by Kate Stewart
We were bordering on indecent as he sucked on my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in the wake of his soft lips.
When I didn’t answer, he asked again, this time with dimples on full display. “Abbie?”
“What was the question?”
He kissed me deeply, then ripped himself away just as I was about to forfeit clothes.
“Surprise me,” I whispered back as he reluctantly let me go.
“I intend to,” he said sincerely as we both licked a fresh promise from our lips.
A little after midnight, Cameron bid me goodnight at my front door. I was panting when he left me, his smile radiant as he closed my gate and glanced back to where I stood. I touched my lips as he crossed the street, his long strides taking him too far away from me.
“I said goddamn,” I whispered before I shut the door and sighed. I instantly missed him. And before I could scold myself for it, I got a text.
Cameron: Any plans for today?
“Tell me everything,” Bree said as she slipped on her first dress.
“Nothing new to report since the last time we talked. He’s brilliant and beautiful and good to me. Really good to me.”
Cameron and I had been inseparable since the day he’d kissed me. I’d attended one of the home basketball games he coached, which started a string of fantasies that he starred in. I’d lusted over him as he stood on the sidelines in his silky black sweat suit with a dominating stance.
That night, though he coached basketball, I’d let him get to second base. He had drawn more moans out of me than I thought capable. He’d left me hoarse and needy at my front door, and I’d gone to bed with my fantasies on replay and his name on my lips.
The day after, we had our first dinner date. Again, we’d ended up on my porch, clinging to each other, an invitation on the tip of my tongue but never escaping my lips. And he’d never pressed. We’d left each other frustrated, but in the best way.
Last night, outside my door, and underneath the artificial yellow light, he’d whispered my name in a way that had me near orgasm just from the sound of it.
“Abbie,” he rasped out as his fingertips traced the collar of my knit sweater. They edged around the soft fabric in a seductive caress while his green eyes held my blue. Wordless—though I could see a million of them on his waiting lips—he kissed me breathless, and then kissed me some more as I sank into him, our bodies locking like they belonged that way.
Swept away by the King of Woo, I still couldn’t believe I was the lucky one on the receiving end of his attention. It was, without exaggeration, the most romantic courting of my life. No matter what we were doing, his affection seemed bottomless, and I lapped it up eagerly, starved for more.
I had it bad, and it felt so fucking good; I refused to overanalyze it.
Bree smiled at my dazed expression while my brain scrambled with racing thoughts of my new man. Trying to remain focused on my duties, I scrutinized the dress she was fastening.
“This isn’t exactly your style,” I said. “Neither is this place.”
We were at a posh bridal boutique downtown. Anthony had insisted on giving her his AmEx and buying her dress. Bree was as independent as I was but seemed to have no issue with it.
I was proud of her for being so onboard with his plans. She was arranging the ceremony but agreed to leave the reception up to her fiancé. For a southern girl who came from a traditional family, it was completely atypical for a bride to give up so much say, but Bree was anything but typical.
I moved to free her from the tight confines of the dress just as it pooled at her feet. “I’m not going to find it here.” She sighed, slipping into another dress.
“No, you aren’t, but it was a sweet gesture from him. There’s a shop in Wicker that sells vintage gowns,” I suggested. “We should check that out.”
She beamed at me. “He’s loving the whole thing, the planning and the details. It’s so weird, right? He wants to be involved.”
I shook my head. “Not weird, it’s amazing. And you aren’t the stressed-out bride at all.”
She grinned. “We’ve been having a lot of sex.”
Just as the words passed her lips, the woman who was assisting us brought in two more dresses. She cringed at Bree’s comment and hung up her finds on the standing rack of silk and lace.
“Here are a few more that might be your style.”
“Thanks,” Bree said, picking through the rack before she eyed the attendant and walked over to me. “This place is so Pretty Woman,” she said with a devilish grin. A grin I knew was trouble.
“Oh, honey,” she spouted, pitching her voice before resting her booted foot on the sparkling white cushion next to me. “I think I’ve got a runner in my pantyhose,” she said, running her hand down her bare leg.
The attendant eyed Bree in horror as she continued, adding her southern flair. “Oh me, oh my,” she drawled. “I’m not wearing pantyhose,” she deadpanned, as if it was the cue for the end of her scene.
Bree then went on about her business as she normally did when she’d embarrassed me. “Speaking of sex, when are you going to put the poor man out of his misery?”
The attendant scurried from the room as if she needed to pray the evil away, and Bree kept her eyes on me. I buried my head in my hands. “Could you, for once, try not to humiliate me everywhere we go? I might be here for my own dress one day.”
“Oh, come on. What exactly does she think happens to these dresses on the wedding night?”
“I don’t know, but she probably didn’t do anal to get her husband to propose.”
Bree rolled her eyes. “You aren’t a prude, and this isn’t your first rodeo. Are you nervous?”
“No, I told you that we’re taking it slow. He’s a gentleman, and he’s wooing me.”
“You’ve become a little bit high maintenance,” she said, slipping on her corduroy overalls.
“I have not,” I said, averting my eyes.
