by Shayne Ford
Hands clap at the other end.
“Let me guess... Let me guess.”
“It’s not a fucking game,” I say, my fingers running across the keyboard.
“It’s Jack, the hot delivery man.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It’s the, um, hot... handyman? Driver? Personal Shopper? Oh, oh. I know. I know. It’s the hot, pool boy. Am I right?”
“Yes, it’s him,”I say as quietly as I can.
“Oh, he’s close,” she says, speaking softly as if he could hear her.
“You don’t have to whisper. He can’t hear you.”
“Okay... okay. I remember him. He’s really hot.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I murmur, my nose creasing with a smirk as he slides by me.
Giving me a lazy grin, he softly nods.
“Men’s magazine hot?”
“Yup.”
“Where did you find them, Senna?”
“It’s a trade secret.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What can I say? I like to employ people.”
She breathes out a chuckle.
“You mean hot males.”
“They’re, um... qualified, skilled men.”
“Yeah, yeah... Whatever.”
“I employ women as well. And you’re hot.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. And you shouldn’t let that boyfriend of yours tell you otherwise. ”
“Well... the housekeeper and me are the only women who work for you,” she says, ignoring my comment. “Everybody else is male. And hot as hell. Even the freaking lawyer and your accountant abide by this rule.”
“Happenstance.”
She laughs wholeheartedly.
“Let’s say I’m a visual person,” I say, grinning.
“All right, all right... I’d like to know what the formula is.”
“There is no formula. I just have a lucky hand.”
“Do you at least...?” she asks playfully.
My smile drops from my face.
Silence grows between us.
“Senna?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you ever...?”
“What?”
“You know...”
“Get to know them?”
“Yeah...”
“No. Not in that way,” I say, my mood instantly shifting.
She senses the change and stays quiet.
“Okay. Give me the rundown,” I say with a different voice.
She gets the cue fast and starts giving me the updates.
We go over the list of topics, and then I review her notes. I pick ten, move five to the ‘maybe’ pile, and slash the rest off the list.
“Sounds good,” I say. “Anything else?”
“Yes. There’s a hotel expense on the last statement. I was wondering if it was business related.”
“What hotel stay?” I ask, distracted.
“A week ago... I wasn’t sure what it was since it’s here in town... That’s why I wanted to double check with you.”
“Oh, that...” I pause, the memory coming back to me, flaring through my senses.
“No, it’s not business related. Anything else?”
“You have a dinner scheduled for tonight. At the Black Rose. Eight o’clock. Adele, Mark and... a question mark?”
“Shit. I forgot about that,” I say.
“The dinner or the question mark?”
“The fucking question mark.”
“What’s that?”
“A blind date.”
It’s moments like this when I hate my life, but once in a while, I have to play the part. Adele is my only friend from back home.
Adamant as she is, she didn’t want to let go of me despite everything that happened, even though everybody else did. My family included.
She is the only friend who had the guts not to throw me under the bus, despite the fact that she was–– still is, one of Evelyne’s best friends. How she has managed to keep in touch with both of us, when Evelyne and I can’t see eye to eye, is anyone’s guess.
The fact that Adele doesn’t gossip, take sides or pass judgment on other people, helps a lot. With her, what you see is what you get. In that regard, we are the same.
That doesn't mean she’s not different than me.
She is. A lot. And in every aspect of her life.
In fact, we couldn’t be more different even if we tried. We hold dear different values too. In that respect, she’s like my family. But unlike them, she doesn’t stick her nose in other people’s business, respecting choices different than her own.
These past years, she had to put up with harsh critiques coming from my family and hers. The fact that she stood her ground made me grateful and humble, leaving me no other choice but to keep in touch with her, although it wasn’t always easy.
She lives in a world different than mine.
Six years older than me, at almost thirty, she has her life pretty much figured out. She built a great career as a physician, and she’s engaged to a wonderful man.
To socialize me properly, once in a while she summons me to get together. In a way she tries to offer me a sample of a normal life, attempting to nurture me and bring out the woman I was supposed to be.
