“Lie down on the bed, I instruct. She complies like a good girl and my eyes are glued to her naked ass as she crawls to the headboard, supple and ready for the taking. Her pussy glistens with her arousal, making my dick hard as a rock.”
“Todd,” Donna says softly. “You’re really starting with that scene?”
“Uh . . . yeah. It appears that I am. Does that make you uncomfortable?”
She takes a beat before answering. “No. I mean, they’re my words and I’m going to hear you read them eventually anyway. Go ahead. Keep going.”
I clear my throat again, partially to get into character. Partially because this conversation has gone in a completely different direction than I anticipated when I first dialed her number. I expected interesting conversation, but not this kind of interesting. Not that I’m not enjoying myself. Just ask the man in my pants.
Down boy.
“Stay on your knees, I growl, and she stops, shifting her body so her heavy tits touch the bed and her ass raises up another inch. The sound of my hand smacking her ass makes a loud thwack. She gasps—”
Donna gasps too, and I momentarily stumble over my words.
“and, um . . . and I immediately caress the sting out of red mark left behind by my hand. So beautiful, I whisper and lower myself to kiss the same spot I’m caressing. Her skin tastes like salt and musk, and in an instant my lips are on her core, licking up her slit. She groans—”
Donna groans as well, and now it’s taking everything in me not to whip my dick out of my pants and keep talking dirty to her until we both finish this. I hear her shifting, the rustling of her bedding in the background. Visions of her touching herself as she moves sends another jolt of desire through me. I’m not sure what is actually happening on her end or how my calling to give her an update on this project has turned into me reading her a sex scene and possibly having phone sex.
Are we even having phone sex? Or am I misinterpreting all her noises? Is she just getting into the story? Doesn’t matter. I can’t stop now. I have to keep reading.
“and pushes her body back, grinding her swollen pussy into my face as I thrust my tongue in and out of her. My fingers dig into her hips and I nip and suck, faster, deeper—”
“Ohmygod—”
“until I decide I’ve had enough. I’m the one running this show. She’s not the only one who will get pleasure tonight. Grabbing a condom off the bedside table, I make quick work of rolling it down my length and within in seconds I’m plunging inside her, my balls slapping hard against her clit—”
I barely register the sound of a cough coming from above me as I read until Donna finally stops me.
“Uh . . . Todd?”
“Hold on, I’m getting to the good part. Gripping her hips I slam into her harder—”
“No seriously, Todd, who is coughing in the background?”
Suddenly, I register exactly what she’s talking about. It’s Bill having some sort of massive bronchial attack. I’m slightly frustrated by the interruption, but more worried about why he’s coughing up a lung. I don’t need blood on those floors. The hardwood was stained yesterday.
“Cover your ear, Donna,” I instruct, then let out a shrill whistle followed by calling out to Bill. “You okay up there? Do I need to call the coroner?”
An irritated whistle calls back to me.
“Yeah, fuck you too, buddy,” I say in response to his cussing me out in bird language. How rude. “Sorry about that, Donna. Shall I continue? It sounds like you were enjoying yourself.”
“Um . . . about that . . .”
And here we go. Regret and the ever cliché “I was caught up in the moment” response.
“If I can hear Bill, does that mean he can hear me?”
“No.”
“Tooooddddd?”
Maybe. I honestly don’t know.
“Relax, Donna. Let’s test it out okay? I’m sure it’s fine. Bill, can you hear me?” I ask at normal volume, like I’m having a conversation with the person sitting next to me.
The low whistle back comes as a completely surprise.
“Huh. I had no idea. This is going to put a kink in my porn watching time, isn’t it?”
Bill whistles yet another reply.
“I wasn’t talking to you, Bill!” I yell and bang on the ceiling with the broomstick I use for times like these. Then shaking my head I pick up the phone and take it off speaker. “You still there?”
“Surprisingly, I have not hung up yet, despite my mortification about what just happened and how there was a witness.”
