by Max Monroe
“Standing still for eight hours straight? Oh, yeah. That was amazing.”
“Fine. What about the fortune cookie writer?”
He smiled, and my heart flipped in my chest. I loved it when he smiled. “I actually did love that one. It’s a fucking shame they didn’t get my humor.”
“Pretty sure putting things like Only safe for human consumption until yesterday wasn’t the kind of fortune they were hoping to see inside a cookie.”
“You have to admit, it was hilarious.”
“Yeah,” I responded. “From an outsider’s perspective, maybe, but not exactly hilarious to an already paranoid mother.”
“I think she overreacted.”
“The other side of her kid’s fortune said, Seek immediate medical attention if you consumed this cookie after its expiration date.”
He just laughed.
“You’re evil.”
“And you’re determined to make me think you can read palms so I give you whatever you want.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I evaded. “Who would go through such an elaborate scheme for something like that?”
“You.”
“Pffffft. You’re being crazy.”
“What’s my next job, Roller Skates?” he asked with a grin. “Waste removal? Rodeo clown?”
“All right,” I admitted. “So I got you a job.”
“No way,” he said with overexaggerated eyes. “You got me a job? That’s such a surprise!”
I rolled my eyes, and he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me down to him. Lips to my neck, he placed soft, openmouthed kisses along my skin. “Are you going to tell me what it is?” he whispered into my ear, and his warm breath spurred goose bumps all over my body.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On how well you beg,” I whispered into his ear.
“Is this you or your perfect, greedy little cunt making these demands?”
“Does it matter?”
He smirked. “Stand up.”
“That doesn’t sound like begging.”
“Stand up, Lo,” he demanded and sat up on the bed with me still in his arms. “And then I’ll show you begging.”
I stood up on the mattress and braced my hands on his shoulders while Reed deftly undid my jean shorts and removed them, along with my panties, from my body.
“Does my new job revolve around animals?” he asked as he slid a finger across where I was already wet and aching.
“Uh-uh.”
“Children?”
My breath hitched. “Nope.”
“Crazy brides?”
“Nope.”
“Am I actually going to enjoy it?”
While his finger continued to toy with me torturously, I managed a nod and a whisper. “More than fortune cookie writing.”
“This sounds promising.”
“I’m certain it’s going to be the perfect match.”
“Any more details you’re willing to give?”
“Nope.” I shook my head. Well, at least, I thought I didn’t. I was finding it a bit hard to focus.
“So the begging shall commence?”
“Yep.”
One-word answers were all my brain had to offer as he slid one finger inside and paused.
I waited him out, but I silently begged him to cave. I wouldn’t hold out much longer, and I really wanted to hold out for a long time.
“Okay,” he finally stated. I let out the breath I was holding and melted a little around his finger all at once. “I’m going to lie back on this bed. And you’re going to sit on my face.”
“And then what’s going to happen?”
He took absolutely no time to even consider an answer. Instead, a shriek left my mouth as he yanked me forward and fell to his back in one swoop. I didn’t fight it as he situated my body with ease, his firm grip on the cheeks of my ass, directly over his face.
“What’s my new job, Lola?” he asked and swiped his wicked tongue against me.
“A job,” I sputtered out.
His assault wasn’t swift and efficient, but rather, slow and calculating, and the instant his lips wrapped around my clit, I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. I moaned out loud and grasped the headboard with my fingers. Like I said, wicked tongue.
The vibrations from his greedy groans as he ate at my pussy only made me crazier.
My thighs started to shake on their own accord, and I braced myself for the initial waves of a delicious Reed-induced orgasm.
But it didn’t come.
I whined in frustration as he pulled his lips away.
“Need something?” he asked, his playfully sinister blue eyes staring up at me.
My hips thrust toward his mouth traitorously, and he smirked.
“What’s my new job, Lola?”
I shook my head. “Not telling.”
He licked me, once, twice, and then pulled away again.
A hazy, longing pain settled over my body.
“What’s my new job?”
“A job,” I gritted and then moaned as he tapped my clit with his tongue.
“Tell me what it is, and I’ll make sure you come.”