Proper, polished, and highly educated. A physician, like her. A woman with morals and high values.
Adele suggested the blind date. The mere thought of socializing with a stranger makes my skin crawl, but it’s the price I have to pay to meet Adele midway.
I check the time, and walk in the closet, expertly running my eyes over the racks. Gray, black, navy. All designer labels. Few of my old clothes. Relics from years ago.
My eyes drop to the garment bags. I pick one up and slip my fingers inside. Soft cream fabric brushes my fingertips.
Cream?
Oh... I remember. I wanted to try a new color, explore a different side of me. I peel off the garment bag, hold the dress in front me and glance in the mirror.
Hmm.
I could make it work. Admittedly, it looks good against my hair. I open a drawer, fumble inside and pull a set of cream lace lingerie. Perfect. I slip it on. The soft, delicate lace, makes my bronzed skin look darker.
I put on my dress and examine myself in the mirror.
It looks nothing like me.
It’s so... I don’t know.
Virginal?
“His name is Nick,” Adele says, giving me a swift once-over.
“You look great,” I say, putting a harsh stop to the ‘Nick’ conversation.
“Thank you. You look good, too.”
A navy, knee-length dress and a string of pearls, set off her delicate beauty. Her brown hair, perfectly trimmed at the edges, stops short of her shoulders. Her light-blue eyes sparkle, curious.
“How’s business?” she asks tentatively.
“Good,” I say curtly.
I never told her much about my business, and courteous, she never pressed for detailed information.
Her phone vibrates with a message, bringing a soft smile to her lips.
“He’ll be here momentarily,” she says.
I quickly realize I can’t get out of it. I may as well roll with it.
“Is Nick a physician as well?” I ask.
“He’s an engineer. An old friend of Mark’s. He recently moved down to Florida. He makes good money and has his own home. He’s not married,” she adds with the enthusiasm of someone scoring a good buy at the clearance rack.
Seemingly, Nick hits all the qualities she finds desirable in a man.
I say nothing as we exit the ladies room and cut our way back to the table.
The restaurant is full, a lot of tourists visiting the town this time of year. It’s cold up north, and the weather is perfect down here.
Drinks wait for us on the table. Mark, her fiancé, a tall man with a sturdy frame, and honest eyes, rises to his feet.
We take our seats.
“Nick is late. He’ll be her
e in about ten minutes,” he says.
Adele smiles to him endearingly.
“He texted me as well,” she says.
Mark glances at me briefly.
I grin politely, my mind cruising miles away.
The sad truth is, I couldn’t care less if Nick shows up or not, if he’s a male God or not, if he’s attached, or not, but I’m not going to be fussy about it.
They are good people and possible my only friends in the ‘normal’ world. They’re thoughtful, kind, and not damaged. And I bet Nick is a good guy, too.
I pause my inner ramblings, curl my fingers around my glass and take a sip.
The main course is already on the table.
We start to eat. Shortly after, we’re all engrossed in a conversation about the new healthcare law, the low reimbursement rates, the rising costs of raising kids and different ways of cooking pasta.
As I sip the second glass of wine, an elegant man saunters to our table. His eyes skim me discreetly, the smile glinting in his eyes suggesting that he likes what he sees.
Fairly tall, he has brown hair and green eyes, and he exudes a charm and a fascinating shyness that complement his good looks.
Adele makes the introductions.
Nick’s hands are soft like his words. He takes a seat next to me. Throughout the evening, I do my best not to encourage him more than I could. I’d hate to mislead him. He’s not the man for me. I know that for a fact. As much as I know, he’d be the perfect man for a kind, good woman.
Someone other than me.
Frankly, I’m surprised he’s still single.
He’s nothing but polite, courteous, and attentive, his good manners an unexpected bonus.
Adele was right. He is a catch. Too bad, he’s not my catch. Unless he has a basement full of rotten bodies or likes to swing naked, dangling from a chandelier, he could make someone very happy, but not me.
I catch him studying me a few times, his face flushed. He’s definitely a nice guy. For some reason, he seems to be intimidated by women in general, I guess, and me in particular.
