Bait

by M. Mabie

  In the same way I wanted her to beg me for my body, I wanted her to beg for the rest of me, too. Fuck her boyfriend-fiancé, whatever. She didn’t really want him anyway. She couldn't. Not the way she gravitated toward me.

  It was the wrong thing to say—the thing about Aly—but I felt cornered. I’d felt wounded, and I’d reacted.

  I decided to come clean about it.

  “Hey, come here,” I told her, and pulled her arm so that she'd curl into my side. “I didn't mean what I said earlier.”

  She looked up at me with those big doe eyes and looking a little worried she asked, “When you said what?”

  “When I said that you needed to take off your ring so that I wouldn't get scratches. I just didn't want to look at it.” She looked down at her bare hands.

  “Why? You know I'm with someone and I know you're with Aly.” She lowered her eyes as she spoke about her assumptions regarding Aly and me. I supposed that, to her, they weren't assumptions since I pretty much told her that we were together.

  “I'm not with Aly.”

  “Casey, you don't have to lie to me about her. I have Grant and you have Aly. It's fair.”

  Well, it wasn't fair, because I kept turning Aly down. I hadn't been with anyone since the last time Blake and I were together. Only she couldn't have known that. I wasn't about to touch on that subject. I couldn't stand to hear about her and Grant. That door stayed closed.

  “It's true. I was just being a prick. We didn't get back together. I work with her and I see her a lot, but not like a relationship. She doesn't particularly like the situation, but that's the way it is.”

  We sat there for a few long minutes, her body relaxed and then she said, “Good, I know that it shouldn’t bother me and that it isn’t my business, and we both know my situation, but it upset me. I’m sorry that I’m a hypocrite.” I didn't know how to take that, but the idea of her being jealous was both awesome and, as she even pointed out, ironic to me.

  If only things were as easy to sort out on her side of the bed. But I had to leave that alone for the time, too.

  We watched something on the discovery channel about Navy SEALs, which I wanted to watch, while we ate room service. It felt normal. We talked about her new job, which I already knew a lot about because I'm a creepy stalker.

  We'd pulled back the curtains when we sat at the table and ate shitty room service. Well, mine was shitty. I ordered a steak that was overcooked and an undercooked baked potato. Blake ordered another BLT, citing you really could never go wrong with it.

  We thumb wrestled for the remote and I only let her win the first time, since it was her room and I'd made her sit through a long documentary about the military. To be honest, I didn't watch much of it. I'd already seen it twice.

  Since it was her turn, we watched the Food Network and she yelled at the television like it was a sporting event. “That's not real. It's not that easy,” she screamed. She was more entertaining than the show.

  Some hours later, lying on our bellies facing the TV, and after we'd ordered ice-cream for six, it seemed, her eyes began to get heavy with sleep. I brushed the hair away from her face and we studied each other for a while.

  Her small hands played with my hair. Her finger traced my nose, eyebrows, and lips. She started to hum when she exhaled.

  I needed to leave. I couldn't let myself sleep in the same bed with her again.

  I didn't want to wake up with her in my arms unless she was mine. And according to the ring she slipped back on when I was in the bathroom, mine she was not.

  I let her study me for a little while longer before saying, “I think I'm going to go.”

  She pouted and that alone almost changed my mind. But shit. There was only so much a man could take.

  “No. Stay here.” She smiled and raised her eyebrows suggestively, trying to persuade me to abandon my reasons instead of her.

  I placed a kiss to her forehead and lifted myself off the bed in a push-up type of way, trying not to look into her eyes again. They would cause the dissolving of my will.

  “I'll see you tomorrow. We can do something tomorrow night, too, if you want? I'll take you out.” At that she thought. She liked that idea, but her excitement on her face was short lived.

  “Okay, but you should just stay here tonight. You had that bad steak. What if you get sick? I know how serious food borne illness can be.” Blake lifted up on one arm and placed the back side of her hand to my face alternating from side to side. “Yep. I was right. You feel hot.”

