“I don’t like him.”
She paused for an extended period of time before sarcastically replying, “Okay.”
I huffed indignantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The lady doth protests too much, me thinks,” she teased, quoting Shakespeare.
“Whatever, I’m serious. He’s an ass and I’m not into assholes. Stop laughing!”
“Okay, Akila.”
I was trying not to be amused by the way she said it. “What are you trying to insinuate with your tone?”
“You’re trying to convince me, your best friend in the entire world, that you’re not at least attracted to the good looking, smart, gainfully employed, ambitious, big dick having man that you admitted made you feel magic.”
My stomach twisted again. “I’m not attracted to him.” I swallowed hard. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I don’t like him.”
“Even though you never say you feel the magic with anyone?”
“Okay, you know I felt the magic before I knew he was part of The Lost Boys!” I threw a hand up in frustration, smacking the steering wheel. It was like she was purposefully forgetting the most damning thing about him on purpose. “You heard the podcast, Meghan! And on top of that, the stunt he pulled in front of Luna Daniels makes us mortal enemies!”
“I understand that being the reason you don’t want to date him, but…”
“But nothing!” I argued, although I was curious as to what she was going to say.
“Okay.”
“Okay then.” I pulled into my parking spot and then let out a loud wail. “I’m sorry. He just gets under my skin. What were you going to say?”
“If you don’t admit that you’re attracted to him, you are going to end up making a rash decision.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you were going to see if you can get another partner for your photography class. But on Monday when you found out he was a Lost Boy, you said you couldn’t change partners.”
“I know. We’re not supposed to,” I sighed. “I was going to explain the situation and—”
“Let me stop you right there,” Meghan interjected. “You want to ask Luca Romano if you can change partners, even though he said you couldn’t, because your current partner gets under your skin.”
Letting my head drop back against the headrest, I closed my eyes and groaned. “I see what you’re saying.”
“Akila, like I told you on Monday…and Tuesday…and especially after the dick print incident on Thursday, if you don’t admit your attraction, it’s going to get the best of you.”
I shook my head. I opened my mouth to deny it, but the words didn’t come out.
“Think about it,” she warned.
I could hear that she was back at her desk and her voice was lower than before.
“Talking about him is making my stomach hurt,” I complained.
“And yet, the majority of the conversation this week has been about him.”
I was quiet. She was right, and I didn’t have an immediate response.
She continued, “You landed your dream job with your role model. You said Luna was great and that she raved about your work. And then you spent fifteen minutes talking about this guy you allegedly don’t like.”
“I was telling you about him because it was crazy that he is sharing the title of series writer with me.” I hesitated uncertainly. “That’s all.”
“You can lie to yourself, Akila Bishara, but I know the truth. And if you don’t admit it to yourself, you’re going to drive yourself crazy. I don’t want you to lose your job or fail your class because you can’t admit that you’re attracted to him and it ends up getting the best of you. It’s already starting.”
“I hear you.”
“Now, I have to get back to work so I can send one email off before I take my lunch break. But I have one more question.”
“What’s that?”
Meghan waited a beat. “Did you see his dick print today?”
I did not expect that question.
“No!” I laughed. “What? No!!”
“I didn’t know if it was pressing up against his khakis like it was his sweatpants.”
I chuckled hard. “You are ridiculous! And he didn’t even have on khakis.”
“I bet you know exactly what he was wearing from head-to-toe,” she teased.
“Whatever, no I don’t.”
He had on navy blue dress pants and a crisp, white button-up shirt that made his smug-ass smile even brighter.
“Yes, you do.”
I groaned. “Yes, I do.” Lowering my voice, I whispered, “What’s wrong with me?”
“Once you admit it, you’ll feel better.”
“He’s attractive,” I sighed, quickly brushing it off. “There. I admitted it. It’s done.”
It was indeed, not done.
Chapter Seven
“With your partner, find a unique location so each of you can capture a photo of a sunrise and a sunset. Post your photos on our online database by Monday at five o’clock. Your next assignment will be posted shortly thereafter,” I whispered aloud as I re-read my email after dinner.
Besides the knots in my neck, back, and stomach, the assignment from Luca Romano was yet another reminder that I couldn’t escape Carlos Richmond. I considered burning some sage and clearing my space of negative energy but decided what I needed was to clear my body of negative energy.
Meghan had a date, and I had the place to myself for a little while, so I took advantage. Stripping off my clothes and stepping into the hot water of my bath, I slipped under the bubbles and focused on relaxing. With candles lit and the lights low, I concentrated on clearing my mind. The sage would’ve cleared my home, but smooth R&B, scented candles, and a bubble bath cleared my mind. By the time I felt truly relaxed and the frustration directed at Carlos subsided, my fingers were pruned. I rinsed off the bubbles in the shower and then padded down the hall wrapped in a towel.
I stopped when I thought I heard a noise.
“Meghan?” I called out when I didn’t hear any movement in the apartment. I knocked on her door. “Meghan?”
There was no answer, so I pushed the door open and peeked in. She was still out.
