by Selena Kitt
“Are you kidding?” I say. “I finally have the chance to save your ass and you want to deny me?”
I get rewarded by a small genuine-looking smile and my heart leaps.
“‘Bout time the tables turn,” she says softly, and I hope that means she has accepted I’m planning to take her wherever she needs to go—even if I have to pick her up and jam her in my car myself.
There’s just no way I’m letting her get back in that death trap she calls a car.
She suddenly turns and watches a vehicle pass and I follow her gaze and realize it’s a tow truck.
“Yay!” she says quietly, obviously relieved at the sight.
“What are you going to do with this?” I ask, indicating her vehicle.
She shrugs. “I’m having them tow it to the nearest repair shop.”
I suppress a derisive chuckle. “Have them take it to the nearest junkyard and get it ready to be stripped for parts, you mean?”
She turns to me with wide eyes. “I can’t do that! It’s all I have!”
She says it so desperately that my heart stirs, and I don’t know what the hell’s come over me, but she and I need to catch up so I can find out what’s really going on in her life and why she can’t get a decent lease, at least. I’ve got to help her somehow; I’ve got to figure out why she’s on the verge of tears at the thought of losing this piece of shit.
I can’t imagine she’s been having a hard time with jobs and such—she’s smart, personable, and resourceful; anywhere would be lucky to have her. Plus, she’s got a bachelor’s at minimum, and from a great college. Things can’t possibly be that tough?
“Nina, think about it—whatever’s wrong with this car is probably going to cost more than it is worth. Granted, I haven’t taken a look, so I’m not sure what the problem is, but I still think that’s a pretty good guess.” Seriously—even if the repair’s a few hundred dollars, that’s too much to put into this car. “Let me guess—you’ve been fixing it up one issue at a time.”
“Shut up,” she says irritatedly, not looking at me.
I suppress a chuckle.
Then I deliberately widen my grin as I stare at her, waiting for her gaze to meet mine.
I’ve been told by colleagues that they can hear the sound of melting panties across miles whenever I whip this grin out.
“Come on,” I begin, lowering my voice almost seductively, “is that any way to speak to your knight in shining armor?”
What the hell did I say that for? I almost check my face to make sure it’s not bleeding from the laser-look she sends to it.
I better watch my mouth; she’s obviously sensitive about a few things and I guess she has every right to be.
She’s clearly still mad at me, but she’s also avoiding my eyes a lot; she’s hiding something from me.
I figure she still has feelings for me, and by her lingering anger, perhaps it’s not just a jilted friend’s resentment; perhaps she’s still in love with me.
I move my car out of the way and watch her take care of business with the tow guy; she’s still having the car taken to a repair shop.
Whatever. I’ll deal with that later.
Right now, as we head to my car, I’ll do as she instructs and follow her directions to her job.
* * *
“So you did it—you’re a teacher!” I say once we’ve settled into a cruise. “Just as you planned.”
“And you’re obviously a big-shot businessman, just as you planned. Is this a company car?”
Boy, she really hasn’t been keeping up with me.
I’ve avoided media attention, sure, but surely we have a mutual acquaintance who would have filled her in a bit?
But now that I’m thinking about it, even if she had been keeping her eyes open for news about me, things didn’t really skyrocket for me until about two years ago, and by that time, she had probably long given up hearing from or about me.
“It’s one of my personal toys,” I admit. “A little something to impress the ladies with.”
I smile wide as I glance at her, and again she gives me nothing.
I was joking, of course—I don’t need the car at all to impress chicks.
“Kidding,” I say and she shrugs like she doesn’t care.
I realize my light-hearted approach is not working, but I don’t know how to turn this mode off; I’ve never had to seriously address anything personal between us.
I’ve come to her with serious issues before, but they were always outside of her—girlfriend problems, forgotten paper due imminently, conflicts with my exacting, overbearing father—Nina has talked me through all kinds of things.
And now that the problem involves the two of us this time and she’s all tight-lipped, I don’t know how to do this.
I let out a breath, all humor finally leaving me.
“My dear friend, Nina,” I begin, the heaviness of my voice surprising me. I’m unable to hide from her—or myself—how much I mean every word; she is indeed very dear to me. “I missed the hell out of you,” I finish.
Encouraged by the slight softening I detect in her demeanor, I continue, “I don’t know how to make up for what I did, and I’m not going to ask you to tell me how, but I would like to start somewhere in rebuilding our relationship. You mean a lot to me, and I don’t want to lose you again.”