  She was so fucking adorable.

  “I'm glad you think so, honeybee.” I playfully said as I began to reverse, looking for my absentmindedly chucked shoes from earlier. “Like you said, we have an early morning and a long day.”

  Her temper peaked. She was still trying to keep her voice animated and light, but I heard the anger growing underneath. “No. Stop putting your shoes on. I'll let you sleep. I was just playing. Promise.” She grew more resilient. “Casey Moore, get back on this bed with me,” she demanded and reached out to pull me on top of her, but I tugged away.

  “Just stop. I can't stay. Okay? I'll see you in the morning.”

  “You can't stay or you don't want to?” That made twice in one day that exact tone entered my ears.

  “Calm down, Blake. I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight,” I said trying to qualm an escalating argument.

  “Whatever. I need to call Grant anyway,” she said under her breath, but I felt it sear right through my back. I tensed and stopped as I was about to turn the doorknob, letting myself out.

  “I'll let that slide, because I did it to you earlier,” I said. Then, I turned around to make sure she got the next part loud and clear. “Don't use your relationship with him as a weapon against me out of spite, Blake. I already fucking hate it enough.”

  I watched her cringe, scowl, and then soften in less time than it tooks to blink an eye. I couldn't be here for another minute longer.

  “Goodnight,” I repeated and shut the door gently on my way out.

  Even though I'd been the one to make the choice, I'd be lonely in bed without her.

  Saturday, October 11, 2008

  I WAS SO LONELY in that big bed after he left. I lay on my back, looking up at the ugly popcorn ceiling, thinking about everything. Again, my mind went to that pretend place where Casey was my boyfriend and then I fell into a wonderful sleep.

  I dreamed that we were in a grocery store buying food and he kept filling the cart with paper towels. When I woke up remembering it, I thought to myself, I'll need all of those paper towels to clean up the huge mess I was making.

  I dressed in a camel-colored, pleated skirt and a sleeveless black top, paired with some sensible black leather flats. I pinned my hair up in the back loosely and arranged my now longish bangs over to the side, to keep them out of my eyes. I wore my thick-framed, black glasses and minimal make up. This was a work event after all, not fashion week.

  When I got to the convention center floor, I noted that Troy was already at the table across from mine and had everything ready to go. My help for the day was Melanie, and she was there, too. They were laughing at something when I walked up the aisle.

  “Good morning, Melanie. How's it going?” I asked as I stowed my bag under a chair behind our tall signs.

  “Good, so you know that guy?” she whispered with a blush across her cheeks. I could already see where that was headed. But they were both grown-ups, and really, who was I to question someone's behavior.

  Melanie knew I was engaged.

  She lived in San Francisco, same as the boys.

  Who knew? She and Troy might actually hit it off. Melanie was just as crazy as what I'd seen out of Troy the night before. And she didn't have a problem hooking up at events, as I'd witnessed a few times over the past few months.

  “Yeah, he's here with a guy I know. They live in San Francisco, too.” I could tell Troy was listening to our conversation, so I said louder, for his benefit, “Isn't that right
, Troy?”

  “You're from San Francisco? That's cool,” he answered and smiled at my colleague.

  “Born and raised. Live in the Mission area,” she replied, beaming.

  We finished getting the pamphlets out and making sure the sample food was holding its temperature as the hustle and bustle of a trade show ensued all around us.

  It was forty-five minutes later before Casey finally showed up. When my eyes found him he was talking to a lady by the door and handing her his business card. I watched as he leaned in and whispered something in her ear and then gave her a huge Casey smile. He looked back at her as he took his first steps away.

  My gut lurched.

  My head knew better. I had no business being anywhere near jealous of any woman he was with, but I was anyway.

  I pretended to be looking at something with an early attendee, but I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He always looked so alive. Well, apart from the night we met, when he’d been aloof and dismissive initially, then attentive and affectionate. I'd only seen him a handful of times, but every time was the same. The way he wore his clothes like he didn't care, but still managed to look like he stepped out of a catalog had me captivated.