“Eh. It’s just Bill. Who’s he gonna tell?”
“While that is a good point, my face is beet red, so I’m going to hang up so I can pretend this entire conversation never happened.”
Before my mouth is open enough to respond, Donna has already disconnected the call. “Thanks a lot, Bill,” I mutter, eliciting yet another inappropriate whistle of response.
“Language!” I yell, sounding irritated, and yet, I can’t stop smiling. I’m not sure what just happened, but whatever rejection I felt before is gone. In its place is the thought that maybe, just maybe, Donna and I aren’t over quite yet.
Chapter 23
Donna
One thousand. That’s how many times I’ve died internally replaying my call with Todd. For the last four hours I’ve ignored all of his texts. And calls. If Airplane Joe had called to confirm our date for tonight, I would have answered, feigned illness, and cancelled. I’m mortified.
Not because some random man heard him reading my book. I couldn’t care less about that. I don’t know Bill and will probably never meet him. No, it’s because of the reaction I had to Todd reading the words. The words I created and put in a book. A book that in only a few weeks will be heard by listeners across the globe. Sure, this isn’t my first audiobook, but it’s the first book the narrator read to me over the phone. A narrator I know.
As the words flowed across the line, my insides warmed, and my heart raced. Like it is now. Just thinking of Todd, er, Hawk, saying the word “pussy” has my suddenly overactive libido on hyperdrive. The moment he started speaking, I relaxed in a way that only seems to be possible when he’s around. What are the chances that the one part of the book he randomly chose to read was one of the hottest scenes I’ve ever written? It’s also one of the hardest scenes I’ve ever written. Sex is hard. Not actual sex, at least I don’t remember it being hard. It’s been so long, I can’t be trusted to offer a true assessment.
Stupid Todd.
Stupid Todd and his so sexy voice and amazing hands and freaking adorable smirk. Dammit to hell, this is not what I should be thinking about while I get ready for a date. A date with a man who checks all of my boxes. A man who is successful, handsome, smart, and seems to have a great sense of humor.
As I swipe the mascara across my lashes, I realize those four boxes on my list are also checked by Todd. Add in the way he wears a suit, and how he encouraged me to follow my heart, and he just might have a slight edge on airplane Joe.
Focus, Donna. Joe is your date. Todd is your friend.
My phone chimes another text message, this one from Aggi.
Aggi: Are you ready for the NANA noms?
Me: Ugh. I forgot that was happening. I’m not expecting much.
Aggi: Oh hush. Your books rock. I bet you make the finals.
Me: We’ll see. I have a date tonight so I’m more focused on that.
Aggi: Oh a date! I can’t wait to hear about it.
Me: Chill. It’s a FIRST date.
Aggi: Still. Have fun and let me know how it goes!
I don’t bother responding and toss my phone on the counter while I finish my makeup. A final swipe of mascara and a bright red lip later and I’m happy enough with how I look. Truth be told, I’m missing the easiness of life at the cabin. Minimal makeup, messy bun, and sweats. Sounds heavenly right now.
Instead of my comfy sweats, I pull my usual black dress from the closet. Hesitatin
g, I look to the right and see a blue geometric skirt I bought ages ago and have yet to wear. Maybe the black dress, the one I’ve worn on almost all my first dates this past year, is bad mojo. I like Joe and would like this to be a good first date. Well, I guess second if I go with his assessment from the plane. Hanging the dress back in its spot, I grab the skirt and a fitted black sweater before exiting my closet.
I’m pulling the sweater over my head when the doorbell rings. I quickly grab my black heels and hustle down the hall to answer the door. Pausing at the door to slip on my shoes and right myself, I take a deep breath and open the door.
Standing before me is a cover model. Not an actual cover model but a man who could easily grace the cover of any modern romance novel. Specifically one of my erotica romances. Hot damn.
“Wow,” Joe says with an appreciative whistle. “You look amazing.”
I smile at his compliment and realize I probably look completely different than his travel companion the other day. Traveling isn’t exactly meant to be done in a pencil skirt and four-inch heels.
