by Ws Greer
“If her dream guy walked in here, he’d be scared off by you nagging her, Judy,” Missy speaks up, which always puts a smile on my face. If my mother is on her usual condescending, degrading bullshit, I can always count on Missy to step in.
“Oh, please,” my mother says behind a scoff. “It won't be me who scares him away, it’ll be that dreadful outfit she’s wearing.”
“Mom, will you just back off, please,” I plead. “Your outfit isn’t exactly fucking Gucci.”
Judy gasps. “Tessa! Language. That’s very unladylike. No man wants a woman with a foul mouth.”
“Every man wants a woman with a foul mouth,” Missy injects again with a laugh. “Foul enough to stick their dick inside.”
“That is disgusting,” my mother barks. “I don’t like that kind of talk here. It’s rude.”
“You know, Judy,” Missy goes on, ignoring my mother’s cries for decorum. While she talks, I look down at my blue jeans and white halter top, wondering what’s so bad about my outfit. “You just need to loosen up. You’re too uptight. You’re really starting to sound like one of those ladies who’s gone a long time without sex. Is that it? You and Jack not releasing enough tension?”
“Eww,” I chirp with a sour look on my face. “I definitely don’t want to think or talk about my parents releasing tension.”
“Yes, that’s none of your business, Melissa,” my mother snips. “Jack and I are fine, but that’s not your concern.”
“Ah, I see. So, your sex life isn't our concern, but Tessa’s is,” Missy keeps going. She’s beautifully relentless. To this, my mother has no response, she just goes back to staring down at the cash register, even though we haven’t had a single customer today.
As things quiet down in the clinic, my mind races back to last night. Even after a shower, I couldn't quite get over how lame my first ever hookup was. Missy laughed at me when I pulled her aside this morning and whispered the details in her ear, telling me that’s how most guys are. Most men act like they're the greatest thing in the world, but rarely are able to live up to their own hype. While Eric didn’t hype himself up to be anything special, I suppose I did.
I guess I assumed being open to random sex would surely bring great pleasure into my life. I figured I’d be sex crazed, stuck on getting my next fix of great dick like some sort of orgasm addict. In the end, the only orgasm I ended up having was the one I gave myself while watching a clip of some guy named James Deen fucking the life out of some blonde porn star. While the video was good and my orgasm was great, nothing quite beats the orgasm you achieve when being properly fucked. Unfortunately, I don’t have anywhere near the level of experience in that area that I should.
The door to the clinic swings open at exactly eleven fifteen in the morning. Missy is standing at the register next to my mother, who’s scanning today’s appointments with a pen in her hand. After having completely caught up with my own paperwork for the day, I stand at the edge of the counter waiting to be directed by my mother, but everyone’s eyes immediately jump over to the entrance when the man walks in.
He’s tall, probably six-three, maybe six-four. His shoulders are broad, his face is bearded, and his dark brown hair is perfectly combed back. He’s sporting a gray sweater that I can see his shoulders bulging through. They're like two bowling balls resting beside his neck, and his thick arms are stretching the fabric of the sweater. He’s god-like.
“Hello,” the man says, as he approaches Missy at the register. Missy’s eyes bulge like she’s staring at an apparition as it walks through a wall. “I was wondering if I could get her groomed. As you can see, she's a mess, so I didn't have time to make an appointment.”
His voice booms like thunder cracking inside the room, capturing my attention, and I can't help but wonder how dick size and a deep voice correlate. Is that a thing?
I also have to fight back a laugh as I realize I was so busy staring at the man and his bulging muscles, I didn't even comprehend that he's holding a gold Pomeranian with the cutest little button nose, but it’s hard to see because the dog is almost entirely covered in dried mud. She’s basically a block of dirt with teeny little cute feet wiggling beneath her body. She looks adorable and gross.
“Aww,” Missy coos, drawing it out. Missy is the perfect person to have behind the counter. She's always so fascinated with the animals people bring in. “And what’s this little princess’s name?”