  He walked to us, smiling and waving at others, looking like he didn't have a care in the world. He wore red jeans—yes, red jeans—and a black scoop neck T-shirt tucked in loosely behind his belt. He was sexy as hell. Wild curls sprang from his head and he was unshaven, I wanted to say, “fuck this show, let's go back upstairs.” Or, “hell, fuck upstairs there's room under this table.” He looked that good.

  Of course, he was there to peddle beer. And I bet he did a damn fine job. Casey was naturally charismatic and always looked like he was up to something. It's one of the things I liked about him the most. His playfulness.

  When he walked past me, he looked over the gentleman's shoulder whom I was talking to, and in a mocking way pouted his lip and shook his head feigning agreement with what I was saying. I had to cough to disguise my laugh.

  I then heard my phone vibrate. After finishing up with my first real interested bystander, I glanced at it.

  Casey: This is going to be fun. I'm going to fuck with you all day.

  Shit. I didn't think that was an empty threat. It was going to be a major pain in the ass trying to concentrate on work with him standing right in front of me, but having been warned officially that he was deliberately trying to crack my professional exterior? I needed to have my game face on.

  I managed to hold it together an hour later as he performed a rather vulgar oral pantomime, which took Melanie down cold. She had to excuse herself.

  I didn't budge when Casey slipped a finger through his zipper and waggled it at me, I only responded with the most classy nose-itch/bird flip I could muster while still in business character.

  Me: I'm a little tougher than you think, Lou. Better quit while you're ahead.

  His table was busy when I sent the message. I did that intentionally to goad him. It didn't hurt that I pretended to take a picture of my boobs first. He watched, eyes bugged out and then his gaze darted to where his phone was, desperate to look when it signaled he had a new message.

  Point for me.

  When his line slowed down and he had a quick break to look, he only said over the aisle, “Real cute, Betty. We still on for tonight?”

  I looked to Melanie, knowing that she was familiar with my relationship status, and said the only thing I could, “Only if Melanie and Troy go.”

  “Excuse me,” Troy said to his customer. “I'm in,” then he continued with his schpeal.

  I looked to Melanie again and her smile said it all.

  “Looks like we're going out,” I said.

  The one-up shenanigans continued through the afternoon, but stopped when I went to the bathroom to discard my panties. When I sauntered back, I conveniently stopped by his side of the aisle and dropped them at his feet.

  No one except Troy could see them, since there was a table skirt, but I effectively made Casey loose his train of thought completely. When his customer left their booth, I watched as he picked them up and smelled them before pocketing my underwear in his red jeans. A few minutes after that I witnessed him adjusting his erection.

  I think that's called a hat-trick.

  We agreed to meet in the lobby at nine o'clock to go out in Hot-lanta. I changed into a little, army-green silk romper and paired it with my nude pumps after I took a quick shower, but opted to not rewash and dry my hair.

  It saved me some time. I was secretly hoping that Casey would be in the lobby and as I rode the elevator down almost an hour before we had all agreed to meet. I was surprised. He’d had the same idea, because on the way down I got a text asking me if I wanted to get an early start.

  The elevator pinged and he was sitting in a club chair facing the doors as I emerged only about ten feet away.

  When the doors opened, catching his attention, he smiled just for me realizing that we had shared the same idea.

  “Does a hobby horse have a wooden dick?” I rhetorically asked, returning his funny anecdote from months ago. I looked him over and he hadn't changed at all. Still wearing the same clothes he had all day. He sat laughing at me as I swayed my hips in my short romper and heals walking to him.

  “Is Troy down here yet?”

  “Nope. Just us.” He grinned. As he usually did, he had a teasing gleam in his eye. He stood offering me an arm, “Shall we?”

  I took it and we walked down the long marble hall to the bar on the other end of the main floor. In my heels, I was closer to his height.