“You have,” she insisted as she thumbed through the dresses, unimpressed. “You have, and I’m proud of you for it. You’ve come a long way. Let’s get out of here.”
On the way to the bridal shop in Wicker Park, Bree stopped us in the street.
“Come on, it’s been a while.”
Realizing where we were, I looked up and found the sign hanging next to the dry cleaner marquee.
“Not again,” I said, shaking my head. “This is a waste of your money.”
She nudged me before she put her hand on the door. “You should get a reading. She’s on point every time I come.”
“And you believe her,” I huffed. “No one can tell you your future, Bree.”
“Yes, they can, and she has. She predicted Anthony was coming,” she said as she opened the glass door.
“There’s always another man coming,” I scoffed as I followed her up the stairs. “That’s not a prediction. It’s a normal progression when you’re single.”
Bree was the only woman I knew who got her palm read on a regular basis. I thought the whole thing was a crock of shit, but she believed otherwise. Bree thought certain people had the ability to look into your soul. I believed that certain people trained themselves to read mannerisms and clues to pinpoint background, signs of health, mental state, and took advantage of them emotionally.
“You’re too cynical. You could just try it for fun,” she proposed, taking the steps two at a time.
“I don’t believe in this,” I whispered as we neared the top of the stairs. “I believe in numbers. They’re absolute. I can’t believe in much else without explanation.”
“You can’t see love,” she argued.
I shrugged. “True, but you know some scientists believe love is really just a manifestation of attraction, a chemical reaction that produces a rush of endorphins that gets you high. And eventually, the high dulls as the senses become immune due to exposure to the same person.”
“But you’re a romantic,” she pointed out, her tone incredulou
s. “Like a diehard romantic.”
“I am,” I agreed. “I’m addicted to the high. I’m a fiend for it.”
“You’re breaking my heart,” she said, glowering at me. “I’ve had the same chemical reaction with the same man for two years, and you’re saying it will fade? You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“I’m more of a scientist than believer at this point.”
“So, you’re saying my marriage is bound to fail because, eventually, I won’t get high off him?”
“Hey, don’t take my head off. It’s just a theory. And I think Anthony is the one man who can make you consistently high. I’m not knocking love. I want it for myself.”
“Well, I choose to believe that chemical reaction is bullshit.”
“And for only fifty dollars, you can be reassured,” I said, showing her all my teeth.
“You need a chemical reaction,” she said, elbowing me hard in the side as we walked through the gate.
Marisela—who I was sure was born with a different name, like Mary or something less mystical—greeted us as we entered the living room that also served as a makeshift waiting room. “Hi, Bree,” she said in a warm greeting. Marisela’s apartment wasn’t decorated with healing crystals and didn’t reek of incense. It looked like a typically decorated living room. Marisela dressed in casual clothes, her appearance very girl next door. She was the opposite of what I’d expected when I first met her.
“How are you?” Marisela said, looking her over before she addressed me.
“And you? Are you finally ready to get your cards read?” she asked as Bree turned to me, both brows raised.
“I had a fortune cookie last night, so I’m good. Thank you.”
Bree scowled at me while Marisela laughed. She had tried to lure me into her lair many times but was good-natured about the fact I didn’t believe in it.
“I’m sorry,” I said, apologizing as Bree shot daggers at me. “Not today, Marisela. Maybe some other time.”
“It’s fine. I hear those kinds of comments often. I get labeled as the crazy lady. It’s nothing new.” She looked me over and smiled. “Sometimes they even go so far as to call me a witch.” She studied my reaction. I couldn’t help it. My jaw dropped as her eyes lit up in victory. “Come see me when you’re ready. And tell your gypsy neighbor I said hello.”
“O-kay.”
I had no idea who she was referring to, and the look on her face told me she knew that too. She turned her all-seeing eyes on my best friend.
“Ready, Bree?”
Bree followed Marisela past the French doors that led to her reading room. I was genuinely stunned as I took a seat on her couch. She couldn’t have guessed Cameron’s pet name for me. There was no conceivable way. I hadn’t even told Bree.
Passing it off as coincidence, I picked up a copy of Rolling Stone from the coffee table and thumbed through an article about one of my favorite bands, The Dead Sergeants. I was drooling over a candid shot of the front man when Marisela’s tiny, four-legged Q-tip approached me. I wasn’t much of an animal lover. I wasn’t born with the gene that made people capable of swapping saliva with a dog. And just as I wished I had it, the little shit mounted my new boot and began humping me.
“Oh no, don’t do that.” I shook my leg while beady eyes stared up at me. I could have sworn the little ball of fur was smiling. “Let’s not do that. Shoo,” I said, eyes narrowed on the French doors, wondering if Marisela knew what was happening.
Cameron: What are you up to?
I repeatedly shook my leg, to no avail.
There was no way I was talking to Cameron while being used as the perverted fluff bag’s hump post.
Was this life’s sick irony at my jab at love?
I needed to get out of that room. I stood, and the dog remained steadfast as I stomped my foot.
