by Wolf, Alex
Maybe some pizza from Giordano’s can help fix it, a little anyway.
* * *
I’m on my second beer and I may need a shot soon if I keep reading these documents. The more I scan the pages, the more the hair on the back of my neck stands up. In a nutshell, Dad is a computer engineer. He worked for IBM for years at their regional headquarters in Chicago.
A lot of the tech stuff is way over my head, but Dad designed some kind of WiFi protocol that made things much more efficient for people to log in to the internet at home on their routers and modems, something with the way the devices talk to one another.
He made a couple million dollars when he sold it, then had a stream of revenue from maintaining and updating the code, all under his own business. A huge tech firm reverse engineered his work, filed for a patent, and then sued him and the big companies he sold it to. That’s when the fun all started.
To make things better, the other companies bought the software from the tech firm, terminated their contracts with Dad, and sued him in return. He was pretty much a one-man operation. They’ve taken everything from him and there’s not really anything I can do about it.
Bennett gave me two associates to help Dad out. I told him I would quit and work on my dad’s case until it was finished and that was the compromise, to keep me working in New York City. It was just me, in my spare time, and them. I specialize in finance, not intellectual property.
I’ve had to sit and watch Dad lose everything he worked for, buried in legal filings and paperwork it’d take a team of high-powered specialist attorneys to fight. He developed this technology over years. Nobody will hire him now. He’s basically a pariah in his field, which sucks even more, because it’s what he loves more than anything. Well, ever since… yeah.
I look down at the document in front of me and my blood heats up even hotter. The firm who represented the big tech companies glares right back at me.
Collins and Associates, now The Hunter Group.
I should’ve quit my job in New York. I should’ve moved back here and worked on this full-time for Dad. He begged me not to, but it’s what I should’ve done, and it’s a regret I’ll always have to live with.
Just when I think I can’t get any more pissed off, I look up.
Donavan Collins walks through the door.
Donavan
You gotta be fucking kidding me.
I’d know that stare anywhere. Paisley’s sitting at the bar with a beer, empty plate, and papers scattered everywhere. She’s right in the fucking middle too, taking up the whole thing.
I walk over, pretending to ignore her, and take a seat as far from her as I can get, which is two seats over. The bartender walks up.
“Call in for Collins.”
“Want something to drink?”
“Maker’s Mark, double, neat.”
He walks away for a minute after pouring my drink, then comes back. “Got about fifteen minutes to go.”
I nod and wish he’d go away. I wish everyone would go away. This is my spot and Paisley knows it. It was made very clear back at college when we talked about home. Giordano’s is a ritual for me. I always come in twenty minutes early, get a Maker’s Mark while I wait for my pie, then tip generously and leave.
Now, it’s totally fucked, because of a woman sitting two barstools away.
An awkward silence stretches between us. I do anything I can to take my mind off her, sliding my index finger around the edge of the glass, staring at my reflection in the amber-colored bourbon.
I should get up and leave.
Fuck that. This is your place. Don’t be a bitch.
Finally, Paisley says, “It’s only going to get more awkward.”
I whip around and snarl. “Why are you even here?”
“Uhh, they have good pizza.”
I jab a finger into my chest. “This is my place and you know it.”
“Oh really? They changed it to Collins’ pizza?” She smirks. “Oh yeah, not many establishments with that name on them anymore.”
Calm the fuck down. Change the subject.
I glance over at her papers all over the bar. “Thought you needed a job?”
She reaches around, like she’s huddling them all together. “This is…personal.”
“Oh yeah? Good luck with it.” I do nothing to mask the contempt in my voice.
She shakes her head and looks back down, going through the papers. “Asshole.”
“I always thought you liked that about me.”
“We really doing this right now?”
“You came to my place looking for war. It is what it is.”
“I was hungry. Jesus.”
How does this woman get under my skin so damn bad? “You know I don’t mean this. Don’t be an idiot.”
“Always quick to insult someone’s intelligence.”
“Call it like I see it.”
“If I’m an idiot, what’s that make you?”
I turn to face her. “What?”
“Well, I’m an idiot and I was number one in our class. What’s that make you?”
My face heats up all over again. Just fucking leave. It’s not worth it.
“Still holding on to old titles. Because you haven’t accomplished shit since then.”
She laughs. “Good one. God, you’re so bitter, and insecure. Always were.”
“For someone who wants a job at my firm, you’re really doing yourself a lot of favors right now.” I lean back, trying to appear slightly amused, but still fuming on the inside.
It doesn’t help that she looks incredibly hot, even more so than at college. She’s dressed casual in jeans and a Columbia Law t-shirt, hair pulled back in a high ponytail and my fingers twitch, wanting to yank her by the hair until she submits. There’s no way I could do it. She’d call the cops. Can’t really blame her for that.
“I’d have already gotten the rejection if it were up to you.” She winks. “Just waiting on the phone call from the intelligent brother.”
“So smug and condescending. Why the hell are you really here?”