He’d better make sure I come. One more swipe of his tongue robbed me of the ability to hold my head upright, and with my hair tickling the skin of my back, I shivered.
“Just tell me what it is, LoLo. It’ll be over. You won’t have to suffer anymore. And after that, I’ll have time to do it again.”
“All over again?” I breathed.
“Uh-huh.”
Yeah. I considered myself a strong-willed person, but who needed to be strong-willed when there were orgasms at the end of the rainbow?
Not me.
I’ll take the rainbow and the pot of gold and the fucking unicorns, thank you very much.
“The San Francisco Times.”
He looked up at me skeptically from between my thighs.
“Your own column,” I added.
“What am I writing about?”
“Basically, anything you want.”
His blue eyes shone with intrigue. “Anything I want?”
“Pretty much.”
“Fuck, I love you.”
I nodded, but in reality, I was just saying, Yeah. Yeah. That’s great. The love and stuff, that’s really great, Reed. But for the love of God, I need to come.
I moved my hips a little, and he smirked.
“We’re not leaving this bed for the rest of the day.”
“It’s only noon.”
“Exactly.”
Oh, boy.
“Hewhoa?” Lola answered on the fourth and final ring.
I could barely understand her. Her voice was groggy with sleep, and from the look of it through the window, it was also being muffled by the pillow.
I know this seems creepy, but just go with it.
“Uh, hi,” I greeted, making my voice as nasal as I could by pinching my nose. The only problem with my technique was that I would need to remember to unpinch it every so often so I could breathe. “Is this Lola Sexton?”
I watched as she sat up slowly, the sheet pooling around her naked back, and surveyed the room for me. Obviously, I wasn’t there. I might have freaked out about the view—the unobstructed view of her sleek skin—if it weren’t for the fact that I had been the one to open the blinds this morning before leaving. Plans and all.
She’d told me about my new job only a few short days ago, and it’d taken a lot of work to pull this together, but I felt like it was important. For her and me, but really, for everyone else. I wasn’t much for show, but I wanted everyone to know one thing irrefutably—I didn’t ever want to make trouble for Lola; I wanted to make it with her. Forever.
“Yeah,” she said slowly, confused by my absence. “Who’s this?”
“This is Bobby Bunson,” I started, purposely choosing an androgynous name because I had no fucking clue if I sounded like a man or a woman. “With the San Fra
n Blotter.”
“The San Fran what?”
“The Blotter, honey. Anyhoo, we were hoping you’d be willing to do an interview on your thoughts on Reed Luca’s new article—”
She jumped out of bed—sadly on the other side so I couldn’t see anything—and cut me off as she did. “Sorry, Bobby. I’m not interested in any interviews.”
I smiled at her answer, and then smiled even deeper when I thought about how she’d react to what I had to say next.
“Oh, well. Shoot. That’s a shame. We were really hoping to have an answering piece to Reed’s interview, sort of like your col—”
“I’m sorry, what?” she nearly shrieked. I laughed as silently as possible and took a drag from the e-cigarette she’d gotten me in what I knew was a bold move to get me to quit. Palm reading, missing cigarettes, this new fancy, as she’d described it, e-cigarette—after a few months with me, she was becoming quite the little manipulator.
“Reed’s interview, dear. He’s supposed to meet us this morning. In about fifteen minutes or so, in fact.”
“Oh, he is, is he?” she seethed. I did my best not to break character as I watched her stomp around our room half naked, scooping clothes from the floor at random and pulling them onto her body in sharp, agitated movements.
“Well, yes, dear. We can do your interview in a couple of days, though, if you’re not available as soon…”
“Oh, I’m available,” she railed, turning to face the window and giving me the perfect view of her absolutely magnificent…face. Both fortunately and unfortunately, she’d managed to pull down a shirt by that time. “Where’s he meeting you?”
“We can conduct the interviews separately—”
“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary. You just tell me where to be, and I’ll be there. I have something to give that… I have something to give him anyway.”
“Muddy Waters Café, on Valencia.”
Her answering smile was pure evil; I fell in love all over again.
“I know just where it is. I’ll see you there, Bobby.”