“Thank you. You’re quite dapper in that suit.” I step aside to let him in the apartment. “I’ll just be one minute, I need to grab my purse.”
Rushing down the hall, I grab my small clutch from the top of my dresser and return to the living room where I stop in my tracks. Joe is standing in the spot I left him, his back to the closed door and a look of horror on his face. Mr. Tuddles sits before him, his head cocked to the side.
“Wha . . . what is wrong with your cat?” he whispers.
“Mr. Tuddles? Nothing, why?”
“He has no hair.”
“Oh, that. Yeah, it’s a little weird at first but he’s the best.”
I can tell Mr. Tuddles’ appearance is freaking Joe out so I shoo him away and tell him to go to bed so we can leave. When he turns his back on us and begins his slow retreat to the bedroom, Joe visibly relaxes. I’ve never seen someone react to my cat like that. Sure, he’s not what most people expect when I tell them I have a cat, but he’s sweet and a little awkward and overall, amazing. He loves me, like I love him.
“Shall we go?” I ask, pulling Joe from his frozen state. Nodding, he clears his throat and steps aside before opening the door. As I step through the threshold, he places a hand to my lower back and guides me down the hall and to the elevator.
“Sorry I reacted so poorly. I was surprised and then he just sat there staring at me. I was a little unnerved.” I appreciate his concern with my feelings, not that he needs to explain. It’s not every day you see a hairless cat. Well, unless you’re me and you live with one.
“I understand. No big deal. Where are we headed?” I ask as we exit the building and walk to the small parking lot. Lights flash on a white sedan and I follow Joe to the car. When he opens the door for me, I pause before getting in to look at him as he speaks.
“I was thinking we could try this little bistro that has a great Yelp rating. It’s only about ten minutes from here.”
I know exactly which one he’s talking about. Great. Back to the scene of the crime of my worst date in all my dating years. Fingers crossed Joe doesn’t have a carrot cake eating wife too.
Since Joe and I spent so many hours talking on our flight, tonight doesn’t hold the same level of awkwardness of most first dates. He regales me with a basic rundown of his day and I do the same. We order our food and enjoy a glass of wine while we discuss the important things in life: How did Lois Lane not know Clark was Superman? Why don’t we have to refrigerate peanut butter after it’s opened?
Joe refills each of our wine glasses before he asks the question I dreaded. “So how is it you found yourself writing romance books?” I’m never quite certain how to answer this question. I could offer him a generic “I just fell into it” response or I could be honest. I was heartbroken, drunk, and horny when an idea came to me. I decide on a combination of both.
“It’s a pretty boring story. I was working for a large firm downtown, busting my ass to stand out among the other associates. After one very long day of dealing with irate clients, a jammed copier, and a broken heel on my favorite pair of shoes, I went home to have my boyfriend use the it’s-not-you,-it’s-me line. Half a bottle of tequila later, I had an outline and the first few chapters of my first novel.”
“That’s impressive. And your ex sounds like a jerk, but I have no doubt it was all him.”
Smiling, I take a sip of my wine and continue. “Thank you for saying that but I think it actually was me.” Laughing, I realize that’s completely true. For the first time, I acknowledge that the life I was living then didn’t make me happy. I wasn’t fulfilled in my career choice and truthfully, I wasn’t happy in my relationship. I was phoning it all in.
“I worked a lot and when I was home, I complained about work. In the end, it all worked out. He moved out, met someone else, and they’re blissfully married with like four kids or something. And, I’m living my best life. I work for myself, and I have amazing friends and a career that challenges me every day.”
“Wow, you make it sound amazing. Good for you. Not everyone would take the risk you did. I commend you.”
Joe and I continue with our dinner and the conversation continues to flow. He’s kind and attentive, asking all the right questions and responding positively and with just the right amount of flirting to cause me to blush on occasion.
There’s just one issue.