“Her name is Coco,” the man says.
“How adorable,” my mother chimes, just before turning to me and raising her eyebrows, her signal that I should be interested. I roll my eyes, but inside I’m agreeing with her. Fuck yes I’m interested. Look at him!
“Well, luckily for Coco, we’re not too busy right now, and we can certainly fit her in,” Missy tells the owner of the filthy ball of cuteness. “Mrs. Milton, if you wouldn't mind.”
“I certainly wouldn't,” my mother says. She steps forward and takes little Coco from her owner. “Are we going with just a shampoo, or are we doing a cut as well?”
“Let’s just start with a bath, and if anything needs to be cut because of the mud, that’s fine.” The owner smiles a million dollar smile and shrugs his giant shoulders.
“Perfect. Give me fifteen or twenty minutes and I should have Coco fixed right up,” my mother says in her best customer service voice, before taking Coco to the back.
The dog’s owner takes a seat in the waiting area, while Missy looks over at me and bulges her eyes. Silently, we communicate an entire conversation.
Missy says, “Do you see how fine he is?” with her bulging eyes.
I reply with,” Oh my god. Yes!” with matching large eyes and a head nod.
“You should talk to him,” Missy signals with a tilt of her head towards the man.
I furrow my brow and shake my head, meaning, “Uhh, no.”
“Do it! You're single!” Missy shouts with large eyes again and a sharp head shake towards me, as if she's throwing a dagger at me using only her forehead.
“Oh calm down!” I silently scream with a frown, my lips pressed into a thin line.
“What have you got to lose?” Missy asks now with a softer face, a shrug, and slight head shake. She adds, “He isn't married,” by tapping her wedding band and shaking her head.
I verify the man isn't wearing a ring before letting out a sigh. At just the thought of talking to him, my nerves stand up beneath my skin. The man truly is gorgeous, and Missy is right, I am single. However, it’s hard to get over my last sexual experience. Eric and his barely-there dick has me feeling guarded now. I know, though, that if I don't put myself out there, Eric will be the last guy I slept with for much longer than he should be.
“So, how long have you had Coco?” I ask as I peel myself from my place at the edge of the counter and step towards the register. I reach the corner of the counter closest to the man and lean against it.
“Only about a month,” he says. “She's been a handful. Barks up a storm.”
“Oh, yeah, Pomeranians definitely can do that,” I reply, with a smile.
“Keeping your girlfriend awake with all the barking?” Missy asks, skipping the formalities.
The man laughs. “Uhh, no. I live alone, and have no girlfriend.”
“Oh, you don't say,” Missy says, and I don't even bother looking back at her because I can already picture her eyebrows raised and the look on her face.
“Well, she's really cute. Little dog in a big man’s arms. It’s adorable,” I say, trying my best to flirt without making it obvious.
“Thank you,” the man says, giving me that gorgeous smile again.
“If you're trying to pick up ladies by carrying the cute dog around, I think that’s a good tactic,” I state.
“Oh? Did it get your attention?”
“Definitely.”
The two of us suddenly get locked into a sexy staring contest that I never want to pull out of unless it’s to let him go down on me, because I’m dying for someone
who looks like him to be good at that. Brandon was terrible, and Eric would've come in his pants just from thinking about it.
The handsome customer smiles first, and my smile follows, and it suddenly feels like Missy isn't even in the room. In fact, it’s like the entire building is empty and there's no one but myself and the man whose name I haven't even asked for yet.
“Okay, she's all set,” I hear my mother call from behind the curtain, just before emerging holding the gorgeous golden puppy. Now that she's free of the caked on mud, Coco is even cuter.
“Oh, you're good at your job. She looks great.” The dog’s owner gets up and meets my mother at the register, where he pays for the shampoo and the trim my mother gave Coco. He pays with his credit card, and as he's signing his receipt, he glances up at me and smiles again. I smile back, and am pleasantly surprised when he speaks up.
