by Alexis Angel
Holy fuck.
A woman that thinks exactly like I do? Yeah, I wasn’t fucking expecting this. I think I might have struck gold with Emily, that much is for sure.
“You’re… fine with it?” I ask her, still feeling dumbfounded.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Sliding her naked body under the sheets, she yawns and covers her mouth with the back of one hand. “God, I’m tired,” she continues, almost as if she’s giving me a hint to get the fuck out of her apartment.
Oh, I like this girl.
“Yeah, get some rest,” I whisper and, before I can even stop myself, I lean in and kiss her on the forehead. What the hell? Why would I have to go and do something as lame as kissing her forehead? Yeah, I need to leave before Emily turns me into a complete fucking pansy.
“So…” I start to say as I head toward the bedroom door, “see you around?”
“See you around,” she nods, smiling at me, and I nod right back at her. I stand there for what feels like forever, one hand on the handle of the door, staring into her eyes as my heart pumps boiling blood into my veins.
Don’t leave, something inside me says, go back to bed. You both want it!
Oh, I want nothing more than to slide under the fucking sheets with her for round two… But I’ve never been in the habit of allowing instinct to triumph over logic, and I’m not going to let that happen now.
“Bye, Em,” I whisper, more to myself than to her, and open the door. As I walk out of her apartment, I feel my heart tighten up. Maybe I shouldn’t have said I want to take things casually… What if she doesn’t want to see me again?
“For fuck’s sake, you’re acting like a little kid,” I mutter under my breath, closing my jacket as I cross the street. “What are you? Fucking 12?”
Ten minutes later and I’m back in the bar. It’s already late, way past closing time, and there’s still a lot of cleaning to be done. Andrew was supposed to be in charge of that, but I completely forgot about updating the schedule.
Which is exactly what I need right now; as amped as I’m feeling, I doubt I’ll be able to get any sleep tonight.
Emily
“Now, right! Right, right, left!”
My body sways from right to left automatically but, truth be said, I’m barely listening to what our dance instructor is saying. She’s shouting at the top of her lungs, dancing as if her life depends on it, but I simply can’t focus on what’s happening right in front of me.
Not after Mr. Wine Bar took me so well the other day.
I thought that dance class practice would help me get my mind off Wine Bar, but it’s actually the opposite: the more I move and sweat, the more I remember how it felt to be held in his arms.
Let’s be honest, okay? Moving and sweating were two of the things I did the most when I was alone with him in my apartment.
“Okay, that’s awesome, class!” Our dance teacher cries out, clapping her hands together. She’s a forty-year-old woman, but she doesn’t look older than thirty. Being a fit woman is almost the same as drinking from the fountain of youth, it seems. “See you next Thursday!” she continues, dismissing the class, and all of us amble down to the locker rooms.
I don’t talk with any of the other women as I undress and hit the showers; my brain is still too busy trying to process everything that happened between Kirk and I. In fact, I’m still so dazed by the freaky sex we had that I must look like a zombie right now. Thankfully, everyone seems exhausted from the strenuous workout we just had, and no one tries to talk with me.
“See you!” I wave to my dance teacher as I head out of the gym, my bag slung over my shoulder. Unlocking my car, I sit behind the steering wheel and rev up the engine. A few seconds later and I’m merging with the afternoon traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge, drumming my fingers against the wheel as I switch lanes. Taylor Swift beats through the car and I let myself wonder what it would be like to be Mrs. Kirk? Mr. and Mrs. WineBar? Having Wine Babies.
“Oh, crap,” I grumble as I see the never ending line of cars in front of me. The toll booth is just one mile ahead, and there’s already a long line of cars before it. I was hoping to get home early and drink some wine while I catch up with Netflix, but I guess I gotta scrap these plans. It’s going to take a while before I get back into the city.
