. I can imagine him knocking on my front door, all flustered from racing to catch up with me after dinner, telling me how badly he wants me. How he wants to fuck me. How he wants to lay me out and fill me with his rock hard cock. I want him so bad. All the things I would do to him and let him do to me. I would literally let him do anything he wanted. Anything. I just want to know what it would be like. What he would feel like inside me.
I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want Steven Marx.
I closed my diary and tossed it on the floor beside the bed. I rolled onto my back and pulled my panties down my legs and over my ankles. They joined my diary on the floor. Then I stared up at the ceiling.
Sleep would be elusive—especially now that my brain was filled with images of Steven and I naked and tangled up together. I needed a release. My pussy felt swollen and tight. It was begging to be touched.
I slipped one hand under the covers and began to tease myself. All the while, I imagined it was Steven’s tongue. He was settled between my thighs. I could see only the top of his dark head as he licked me, slowly and deliberately, up and down, up and down, until my body couldn’t take it anymore.