“So, I know this is a little forward,” he says, spiking my excitement. “But, what are the chances I can get your number? I was kind of wondering if maybe we could have dinner sometime.”
“You absolutely can have my number, and I would love dinner,” I reply, my voice raising an octave. I write my number down on the back of one of our business cards and hand it to him.
“Thanks. I’ll give you a call soon,” he says.
“Before you call, you should probably tell me your name.”
We both laugh together. “Oh, right. It’s Scott. Scott Banner,” he says, giving us one last jaw-dropping smile before picking up Coco and heading towards the door. “I’ve got to go, but we’ll talk soon.”
“Looking forward to it,” I answer as he walks out.
“Well, look at you,” Missy says as she comes over to give me a hug like I just won the lottery.
“Yes, look at you,” my mother adds, but her voice is less excited. “Looking to replace Brandon so soon?”
“What? No, of course not,” I answer truthfully. I’m not interested in replacing Brandon with another committed relationship. This isn't about that at all.
“No?”
“No. I pretty much just want to sleep with him,” I say, making sure to add a giggle on the end to throw my mother off the scent of my truth.
“Oh, Tessa,” Judy replies, basically clutching her invisible pearls. “I encourage you dating again, but I certainly don't encourage being promiscuous. That's very unladylike.”
Missy and I laugh together, because if only my mother knew just how unladylike I’ve already been, and how I have no plans to stop.
Chapter Twenty-Two
~ Tessa ~
Scott gave himself a check mark in the “good” column when he called me the day after we met at the animal clinic. I was actually sitting at my desk in the back when my cell rang, and the second I spoke his name, Missy came running from the front to listen in. She smiled like a proud mother as she listened to me giggle and accept Scott’s invitation to have dinner at his place. I thought it was a little fast to want to have dinner at his house on the first date, but Missy thought it was sweet that Scott wanted to cook for me right from the jump. When I got to his apartment in Smyrna, I realized why he wanted to cook.
“Steak and Stilton bruschetta,” Scott announces once the meal is done and he presents it to me like a gameshow host. While he was cooking, I wasn’t allowed to see what he was doing. He wanted to surprise me, and when I finally see the meal, I really am surprised.
“Oh wow, that looks great,” I tell him as I lean forward and look at each layer of the little steak sandwiches he prepared. Scott has stacked sliced sirloin steak on top of ciabatta bread, and combined it with watercress, Dijon mustard, Stilton, and a few seasonings. It looks fantastic.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Scott replies, smiling proudly.
“You’re welcome. I’m impressed. It’s not every day you meet somebody who can throw together something like this. I assume you're a cook?”
“You assume correctly. I’m a sous-chef here in Smyrna. Been doing it for years. I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will. Let’s get to it.”
Scott brings our plates over to the table in his living room and sets them down next to the glasses of red wine that he’d placed there earlier.
Scott’s place is nice, albeit a little small for a sous-chef making sous-chef money. Seeing as how he lives alone, I suppose it’s fitting. The living room and dining room are so close together it’s hard to see where each begins and ends, and the kitchen is right behind the dining area. All the appliances are top of the line, however, and the kitchen floor is black and gray tile with a dark gray grout. I can't see the bedrooms from here, but I’d imagine they’re small and fancy as well. The dining room table is round and made of thick, dark wood. It seems to be made for two, and when we sit we’re close together.
The first few minutes are quiet. The fact that we’re perfect strangers makes things a little awkward, but as the food is eaten and the wine is consumed, we learn to navigate through how foreign we are to each other.
“So, how long have you worked at Milton Animal Clinic?” Scott asks to kick off the evening’s conversation.
“Since I was a teenager,” I answer. “It was my first job and I’m still there. My parents own it, and I’m their accountant.”
“Oh, okay. I get that. What’s it like working with your parents?” Scott asks as he chomps down on a piece of steak.