Taylor is done with her song and fiddling with the radio, I try and search for some station that will keep my spirits up while I wait in line. Sighing heavily, I go through station after station, and I only stop when the sweet British accent of the Spice Girls is blaring through my speakers. I have a soft spot for the 90s, so what?
Singing along to Wannabe, I trail off when I notice a car on the lane next to mine; it’s a black Mercedes, one of these German cars that look so stylish and out of place at the same time. My gaze roams over the sleek curves of its hood, and that’s when I catch a glimpse of the driver.
Square jaw, black Ray Bans, and an early stubble that looks just right. I keep on appreciating the guy in the Mercedes, and maybe I do it for too long; he notices that I’m looking at him, and he turns his face to look straight at me. Perching his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, we lock eyes. He smiles at me, his lips curling upward almost too casually, and I can’t help myself; I give him a slight nod, and then face forward as I feel my cheeks turning crimson. What? I’m not used to flirting when in the middle of a traffic jam. That’s the kind of thing that happens in movies, and romance novels, to be fair, not something I’m used to.
Sneaking a glance, I notice that the guy is still looking at me, his smart eyes making my blood boil. “Hey,” I mouth, waving at him before I can stop myself. He gives me a brief and playful salute, and then takes his sunglasses off.
“Hey,” he mouths right back at me, winking. Jesus, am I really chatting with a complete stranger? Seems like it, and more than just being a complete stranger… he’s a completely hot stranger.
I look straight ahead, trying to focus on the never ending line in front of me, but it’s as if my eyes are drawn to that black Mercedes. Slowly, I lock eyes with Mr. Whoever-He-Is (let’s call him Freeway, shall we?), and there’s still that smile on his face. Winking again, he then arches his eyebrows repeatedly in an exaggerated expression, and I can’t help myself; I end up laughing, the sound of my voice drowning out the Spice Girls.
“You’re crazy,” I mouth at him, and he just chuckles, running one hand through his sleek hair.
“Pull over,” he tells me silently, pointing at the side of the road. I just look at him, completely dumbfounded. Pull over where? In the middle of the freakin’ freeway?
“You’re outta your mind,” I try to tell him, but he just gestures at me again, telling me to pull over. “I must be goin’ crazy,” I mutter to myself as I flick the turn sign on, turning the wheel and driving until I’m on the side of the road. Cutting through the traffic, Freeway pulls his car right behind mine and then flashes me his lights, just like in those mob movies. Christ, what the hell am I doing? What if he’s a mugger?
Have you ever seen a mugger driving a Mercedes?, I ask myself, and that makes me relax a little bit. Besides, it isn’t like I’m at a risk of being murdered in the middle of a freeway, right? Right.
Holding my breath, I watch through the rearview mirror as the driver’s door of the Mercedes swings open, and a pair of black polished shoes hit the asphalt underneath it. Freeway is wearing dress pants and a black shirt and, I gotta say, he looks… delicious. Tall, handsome, and well-built; the perfect ingredients for a tasty recipe.
“Okay,” I tell myself as I reach for the handle on my door, “let’s do this.”
Emily
I pat the front of my dress as I get out of my car, nervously looking toward my new (and very unknown) friend, Mr. Freeway himself.
“Hey there,” he greets me as he gets out from his Mercedes, walking toward me as he ignores the long lines of cars just to his side. With each step he takes, I can’t help but wonder more and more about why exactly I stop
ped in the middle of a freeway. Swear to God, sex with Wine Bar really fried my brain; that much is for sure.
“Hey,” I repeat back to him, pressing my ass back against the door of my car. Whoever this guy is, he’s much taller than me… And not only that, he’s so freaking hot! With his black shirt and confident posture, he looks like he belongs in one of these movies where they’re plotting to rob a bank or a casino or something. Seriously, is there such as a thing as too cool? Because this guy definitely looks as if he’s too cool.
“Marshall Kane,” he tells me, offering me his hand and waiting for me to grab it. Hesitantly, I reach for it. I tremble slightly as I feel his fingertips brushing against the inside of my wrist, and I feel an electric discharge racing down my spine.