He’s trying too hard. Or maybe I’m not receiving it well enough. I’m not sure. It all just feels off. Out of balance. There’s no natural flow to our banter. It’s more like a professional conversation, not like two people with shared interests and an obvious attraction to one another.
As he talks, I look across the table at him, my carrot cake sitting untouched in front of me. I wanted that cake so badly and now that I have it, I’m less impressed than I should be. It’s a great cake. It’s just not what I want anymore.
Like Joe. He’s everything I wanted in a man. But he’s not Todd.
Stupid Todd.
Chapter 24
Todd
I understand now why Donna was so cold at the cabin. Because it takes time to acclimate to real weather when you live in Satan’s armpit.
No, seriously. I feel like I’ve been walking around the seventh circle of hell over the last two days as I’ve been touring properties in the northwest corner of Phoenix. The nice thing is, it’s a dry heat so I don’t feel like I’m breathing in soup. But that also means the second sunlight hits my skin, it feels like the top layer of my epidermis is burning. This is concerning because I prefer my epidermis where it’s at and not fried off.
However, if I can’t get off the phone with my mother, I’m going to be in some serious hot water anyway. All because of her damn cat.
“I just don’t understand what’s wrong with Ginger.”
“You mean besides his stupid name?”
“Stop that, Todd,” she reprimands. “Cats feel emotions too, you know. And Ginger is more sensitive because he’s a rescue.”
She sounds way more concerned about her devil feline than she did about me as a child. I’d be offended, but I’m too busy seeing how this conversation is going to play out.
“But ever since we got home, he acts hungry all the time. Did you feed him twice a day while we were on the cruise?”
“Uh . . . yes.”
“Todd Chimoski! You didn’t forget to feed Ginger did you? No wonder he’s acting malnourished.”
I roll my eyes because that cat could never look malnourished. He’s about ten pounds too big to be called petite. “Relax, Mom. I swear on Nana’s grave he did not miss a meal while you were gone.”
“Your grandmother isn’t dead, Todd.”
“Which is why my promise is even more powerful.” What I won’t promise her, however, is that I cheated and got him a self-feeder so I didn’t have to protect my legs from his claws twice a day for a week. If she knew, she’d come after me with her wooden spo
on. Fingers crossed she doesn’t go up in the garage attic where it is currently stored until the next time she goes on vacation.
She sighs heavily into the phone. “I just don’t get it. It’s like his entire feeding schedule is off.”
Glancing around me, I realize I’ve reached my destination, and not a minute too soon. Sweat in my butt crack isn’t comfortable at all. I honestly don’t know how people live in this part of the country. And yet here I am, contemplating properties for purchase myself. Go figure.
“So get him a self-feeder, Ma.”
“We talked about this Todd. Feeding shouldn’t be a free-for-all. It needs to be at specific times—wait a minute.”
Uh oh. I have a bad feeling this conversation is about to go south.
“Todd Chimolski! Did you get my baby a self-feeder?”
My eyes widen for half a second before I begin blowing into the receiver. “What, ma?” Another blow. “The wind kicked up. I can’t hear you.”
I continue to blow, making it hard, but not impossible to hear her yelling, “You cut that out right now, Todd! You ruined my cat!”
“Gottagoloveyoubye.” I disconnect before she figures out there’s a self-cleaning litter box in the attic too. That would get her really riled up.
Besides, I’m on a mission.
Thankfully, it wasn’t hard finding the building I’m standing now in, nor was it hard to get inside and away from the threat of melting on the sidewalk.
I rap on door 7B a couple times and turn to look over the stairwell railing. The building is in good shape. Looks to be recently renovated. Fresh paint. Solid trim around all the doors and ceiling. I make a mental note to contact the property management company and see if I can get some information about local taxes and building fees.
Behind me, I hear the door open so I turn around, half excited, half nervous for this surprise visit. The surprise is on me, though.
“Jiminy Cricket, woman!” I exclaim, clutching my rapidly beating heart. “Why do you always have that shit on your face?”
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