  “Are you wearing a onesie?” he asked, and bumped his ass into mine as we rounded the entry to the hotel bar. I looked down at my ensemble. It was a one-piece, but a onesie? Hardly.

  “Are you wearing red jeans and trying to make fun of my clothing choices?”

  “I am. These remind me of you.” We chose two open seats at the bar. Neither of us indicating where we were headed, only intuitively knowing that was where we'd go. He didn't ask me what I'd drink. He simply ordered two vodka tonics.

  “Care to elaborate, Mr. Kool-Aid?” I laughed pretty hard at my joke.

  He didn't.

  Casey leaned into me and said against my cheek. “Because, honeybee, when I make your pussy wet, your nose turns the color of these jeans. I'm hoping to compare the two later.”

  The seduction in his voice was promising and I knew he could deliver. My face heated and I prayed my nose wasn't glowing like his pants. I didn't have to wonder for long, because he placed a kiss on my nose and said, “Don't worry, it's only a little pink right now.” Then he laughed as he paid for our cocktails.

  We playfully flirted, which was fast becoming our native tongue. The bar was filling up as trade show attendees came down to unwind after a long day.

  Casey and I consumed three drinks while we waited for Troy and Melanie and I secretly couldn't wait to get him back out on a dance floor. If I had my way, he'd be staying in my room that night, even if I had to tie him to the bed.

  My phone rang. It was Grant. I saw Casey's face as he read the name that appeared on the screen. I looked to him. For approval? For assurance? For sympathy? I wasn't sure.

  “Well, are you going to answer it? Better now than later,” he said and flagged down the bartender. I slid the answer bar and accepted the call coming from my fiancé.

  “Just a second, Grant. It's loud in here. I'm going to walk out into the lobby.” I stood on shaky legs as I walked out into the open area, through the chatter of the lounge, and past Troy and Melanie. “I'll be right back,” I quickly said to them as I passed.

  “Hi there,” I said to Grant, letting him know I could hear him, and I was far enough away from Casey's ears. I realized in that second that I walked away on Casey's behalf rather than mine. I had heard, loud and clear, what he said to me the previous night, about how it made him feel, and I didn't like the thought of making him uncomfortable. That was why I left.


  All the while, I should have left out of fear or paranoia for Grant to hear him. Even though I thought about it, I didn't feel it.

  “Hi. How's the trip?” Grants voice was bright and cheerful. It was quiet aside from him speaking, so I assumed he was at home.

  “It's going really great actually. We got a few leads and made some really nice contacts. Melanie and I are about to go out dancing.”

  Half-truths. I could officially add those to my resume.

  “That sounds fun. Take a cab. Don't walk.” Concern coated his words.

  “We will.”

  “And don't drink too much. It makes me nervous.”

  “I won't. Hey, what are you doing tonight anyway?” Better to change the subject than to let him dwell on me gallivanting around a city I wasn't all that familiar with.

  “Just some paperwork. I'm at the office.” When he should have been out having a good time with some friends, or even doing something at the house, there he was at his office doing paperwork. It bothered me, but mostly it made me feel bad for him. He was such a hard worker and played by every rule.

  Yet, here I was, his fiancée, about to go out on the town with a man who, only minutes before, I'd fantasized about stripping naked and tying to my hotel bed.

  Grant wouldn't ever do this to me. Never mind why I was doing it. I didn't even know all the reasons. How I could do this to him was the question rolling through my mind. If only I could work out exactly which he was fairing.

  “You should call it a night. Go get a beer. What time is it there?” I looked at the time on my phone and did my fast zone calculations that I was so good at. “It's only almost five. Call Shane. I'm sure he'd like to get out of the house.”

  “I might.” I looked through the glass wall into the bar and saw Casey staring at me, nodding his head at something Troy was telling him. He motioned a two to the bartender and then they all tipped back brown shots. Except for Casey, he did doubles back to back.

  “Grant, is it okay if I call you in the morning? Melanie is waiting on me.”