I didn’t want to leave Cameron waiting, so I crossed my arms and stared down at the violating beast. The act seemed criminal coming from a puppy so cute. It ignored my plea and kept at it, pink tongue hanging out. “Come on, let’s wrap it up. You get no points for stamina.”
After a few more minutes, I gave up and thumped its nose. I was surely going to hell for that. Resuming my seat, and in need of a cigarette and an apology for the dog who walked off like I meant nothing to him, I picked up my phone.
Me: You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.
Cameron: Try me.
Me: I’m waiting on Bree who’s getting her fortune read and a dog just made love to my boot. Didn’t take it to dinner or anything, just fed his desires and left.
The bubbles started going, and I knew he was laughing because his answering emoji told me so.
Cameron: Poor boot. Are you getting your fortune told?
Me: Nope, don’t believe in it.
While waiting for his reply, I glanced at the picture above the TV. It was an old movie poster with a prominent moon and stars in darkening blue above the title The Man in the Moon. I briefly thought of how astrology and astronomy were both based on numbers or the use of. I thought it ironic that if mathematicians had a religion, it would be either of those.
Cameron: There are numbers in the moon and stars.
I couldn’t believe what I was reading. It was as if he were in the room.
Me: Wow.
Cameron: What?
Me: Just a lot of strange coincidences in the last few minutes.
Cameron: Are they coincidences?
Me: Don’t you start. I told Bree from a scientist’s point of view that love was a chemical reaction and that people get off on the high of it and she got pissed.
Cameron: You make me high.
Maybe I was still a little cynical, but the man had an arsenal of woo and was tearing down any argument I held day by day. Whatever the science was behind the way I felt for him didn’t matter. All that really mattered was that he made me high and in the most organic way. Time would tell if we would last, but I was enjoying the high.
Bree appeared from the room minutes later with a smile.
“Ready?”
I smiled back. “I think I am.”
“Kat, you in here?” I asked as I walked into the bathroom. “I hate to bother you, but everyone is seated at the meeting.”
“Yeah.” Her voice was unsteady. “I’ll be right there.”
She opened the stall door, her face pale, her forehead covered in sweat.
“Are you okay?”
“It’s the sushi I ate last night. I think I got a touch of food poisoning. And my head is killing me.”
“Oh no. We can reschedule,” I offered, knowing we would be hard-pressed to do so.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, running the water and soaping her hands. “I’ll be right there.”
“Okay,” I said, turning on my heel.
“Is there something you want to say to me?” she asked.
“Pardon?”
“I said”—she turned from the counter and crossed her arms in front of her—“it looks like there is something on your mind. Let’s hear it.”
She clearly had some sort of confrontation in mind as her dark blue gaze scoured my appearance like I was beneath her.
I shook my head. “Nope, just waiting to start this meeting.”
“Sure? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like it.”
“Kat, is there something I’m missing here?” I said, both annoyed and stunned at her uncalled-for aggression. “I don’t have an issue here.”
“Good,” she said as she walked past me, the air around her filled with an unspoken insult.
“What. The. Hell,” I mouthed, walking after her.
An hour into the meeting Kat was leading, I got a text.
King of Woo: Hey, beautiful.
Me: Hi.
King of Woo: How’s your day going?
Me: Sucky. Full of suck. A suck fest.
King of Woo: Let me make it better. Plans tonight?
Me: I was just going to watch scar
y movies and pass out candy.
His answering text was the thumbs down emoji.
Me: You have a better plan?
King of Woo: Can you get together a last-minute costume? There’s a pub party tonight. Nothing big, but I would love it if you could come.
Me: I think I can dream something up.
King of Woo: I’ll pick you up at eight.
Me: See you then.
“Abbie?” I met Kat’s icy gaze that led the rest of the room to stare in my direction.
I was being called out like the distracted kid in class, which I was at the moment, but I’d covered her ass enough times to expect the same. I didn’t work for her, and at some point, I might have to make that clearer.
Lucky for me, I was good at multitasking and met her challenge head-on. “We’ll be implementing all of it next quarter along with the new software. It’s clearly outlined,” I reminded her, making her call-out redundant.
She continued the meeting I’d spent hours preparing for—prepping her for.
It was going to be one of those days.
“Okay, woman, I’m here,” Bree called from down the hall. “I don’t have long. I have to get back to work and scan the ca—” her words stopped as she took in my costume.
“What do you think?” I asked, proud of myself for being able to throw together the perfect outfit on such short notice.
“What do I think? Are you serious?” she said, setting her purse down, her scrubs tarnished with a blood stain that I didn’t want the story behind.
Bree looked me over with wild eyes. “This is a date, not a costume contest. Where’s the sexy?”
“Where’s the what? I’m a witch,” I answered, though it was clear with the black silk cape and matching hat I’d managed to swipe last minute from the drugstore.
The Goodwill down the street just so happened to have a pair of black wedge loafers with a buckle on top of them. I’d only paid four dollars for the perfect complement to my costume. I got lucky.
“That nose. Jesus.”
“Hey,” I defended, “it took me an hour to do my makeup. It’s real latex like they use in the movies.”