I made my way back to my bedroom and quickly dressed in a pair of short shorts and a tank top. I felt better. After being emotionally all over the place, I finally felt like myself again. No fretting over if I would land my dream job. No anxiety about meeting my career role model. No spine-tingling lust mixed with anger-induced frustration courtesy of Carlos Richmond. I was feeling refreshed—until my phone vibrated.
“Speak of the devil,” I muttered as I saw the name flashed across my screen for the first time.
My hand shook a little as I opened the text message.
Carlos Richmond: The Riverfront. Tomorrow.
Akila Bishara: For the assignment?
Carlos Richmond: Yes.
He didn’t even have the common courtesy to ask. He just told me what to do and expected me to follow suit. I didn’t have anything in particular to do on Saturday, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of telling me what to do after the stunt he pulled.
Akila Bishara: I have plans. Sunday.
Carlos Richmond: Fine.
Dropping my phone on the bed, I marched out of my room and into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. I felt the tension in my neck and shoulders, but most notably in my gut.
Deep, deep in my gut.
Although I had the most relaxing bath, just receiving that text message from Carlos aggravated me to my soul.
Why am I letting him get to me like this?
Exhaling loudly, I returned to my room and climbed in the bed. The silky sheets welcomed me and as soon as my head hit the pillow, I gave in. It had been a long week. I was exhausted carrying the enormity of my dreams and expectations mixed with everything else. Since the work week had come to an end, I felt like sleep could do me some good. Closi
ng my eyes tightly, I tried to ward off the unwelcome thoughts. But I was too tired to fight it.
Carlos was sexy—probably the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life. But he was not the kind of man that I would fall for. The day we met was an anomaly. My attraction to him stemmed from that first ninety minutes. His energy, his passion, his wit captured me first. His eyes, his smile, and his determination captured me next. His protectiveness, his intelligence, and his physical attractiveness sealed the deal. But from the moment I learned that he was one of The Lost Boys, everything changed.
Groaning, I rolled over to my side. I felt the anger in the pit of my stomach as I pulled my sheets around me tighter. It wasn’t like I wanted to be mad, but something about him triggered me. Maybe it was because I was tricked into thinking there was something between us. Maybe it was because he was part of a podcast that went against everything I believed in. Or maybe it was because the way he called me out in front of Luna was rude, arrogant, and completely uncalled for.
He sucks. His podcast sucks. His friends suck. I kicked my leg out and adjusted the covers again. Perfect for me, my ass!
I fell asleep angry and woke up to the sound of the front door closing. My eyes cracked open as I listened to Meghan’s heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I barely held on to consciousness as the footsteps moved to the end of the hallway and then the bedroom door closed. Sighing, my eyes fluttered shut and instead of darkness, I saw grey.
But not just any grey.
I saw the grey of sweatpants.
I saw the grey of Carlos’s sweatpants.
I saw the grey that covered the biggest imprint I’d ever seen in my life.
I shivered.
As sleep descended upon me, the tingle that ran through me couldn’t be denied anymore. The anger that was coiled in my belly gave way to lust, rippling through the apex of my thighs. As my panties dampened, I tried to think about anything else. I couldn’t stop remembering it. I couldn’t stop imagining it. I couldn’t stop wanting it. I couldn’t stop fantasizing about it. I couldn’t stop. So, I stopped resisting it.
That night, I had a graphic sex dream about Carlos Richmond.
I woke up sweating with my clothes twisted and my headscarf lost in my sheets. I moved through my Saturday morning errands, my mid-day movie with Meghan, and my dinner at Orange Blossom in a conflicted, anxious fog. All throughout the day, I shifted between unabashed irritation and unfiltered lust. Knowing I had to meet Carlos at the Riverfront at five o’clock in the morning was playing with my emotions.
“What is wrong with me?” I complained as I plopped down on the couch beside Meghan.
“Still hot and bothered?” she asked knowingly, frowning a little.
I groaned, covering my face. “I can’t think about anything else.”
She muted the Stephen King movie marathon she was watching. “His dick was that big?”
Laughing, I uncovered my face and shook my head. “No, I mean, yes. I mean, it appeared to be a good size, but that’s not what I’m talking about right now.”
She looked genuinely confused. “So, you’re telling me that you’re not dick-matized?”
I laughed harder as I swatted at my best friend’s arm. “I should’ve never told you about his dick print!”
“You think not talking about it will make you any less dick-matized?”
“If anything, I’m traumatized.” When our giggles subsided, I sighed and continued, “It’s not about his dick at all. I mean, last night’s dream was, but all day today, it’s just been about him.”
“Hmm.”
“I can’t get him off my mind.”
“Hmm.”
I stared at her with pursed lips. “What?”
“Do you think the reason you can’t stop thinking about him is because you like him, and you two got into a little spat?”
“No,” I answered quickly. “I think it’s because I’m meeting him tomorrow for the assignment and then I’m seeing him on Monday for Singles Trivia, and it just hit me that I have so much of my life riding on being able to collaborate with him.”
She nodded as she chewed. “I can see that.”
“Our last couple of run-ins have been…rocky. I need to prove myself with both Luca and Luna and both require me to work with Carlos Richmond.” I leaned forward, letting my head fall into my hands. “What are the odds?”