I barely had to play a role to respond to that. “Can’t wait.”
Exactly fifteen minutes later, after quite a bit of hustling on both our parts, from a booth in the back corner, I watched Lola stomp into the Muddy Waters Café on a mission. Searching for the mystical Bobby, and me, of course, she scanned the tables with barely restrained impatience.
She wanted my head, and she wanted it on a platter. Now.
God, she is the best.
With a nod of my head, our previously agreed upon signal, Annie moved from her position by the kitchen and intercepted.
“Annie?” I read on Lola’s lips. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you wearing?” I heard Annie ask loud enough for me to hear. Lola looked down at herself subconsciously. Her outfit wasn’t matched, a mishmash of my oversized T-shirt and a short jean skirt of her own, but she looked nothing short of spectacular.
Lola opened her mouth to respond, but Annie cut her off again. “I like Reed, but wearing his clothes is taking it a little far. Even for you.” Man, she was a pro at avoiding the subject.
Meanwhile, I scooted out of the booth and ushered the rest of the crew—her family, mine, Brandon, Joe, Jen, and Abby out of the kitchen. The actual employees let out a huge sigh of relief. I’d had our friends and relatives packed in there like a clown car.
I sent them out first, in a single-file line, and one by one, listened as Lola shrieked a little louder.
When my turn came, she greeted me with a healthy punch to the shoulder.
I went back a step, rubbed at the small impact zone, and laughed as I did.
“What the hell is going on here?” she asked, basically everyone we knew looking on. “Did you do an interview for the San Fran Blotter?”
Joe laughed out loud at my made-up tale, and then he shrank into the background of the line when Lola burned him with lasers from her eyes.
“No.”
“Then, what the…” It all hit her at once, and horror made the creases at the corners of her mouth stand out. By the way, don’t ever tell her that I mentioned the creases at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, sweet Jesus, you’re Bobby?”
“I am,” I admitted proudly, a little shrug of my shoulders emphasizing my lack of shame.
“You are such an asshole!” she shouted, reaching out to maim me in some way, but I twisted the trunk of my body in successful defense.
“Hey, watch it, Lo,” I teased. “Mixed company here.”
Reminded of the other people with sudden alarm, she looked up to them and back to me again. “What is this?”
“It’s your launch party!” Annie yelled, stealing my thunder.
When I looked to her, her eyes were apologetic but not too much. She shrugged. “I was excited.”
“Our launch party?” Lola asked, pulling my attention back to her. “What does that even mean?”
“The launch of our lives.” Confusion spread even deeper into the desperate pools of her eyes.
I rolled mine, pulled her into my arms, and whispered directly into her ear. “It’s like a wedding. Except, a whole lot less legal, and we skip all of the boring stuff and go straight to the cake.”
All of the angst melted out of her body and right to the ground. “Tell me the cake is coming soon, and I might forgive you for this in this lifetime.”
I smiled. “That’s the point, Lo. This party confirms to our families and friends what we already knew—I’ve got that long to wait.”
The San Francisco Times
July 15th
Reed This, Revised: Launch Party
By Reed Luca
I’m back, folks—and better than ever.
It’s been a while since you’ve heard from me, and I don’t think it takes an investigator to figure out why. But, for the sake of the not so innocent, let’s talk in hypotheticals.
Say you’ve got something going for you that seems like it couldn’t get any better. Something that feels natural and easy. Something that brings you to life and gives you purpose.
But now let’s say that as your angle of attack shifts; it no longer aligns with the people in charge. The man. The leeching, bloodsucking authority that tells you what you can and can’t say or do at any given time.
That’s where I found myself a few months ago.
I had a choice to make, and it took me a little time, perspective, and help to do it.
It’s okay to go after what you want, and it’s okay to let people help you do it.
Because your support is your greatest strength. Your persistence is a necessity. And your happiness is paramount.
Take control—even if the best thing you can do with that control is turn it over to someone else. After all, it is your life. It’s up to you who pulls the strings.
Reed This: It’s never too late to have a launch party for life. Get living. Get loving. And don’t ever stop.
THE END
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