“It’s like being confined to hell every waking minute I’m there,” I reply in all seriousness. Scott laughs, but I sip my wine, because it’s only funny to people who don’t have to experience it.
“I bet it is,” Scott says, still chuckling to himself. “I couldn’t imagine working with anyone in my family. It’s hard enough working with people who aren’t blood. Adding family into business tends to get ugly. But, if it’s that bad, why not work somewhere else?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s because I’ve always worked there, even before I finished my degree. Never really gave it a second thought. Maybe you're right, though. It’s not like I don’t have other options.”
“That’s right,” Scott agrees. “You can be an accountant anywhere. Plenty of businesses need good bookkeepers and such, and I bet those places don’t come with the added headache of working with your parents. I mean, we don’t know each other or anything, but I guess it’s just something to think about.”
“And I definitely will think about it. For right now, I’ll just keep thinking about how good this food is. My compliments to the chef.”
“Sous-chef.”
“You know what I mean. Anyway, so how long have you been a chef?”
“Sous-chef,” Scott says, his voice suddenly sharper this time around. “Anyway, it’s the only job I've ever had. I love it too much to do anything else. I’m thirty-three years old, and I imagine I’ll be cooking my entire life. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“Because you're passionate about what you do,” I answer. “I’m not sure if I can say that about my job. It’s just what I do. I’m not necessarily passionate about it, I just do it. You’re one of the lucky ones who actually loves their work. I think there's a saying about not having to work a day in your life if you love what you do.”
“Yeah, it’s something like that,” Scott says behind a chuckle. “I suppose I am lucky. I’m also lucky that my dog got so dirty, too.”
I swallow a bit of wine as I furrow my brow. “Yeah, why’s that?”
“Because I ended up meeting you,” Scott answers, smiling. “I was excited when you walked over and started talking to me. The whole time I was sitting there, I kept thinking about how gorgeous and sexy you were. I’m too shy to initiate conversation out of thin air, though. I never know the right thing to say, so I was glad you spoke first.”
I take another bite of the delicious steak while I try to gather my thoughts. The last time I had a date, I was more honest than I’d ever been. I told Eric exactly how I felt
about why we were at my apartment, and I got out of it what I was hoping to. Well, not exactly, but you get my drift.
Here I am now with another guy in front of me, and I’m not sure how to go about telling him I’m not looking to be his future wife. All I want is companionship for the night, or if he’s good, a few hookups every now and then. When a woman expresses feelings like that, there's so much judgement that comes with it, I’m hesitant to even go there.
I've lived my life inside of a box, and with Eric, I was able to break free from it. Each situation is different, however, so they each take special consideration. At the end of the day, the ultimate goal is to make sure I don’t end up back inside that box. I refuse to be caged again, so that means I need to keep going. Just like Dr. Colson said, I’ll be judged either way, so I may as well get what I want.
“Okay, I have a confession to make, because I don’t want to give you the wrong impression,” I begin, already feeling the shame I’m used to feeling from all the years of being talked down to by my mother. “Umm, I really appreciate you cooking for me and being so sweet. I’ve had a great time so far, and I think we get along, but…”
“Great,” Scott says, cutting me off. “You’re not looking for a boyfriend, right? You’re just looking for a friend, and I’m already being shoved into the friend zone.”
Dr. Colson’s words about how women are judged for every decision we make comes roaring back to me, and I have to take a beat to regain my footing.
“No. That’s not it at all,” I answer. “It’s the opposite in fact. I just got out of a relationship, and I’m not looking for anything serious. I just don’t want you to think that this is the start of some fairytale where we end up living happily ever after. That’s just not what I’m looking for right now.”
“I see. That’s interesting. So, what are you looking for?”
“I’m learning about myself these days. You know? Self cleansing. Taking time out for me, and all that feel-good stuff people say. I’m on a journey of self-discovery of sorts, and on this journey, I intend to learn about what I like and what type of guy I’m looking for. I’m fairly inexperienced, so I’m taking my time to experience new things.”