“It’s one of those unrealistic chance occurrences that only happen in TV shows or movies.” With a shrug, she added, “If I didn’t know you, I wouldn’t believe it.”
“I know. A couple of weeks ago I’m complaining about The Lost Boys and how they are everything that is wrong with dating. And now my career and my personal goals are tethered to one.”
“Sounds like fate.”
“Good or bad?”
“That’s the thing with fate… it doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad. If it’s fate that thrust you two together, that means you two are supposed to be thrusting together.”
“Shut up,” I chuckled. “Why does it have to come back to sex with you?”
“Because you decided to take yourself off the market to focus on your work and accomplish your goals, and then here comes Carlos and his dick print giving you hot, sex dreams. Maybe you wanted to take a break from dating, but God sent in the big guns to get you out of the slump—literally and figuratively.”
“Who said God sent him? This could be the work of the devil. The devil comes in many forms, right?”
Meghan rolled her eyes. “The way you described that dick print, that could only be the work of God.”
“Amen to that,” I murmured shaking my head.
“And besides, Carlos is a high school English teacher. He probably can’t afford Prada. And we both know the devil only wears Prada.”
Laughing, I grabbed a couple of kernels of popcorn and tossed them into my mouth. The knots in my belly loosened. “I’m just frustrated, I guess. And I wish he didn’t get under my skin the way he does.”
“You know why you’re feeling like this, right?”
“Because Carlos is one of The Lost Boys and he represents everything I want to avoid.”
Meghan placed the popcorn bowl on the coffee table and put her arm around me. “Yes. But you encounter people you don’t agree with all the time. Why is he different?”
“Because.” I shifted in my seat.
“Because what?”
I was silently staring at the television, ignoring the uncomfortable truth.
“Because what?” she repeated, shaking my shoulder.
“Because he didn’t seem like a bad guy when I met him,” I admitted, folding my arms across my chest.
“So, you’re mad at him because when you met him you liked him.”
“Yes,” I grumbled quietly. “But it’s more complicated than that.”
Tilting her head and giving me a perplexed look. “Is it?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“How?”
“Because he aligns himself against everything I’ve built my career on.” I swallowed hard before looking into my best friend’s eyes. “And I’m mad at myself for not seeing it sooner.”
Meghan gave me a sympathetic smile. “Doesn’t it feel better to get it off your chest?” She gave me a final squeeze before leaning over to get her popcorn. She tossed a kernel into her mouth. “Now you’ll be able to sleep easy.”
Even though I rolled my eyes, I smiled. The unease that hovered over me like a fog seemed to lift slightly. “You’re so wise.”
She nodded, unmuting the TV. “I am. You’re right.”
“Thank you. I do feel better.” I rose to my feet, scooping a handful of popcorn as I stood. “I have to be up, dressed, and at the Riverfront by five o’clock in the morning, so I’m heading to bed.”
“Goodnight! Sleep well. Wake me up when you get back.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I gave her a smile. “I’ll bring coffee and donuts and hopefully a pleasant story about how Carlos and
I didn’t get into a fight. Goodnight!”
Her giggle followed me as I closed the door to my bedroom.
Climbing into bed, I double checked my alarm, making sure it was set to wake me up in five hours, and then I forced my eyes closed. Focusing on my breathing, it didn’t take long until I was resting peacefully. I felt like the talk I’d had with Meghan was going to help me sleep easier.
I was wrong.
Gasping, I sat up with a start. Beads of sweat gathered at my temple, just below my scarf. My skin was flushed and covered in a thin film of sweat, and my clothes were twisted from tossing and turning. My heart was pounding, but what concerned me more was the pulsating that was happening between my thighs. Maybe it was the self-imposed sex drought I was experiencing, but the dream about Carlos was hot, sexy, and vivid.
Well, damn…
I kicked the covers off me and stared at the ceiling. I put my hand on my chest and tried to slow my heart rate. Each time I blinked, I saw his smile or his eyes or that damned dick print. Taking deep breaths, I ignored the tightening deep in my belly.
I was a whole twenty minutes ahead of my alarm, but I decided to get up and take a shower anyway. Grabbing my vibrator, I put the extra time I had to use. I told myself I wasn’t masturbating to Carlos. I’d planned to just take care of myself as I did whenever I was between boyfriends. But the moment the vibrator hit my clit, I thought of how soft his lips looked and how his hands felt when he grabbed me. By the time I imagined what his dick could possibly look like and how it might feel, I was shaking like a leaf in a storm.
After finishing my shower and getting dressed, I felt like myself again.
Maybe I just needed a sexual outlet in order to get my mind right.
I pulled on a pair of black leggings, white tank top, and an off-the-shoulder Hamilton University sweatshirt. It was so early that my sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floor as I left my apartment was the only audible noise. The birds weren’t even up yet.
There was a slight chill in the air, but the forecast called for a gorgeous Sunday. Securing my camera in the backseat, I jumped in my car and headed to the Riverfront. I stopped for gas and a bottle of water. I was earlier than I had planned to be, but I wanted to play offense and not defense so I needed to get there before Carlos.
Sweatpants Season Page 9