“Told you I was hungry.”
“Stop with the bullshit.” I walk over.
She does her best not to look rattled, but I can see her pulse redlining in the side of her neck. Her legs go stiff under the barstool. She can act tough all she wants, but I still make her nervous as hell, all these years later. Good.
She swallows as I hover over her and she shuffles all her papers into the folder and slams it shut. “It’s personal.”
I eye her up and down, taking my time, just to make her sweat a little more. Just to watch her wipe her palms down her jeans and watch her lips part, ever so slightly.
“Yeah, so is you coming to my firm.”
“Last I checked, Weston Hunter’s name is on it.”
“You know I’m a partner. It’s mine.”
She bats her eyelashes at me and speaks in the most condescending tone I’ve ever heard. “And I’ll be a partner too, by the end of the week, so you really need to learn how to share, Donavan.” She shakes her head. “God, that just eats you up inside, doesn’t it? Poor little Donavan, not gonna get his way on this one. How many holes you punched in the wall at home, just thinking about what you know is about to happen?”
“Ohh, Pais. You flatter yourself with delusions that I think about you at all. It’s comical really.”
She stands up, doing her best to get eye to eye with me, but she’s really about even with my throat. “Ohh, Donavan. What’s comical is you think I’m not gonna spank your ass again, the same way I did in college.” She pauses and grins. “Number two.”
“Sir, I have your piz…” The bartender freezes when he sees the two of us, squared off at each other.
I tap the counter and toss my credit card out on it. He takes it and rings it up, then brings me back two pieces of receipt paper. I add a tip and sign one, pocketing the other.
I make a show of grabbing the pizza I ordered for Penn and me, the
n turn slowly back to Pais. She’s breathing hard and her tits look incredible, even through a t-shirt. My cock hardens in my slacks and it takes a magnitude of willpower to keep my dick in check. Fuck, this woman drives me insane in so many ways it’s impossible to keep track of them.
I lean down and scoff, then whisper, “I remember who did all the spanking back in college.” I lean in even closer to her ear, so she can feel my warm breath on her neck. “And who begged for it…again and again and called herself Donavan’s dirty little slut.” I turn my back on her before she can say anything, but I feel her retinas burning a shotgun-sized hole in my back.
Fuck it. If she wants to make things personal, I’ll make them personal.
This pizza is going to taste phenomenal.
Paisley
I walk into Dad’s house and toss my to-go container in the refrigerator a little harder than needed.
Ugh! Fuck you, Donavan!
Don’t let him get to you. It’s what he does.
I pace around the guest room, where I’ll be staying until I find my own place. I can’t get his stare out of my head. And he went and made things personal, talking about him spanking me. The second I think about it, I can feel his big, strong hand on my ass and my blood heats up again. I can’t believe after all these years he can still have this effect on me.
There’s no way in hell a relationship, even a friendly one, would ever be possible with him. That’s perfectly clear, but I haven’t had sex in six months. I’m dying. And even if I had, nobody has ever compared. Not even close.
I stare at myself in the mirror.
“Look at yourself. You’re a hot mess.”
I need a release. There’s an orgasm of epic proportions building between my legs, and the cause is one broody, self-centered, narcissistic asshole, and I absolutely hate myself for letting him turn me into this.
I stare at my suitcase, where I know my vibrator rests just inside it. Then I stare at myself in the mirror. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Do not do it, Paisley!
But I need to. This is not going away!
No, if you do it, he wins!
I walk out to the living room, still pacing, trying to get those dark blue eyes out of my head. That two-day scruff that could scratch up against my thighs. When I sit down on the couch, my leg practically shakes, bouncing up and down. I grit my teeth.
Damn it!
I damn near sprint back to my room, flinging my suitcase open with one giant tug. Clothes go everywhere as I rifle through my stuff, searching for the toy that can make all my problems go away. Finally, my fingers find purchase and I grip it in my palm and sling it onto the bed.
My fingers go crazy over my jeans, trying to get them unbuttoned and the whole time I curse Donavan repeatedly under my breath.
“Smug prick. Think you can talk to me that way? That’s why I kicked your ass back then and I’ll kick it again, every damn day if I have to.”
My jeans get halfway down my thighs and I curse myself for not working out more. I’ve put on five pounds in the last six months, working nonstop on Dad’s case and my own workload. It’s not really noticeable at all, except when I’m trying to get a pair of skinny jeans off so I can rub one out to my arch nemesis.
After hobbling around for a moment, I finally just let myself fall to the bed. To hell with it, I don’t need my jeans off to do what needs done. I click the vibrator on and it’s between my legs.
My thighs are practically pushed together because of my jeans, and the tension at my ankles reminds me how Donavan used to pin me down or tie me up. All the memories flood back.
At least have some respect and think about someone else.
I wish my brain would turn off for two seconds so I could get this done. I can shame myself enough for it later, thank you very much.