“Uhm… Emily,” I reply awkwardly, running my free hand through my hair as I offer him one nervous smile. “So, is this how you make friends? You stop people on the freeway?” I ask him, trying to sound more confident than how I’m feeling.
“Not really. But I decided to open an exception for you,” he chuckles, his big fingers still gripping my hand. When he finally lets go, the pleasant warmness of his hand lingers in mine.
The sound of the Spice Girls comes out of my car and I realize belatedly that my moon roof is open.
My cheeks flush. He’s going to think I’m a total ditz.
“Is that so?” I continue answering his question and trying to play it cool and pretend I don’t hear any music, chuckling as I shift my weight from one foot to the other.
“Well, you know… Spice Girls fans are a rare breed nowadays. I was curious,” he replies, and I blush almost immediately.
Kill me now.
I feel my heart picking up the pace, boiling blood rushing to my cheeks and turning them into a violent red.
“Guilty as charged,” I shrug, mentally trying to ‘unblush’ myself, as if that was possible. Still, I can’t deny what he just said. I was caught in the act, after all. “Don’t tell me you’re a fan too.”
“Not really,” he laughs. “Old pop music isn’t really my thing, Emily,” he says, his tone of voice so relaxed and confident that it almost seems like he’s saying something extremely cool. Even though he’s just talking like a regular human being, there’s something about his posture that gives him an air of a modern James Dean.
“What’s your thing, then?” I ask him, and I almost facepalm myself; I can’t believe I gave him such an easy opening!
“Spice girls fans, of course,” he teases me, and he doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes wander down my figure, carefully appraising every single curve of my body. Instead of slapping him, though, I find myself blushing even more. Sure, I always turn a few heads around whenever I walk into a room, but it’s always nice to feel the lustful gaze of a handsome man like this.
“You okay, Emily?” Freeway asks. “You seem kind of flushed.”
I’m dying. But I put on a brave face and let the laughter come back.
“I dunno, Freeway,” I say, and he raises his eyes at me when he hears me call him that. “Normal people don’t do this.”
“What do you say we go out one of these days?” he asks me then, and I honestly don’t know how my knees keep supporting my weight.
“That’s pretty straightforward of you,” I tell him, managing to put on some kind of a fight. Even though I’m pretty happy about him asking me out, I also know that a girl always has to put up some resistance. It’s never a good policy to bend the knee to the first man that demands it, right?
“Well, we don’t have much time,” he says with a smirk. “We’re on the side of a busy…freeway.”
“I mean, you sure you don’t even want to sext first?” I ask with a smirk. The old Emily is coming back. And he wants to dance, so let's dance.
“Sext? You mean send each other … naughty pictures?” he asks me with intense looking eyes.
I nod my head.
Why do I feel so silly all of a sudden?
“I’d rather just see your body in person,” he merely shrugs as he says this and I draw my breath out in a gasp, his eyes never leaving mine. “So, can I have your number?” He continues, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine. I’m about to give him my digits when he raises one open hand, stopping me right before I open my mouth. “No, let’s do it like this; I give you my number, and you can call me whenever you feel like it. What do you say?”
“What if I never feel like calling you?” I shoot right back at him, my fiery instinct kicking in.
“Your loss then,” he laughs, “but something tells me you’ll do it.”
“You’re not a serial killer or something, are you?”
“Not during work hours,” he teases me, and I can’t help but laugh. God, I hope he’s really teasing me and that he isn’t a serial killer in his free time.
“Well…” I mutter as I take my cellphone out of my purse. “No harm in having your number, I guess.”
“No harm at all,” he whistles, snagging the phone out of my hand and unlocking it. He keys his number in and then hands me back the phone. Placing his hands in his pockets, he then turns around and starts walking back to his car.