I can feel her softening more, but she remains silent.
When we pull up to her school and I find a parking spot, I turn to her and say, “Agree to have dinner with me tonight—as friends, obviously. We have a lot more catching up to do.”
I swear I hear her grumble, “You don’t know the half of it,” as she starts to exit my car.
“Fine,” she says before slamming the door shut. “But remember, I don’t have a clue how to reach you since you cut me off so completely.”
“How about this,” I say, an idea occurring to me. “You obviously need a ride from work—I can pick you up and take you home and perhaps wait for you there as you get ready. Then we can head…”
“That won’t be necessary,” she says.
Her eyes had grown the size of saucers and she’s trying to hide her alarm now, acting like she hadn’t just looked like she’d seen a ghost.
Why the heck did the idea of me going to her place worry her so? Did she think I’d try to seduce her again?
Then another possible reason made its way to the front of my mind.
I feel a familiar resentment start to grow in me as I figure it must be a man she’s worried about. Does she live with someone?
“I just…I have a few other things I need to take care of and I need way more time to get myself together. Plus I just don’t feel comfortable…”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I say, holding up a hand to halt her babbling. “So it’s not an ideal plan for you right now, but I’m not letting us drift apart again, Nina; I must see you again. Very soon.”
“Don’t you have a Stacey or Becka or someone to be more concerned about? How would they feel about you going to dinner with…with…?”
She’s obviously struggling with the words she wants to say.
Someone I fucked, is it, dear Nina?
“Nina, I have no such obligation at this time.”
Heck, I don’t even remember the last time I was in a serious relationship though my dad’s been pressuring me to find some high-society girl and get married and start making heirs.
Guess who’s not interested in that plan at all?
I can’t imagine willingly entering a marriage like the one between him and Mom—there was more distance between them than the top of Mt. Everest and the ground.
What a nightmare.
I mean, sure—both came from wealthy families, so they both lived the good life, I guess, but something about the whole thing looked so empty and unappealing.
I want more than what they have—I want it all. I have far more money than I’ll ever need in a lifetime, and I want someone I can share the big and small with.
I want a life filled with warmth and laughter, not stiff parties and smiles.
I can’t recall a single time I looked into either of my parents’ eyes and saw true joy.
Well, that’s not completely true, I guess—I recently visited Mom at the house, and there was something different about her. When some dude stopped by, supposedly for a repair, I figured it out immediately—she was having an affair with him and clearly enjoying it.
All I could think was, good for her! Because god knows Dad’s in a constant state of affairs.
I don’t know if my mom really loves that repair guy or not, but she’s finally having fun.
I used to wonder if Dad has her in some kind of contract that prevents her from leaving because it seems she could be so much better off free of their sham of a marriage. I mean, why doesn’t she just leave?
“So. Nine o’clock tonight?” I offer Nina.
It’s Friday; I’m guessing she doesn’t work tomorrow.
“That should give me enough time,” she says. “I can’t stay out too long, though.”
I want to ask why, but I just know some ‘tude will make an appearance.
I’m aware I don’t necessarily have a right to all the corners of her life, but old habits are hard to break—we used to talk about pretty much anything and I still want us to.
But I guess I’ll exercise a bit of patience and do things on her terms for now.
“Great. I’ll pick you up at eight,” I say, getting ready to get her address from her.
Since I don’t know where she lives, I don’t know how far she’ll be from the place I have in mind, but I know how women go—in any case, I’ll need at least a fifteen-minute buffer.
“Coming,” she’ll say when I pull up, then go on to tweak her makeup and check her hair and shit for the next ten minutes or so, perhaps even reconsidering the pair of shoes she chose and try on a different pair.
“No,” she says firmly. “I’ll meet you there—at whatever restaurant you choose.”
“That’s just not happening,” I say before I can reconsider my choice of words or soften them.
“Then I guess this meeting or date or whatever the hell you want to call it isn’t happening.”
She stares at me with a challenge in her eyes.
Fuck.
Okay, so she has a bit of leverage right now; after all, I can’t force her to go out with me.
How the hell’s she gonna get there, though? Is she really gonna take a cab?
This is such bullshit.
“Is your boyfriend dropping you off?” I ask.
I regret not being able to hide how much I hate the idea.