Right now, all I can see are his eyes. Me bent over his lap, doing exactly what he said in Giordano’s. When he whispered that in my ear, it was… I don’t even know how to say it. It stoked a fire that had been dormant for seven years and kindled it right back to life.
How can you hate someone so much, have them drive you so crazy, and yet all you want to do is feel their touch one more time?
I tell myself it’s all biological, but is it, really?
The moment my vibrator comes in contact with my clit I know my answer.
Totally biological. Those real feelings are long gone.
Don’t say his name. Have some kind of dignity.
Before long, I’m lost, right on the edge. Sure enough, I say his name because the feeling is so intense if I don’t get this frustration out of me, I might die.
He pins my arms over my head and thrusts into me, hard and slow, taking his time, knowing he’s about to explode, but he wants me pushed right to the edge. He wants to shove into me at the last second while I come undone all over him. No matter what the foreplay was, no matter what we were doing, that’s how it always finished.
“So close, Donavan. So close,” I whisper the words.
Even now, in my mind, he has to say it before I can give in. Even in a ridiculous fantasy, I still have to please him for some reason. Have to obey and do as he says.
“That’s it, Pais. Come…”
I’m about to unload the mother of all orgasms when the front door flies open.
“Fuck!” I cover my mouth and toss the vibrator between the bed and the wall.
“Pais, you here?” Dad calls out from the living room.
I flail around on the bed, doing my best to yank my jeans back up over my hips. If women can get blue balls, I’m going to have an epic case tomorrow. I may need medical attention.
“Be right there!” God, I hope I didn’t sound out of breath.
I know I did.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I squeak the word out. “Just a sec!”
Finally, by some will of the gods, I get my jeans back up and buttoned. I look in the mirror and my face is flushed. I take a few deep breaths, trying to compose myself.
“Okay, you want something to drink?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
I straighten up my clothes and fly onto the bed, searching for the vibrator. It’s going crazy up against the wall, reverberating through the sheetrock.
“What is that?”
“Just my phone!” I grab it and click it off, then bury it at the bottom of my suitcase.
After one last horrifying look in the mirror, I walk out of the bedroom, praying the shame isn’t written across my face. Four years of high school, sneaking around with boys, and the one time he walks in the house is when I’m about to turn thirty.
Finally, I walk out. “Hey, how was the hot date?”
“Went great.” He smiles and twists the cap off a beer. “Already made plans for another one.”
“That’s great, Dad. Really great. It’s great that you’re getting out there, ya know?” I do the punch the air thing, like he’s giving it the old college try.
Dad’s eyes roll up to mine. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Totally. Why?”
His brows narrow. “You said ‘great’ like three times, and then ‘totally.’”
I shrug, trying to play it off. “Well, you know, I just feel like a kid again, back at home, I guess.”
He nods toward the couch.
I huff out a sigh, but go sit down because now it’s going to be about me and there’s no way I’ll get out of it. I plop down on the sofa.
“What’s going on?”
I stare up at the ceiling. “Nothing… I mean, I don’t know.”
“It’s about him.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m just, a little stressed, I guess. With Grandma and Grandpa and your situation, but don’t feel bad. I want to help.”
“Well, kid, as embarrassing as it is, I’m in no position to turn down your help anyway. So you’re off the hook. I just worry about you. Putting your career on hold, moving home.”
“I’m no
t putting my career on hold. I’ll be at a firm by the end of the week.”
He shakes his head. “Yeah, but it’s not the same. The place in New York is your life. I mean, I saw it in your eyes the first time you visited Columbia.”
“Saw what?”
“That it was for you. That Chicago would always come second after that.”
I go to say something, and he holds up his hand to stop me.
“That’s not a bad thing. I’m not knocking you for it. You always were looking to something bigger and better, even as a girl. I knew you’d grow up and leave this city one day.” He stares off at the wall, but he’s looking beyond. “There was more to the world than what this place could offer. And as much as it broke mine and your mother’s heart when you left, we understood. We always understood, Pais, and we were damn proud of you. We still are.”
“Dad, you don’t have to…”
“It’s okay to talk about her. I’m okay with it.”
He says that, but the look in his eyes says otherwise. He’s doing it for me, and I don’t want to put him through that again. “Dad, it’s okay. I still think about her and remember her. You don’t…”
His face hardens. “Yes, I do. She deserves it, deserves to be talked about, even if this isn’t our old home.”
“How did the date really go, Dad?”
“It was okay, but she doesn’t compare.”
“She never will. It’s not fair to either of you to do that.”
He nods and it looks like he might cry, but he won’t. “I know.” He looks at the ground. “I just… ahh, this is hard.”
I walk over, bend down, and hook my arms around his neck. “It’s okay to meet someone else, and when you meet the right one, she’ll understand.” I lean back and wave my hand at Dad. “All this. She’ll get it, or she’s not the right one.”
“It just feels so wrong. Like I’m being unfaithful. The whole ride home, I just apologized to your mom over and over.”
“It’s been seven years. Mom would understand.”