“That’s it?” I ask him, and I feel like an idiot the moment the words leave my mouth. What the hell was I expecting? For him to push me back against the hood of my car and have his way with me right here, right now?
“That’s it,” he chuckles, sitting inside his Mercedes and putting on his black Ray Bans. “I’ll be waiting for your call, Emily.” With a casual salute, he then closes his car door and turns on the engine. I stand there, completely dumbfounded as he drives into the incoming traffic and disappears.
What the hell just happened?, I ask myself as I sit inside my car, my hands gripping the steering wheel. Did a guy on the freeway just ask me out?
Oh, yeah, sometimes life’s crazier than fiction.
Naughty Angel Newsletter
So I have forgotten the Bad Date Weekend
I have dance class every Monday morning. I drive across the Golden Gate Bridge to get to my dance class. It’s a fun two hours I practice (FYI I used to be a competitive ballroom dancer back in the day) and today I was driving down and the toll booth was slowing traffic down and it was the morning and I was doing my makeup in the car like I normally do.
I was wondering to myself like why do I even bother to do makeup because it’s obvious after ComputerChip that I’m gonna be stuck with unibrow losers who don’t wear clean clothes and are virgins. Either that or I’m gonna be stuck with WineBar who is a cute guy and works as a bartender and gives me good love but when I try to get him to sext he sends me pictures of beer bottles and not his cock.
So I’m thinking this is my dating life at the moment. It’s not so bad.
And then I look over out my drivers side window.
And realize that cars are going really slowly in traffic so I’m crawling along and this guy is looking at me. Making faces.
I’m a bit taken aback but he makes a face and a caricature of putting on lipstick using the rearview mirror.
I can’t help but laugh!
Then he makes a face of doing his hair. Obviously he’s making fun of me and who knows how long he’s been watching me as we crawled through traffic.
I can’t help but LOL at his antics.
We go on back and forth a few times.
Finally the crème de la crème.
He somehow has a blank piece of paper and he writes on there and holds it up to his window.
“Pull over after the toll”
I dunno. This is the kinda stuff you see in movies. Get kidnapped and then chopped up and stuff. Or read about in kindle books under Dark Dark Romance lol.
But right after the toll booth I’m a bit intrigued and from the waist up he looks kinda cute.
So, I pull over.
Anyways, so there I was, having pulled over my car on the side of the freeway getting off the San Rafael bridge because some strange hot guy heading
to the toll booth asked me too. I mean, what if all he wanted was to carjack my car? I just leased it a few months ago. Maybe he wants to steal it? I would wanna steal it. When I get time I’ll show you some pictures of it lol.
So he pulls up in front of me and he gets out and OH MY GOD. He’s gorgeous.
I immediately get out of my car too and I forget that I’m just wearing yoga pants and a really loose shirt over a sports bra – no makeup no nothing. And this guy is probably in a $1000 suit. From my Wall Street days, I’m guessing either Brioni or Ferragamo. Like he knows how to dress.
So I don’t remember the whole conversation unless I’m in my head and thinking it, but the gist of it (romanticized in my head) went like this:
FREEWAY: I saw you and had to get you to stop
ALEXIS: Uhm, hello, Normal people don’t do this.
FREEWAY: What is your name, gorgeous?
ALEXIS: Uhm, I’m Alexis. Whats yours?
FREEWAY: Freeway
Alexis: Oh. Hi.
FREEWAY: We don’t have time for small talk. We’re on the middle of a busy…freeway. Have a drink with me this Friday.
ALEXIS: Kinda sudden, no? You don’t wanna sext first?
FREEWAY: So we can send each other pictures of our privates?
ALEXIS: Yes?
FREEWAY: Shouldn’t we do that after a few drinks at Bourbon and Branch?
ALEXIS: I dunno if I should do speakeasy with a strange man
FREEWAY: That’s fine. Take my number. Call me if you change your mind. Or send me a picture of your pussy if your more comfortable