I really don’t know where this green-eyed monster comes from whenever I’m faced with the possibility of someone being with Nina.
I didn’t have to think about it while I went about my business after graduation, but now that she’s in front of me, I’m feeling possessive again.
“Is that any of your business?” she says with an edge to her voice.
“If you’re going out with me, yes it is.”
“Not when I’m meeting up with you as a friend, Brent.”
So does she have someone or not?
Fine, she wants to play coy, I’ll wait until dinner.
I’ll find out everything about the past few years and what she’s got going on these days tonight.
All of her secrecy is making me unbearably curious—I really want to see where she lives and who, if anyone, she’s got waiting at home for her.
If her car’s any indication, I’m almost terrified to find out for sure.
Maybe that’s it—maybe she’s just ashamed of her neighborhood. Maybe she doesn’t want me to see her heading for my car from some run-down place.
An image of a post-apocalyptic landscape suddenly overrun by escaped convicts pops in my head.
Maybe I’ll follow her home after dinner and see what’s up.
* * *
I’ll admit, I never really saw Nina as a chick—that is, until she introduced me to some guy sniffing around her in college, and I suddenly got so possessive of her, I lost my mind.
When I thought about it later, I realized what I dick I was—how unfair it was to Nina that I took her like that without any commitment.
I just hoped she’d forgive me one day and we’d be friends again; eventually, I was able to just let things be and wait for the universe to throw us together again and here we are.
Looking at Nina now, it’s as if the wind has been knocked out of me.
She is coming toward me in a flowing blue dress with her hair all done up and her makeup a bit more pronounced.
Somehow, she’s even more beautiful than I remember, her round face and the soft curves of her body more feminine and appealing than ever.
She has blossomed in adulthood, and I’m having a hard time seeing her as the Nina I’d known before.
She has transformed into an alluring woman—a woman that a part of me suddenly desires to possess again.
It doesn’t help that her dress, conservative as it is, is emphasizing her generous boobs.
How greedy can I possibly be?
I have all the lady company I could ever want; I can change it up every day if I wanted to. Well-bred, always impeccably made-up beauties of all heights and shades flock to me, yet all I can think about right now is how much I want the one in front of me.
Is this one of those moments where I’m confusing a primal answer to a silent challenge with desire again?
“You look amazing,” I say almost breathlessly as I stand to greet her.
“Careful,” she says, sliding into our private booth. “That tone should not be used on friends.”
Pleasure surges through me at her admonishment.
What’s wrong with me—or rather, what is it that’s so different about her?
She’s not as bubbly and sweet as the girl I hung out with before, and there are obvious reasons for that—beyond me hurting her feelings, we’re deep into our twenties, and adult life is a different ballgame.
Innocence and optimism are chipped away slowly but surely once you finish schooling and hit the real world—especially for women, I guess.
The change in her is a bit jarring, but mostly just interesting.
I’m intrigued that she’s somewhat closed off now, and I guess that’s what’s making her so alluring.
She also seems a bit more confident in some way—there’s a firmness to her boundaries.
Before, it seemed I could talk her into anything, but this Nina knows how to tell me no, and even where to shove it. And I like it.
Unfortunately for her, part of me accepts the challenge and wants to break her down to the point where she’s begging me to take her again.
The more I think about it, the more my cock grows in anticipation of sinking into her slick warmth once more.
“You didn’t hear a goddamned word I just said,” she says accusatorially.
Damned right, girl.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “My mind briefly wandered.”
“Yeah, your eyes also got lost between my tits.”
My cock twitches at her words.
She has developed a bit of a dirty mouth, it seems.
Boobs, she used to say. And forget about hearing her talk any dirtier than that.
Where the heck did she pick up this crassness from? I don’t imagine her fellow teachers are going on about tits and cock in the break room.
“Tits?” I repeat, making sure she knows I’m aware of her expanded vocabulary.
She has the decency to look a tiny bit embarrassed.
“I’ve been plowing through erotica these days,” she says with a shrug. “It’s not like I’m getting the real thing.”
My cock twitches again.
Does she have any idea how much we’re past friendship territory here?
She comes here with those boobs looking like that and talking about tits and erotica and getting some, and I’m supposed to hear i
t like it’s just a fellow bro speaking and not a beautiful, voluptuous woman my cock has had the pleasure of knowing before?
Watch it, my curvy buddy.
Luckily, our orders start to arrive.