As soon as we finish dinner, Adele and Mark invite us to their place. Halfway between my home and downtown, minutes away from the Hospital where she commutes to daily, their residence is part of a nice, well-off area with Mediterranean style, custom-made homes. Many, like theirs, have a lake view as well.
Despite the fact that I live not far from them, I never had them over to my place.
For practical reasons, if nothing else. It’s hard to explain a 1.5 million dollar home, at twenty-four, without a degree, and being single. So I keep my mouth shut, and my affairs private.
As the men get settled in the living room, clashing ideas in a political debate, Adele and I head for the kitchen.
It’s a beautiful, cozy space with wood cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and a large breakfast table. Potted plants sit on the counters.
“Nothing for me,” I say as she sets four cups on a serving platter.
“You should try it. That's why I insisted on skipping the dessert at the restaurant. This is by far the best ice cream I’ve ever had. And it’s not only a figure of speech.”
“Okay. I guess I’ll taste it. Just a little.”
“It’s not as if you need a diet,” she says, her gaze drifting down on me.
“No, no. It’s not about dieting. I get a sugar rush, and then I can’t sleep. I’m like a seven year old.”
“I see. So what do you think?” she asks as she scoops ice cream from three different containers, all bearing the label of an Italian gourmet store.
Tilting her chin up, she motions to the living room.
“I think he’s a great guy,” I say. “Like Mark. And he needs a good, kind woman like you,” I add, grinning.
“You’re flattering me.”
“It’s the truth.”
“I think he likes you.”
“He probably does,” I murmur, rather saddened.
“He would treat you really nicely,” she says, beginning to style the food.
“Let me do it,” I say.
I push up to my feet and nudge her to the side.
“Do you have any cream?” I ask.
“Yes.”
She spins to the refrigerator and pulls out a container.
I pour the heavy cream into a bowl, add icing sugar and turn the hand mixer on.
Moments later, we lick soft peaks from our fingers.
“I know,” I say.
Her eyes get drawn to me, her eyebrows tilting up in a questioning look.
“I know he’ll treat me nicely. That’s not the problem,” I say.
Well, it is kind of a problem, but I can’t admit to that, without looking like a lunatic.
“Then what is it?”
“I’m not the kind of woman that he needs.”
I scoop out dollops of soft, glistening, whipped cream, let them slide off the spoon and watch them plop on top of the ice cream. I grate a square of dark chocolate, the brown curls landing on the luscious cream.
“Hmm... That looks delicious,” she mutters, her eyes gleaming with a smile.
She starts wiping the counter as I fish Maraschino cherries from a jar and drop one in each cup.
“Anyway, you know better, but men like Nick are rare. He could be your plus one at Isabel’s engagement party,” she says.
“Yeah, he could, but I’m not even sure I want to go there anyway.”
She looks at me, baffled.
“It’s Isabel for God’s Sake. She’s been bugging me since they set a date for the party. She wants you there. I know that for a fact. Admittedly, more than anyone else, but you can’t let her down. She’s the only one who doesn't hold a grudge against you.”
“That’s because she was too young. Anyway, I don’t know. It’s not so much about her as it is about them.”
“It’s been five years. In time, people forget. It can’t be that bad after all this time.”
“Yes, it can.”
I smile bitterly as I slip into a pensive mood. Memories from a distant past come rushing to me. We used to do so many things together. Adele Martin and us, the three Lloyd sisters.
“I’ll think about it, but I’m not going to involve Nick.”
“He’s probably going to get an invitation anyway, so you might as well snatch him before someone else does. It will be easier to face the family. Trust me.”
3
SENNA
I suggested the dim lights. I thought it would kill his jitters. Between sinful spoons of ice cream, he made me the proposal.
A trial fuck.
He used different words. No strings attached. A one night stand. Okay. Whatever.
I spilled out my conditions. He knows I can’t give him what he wants, but he said yes. Yes to everything. I hope he doesn’t change his mind. Because I won’t.
I can’t do relationships.
I’ve never been in one, and I’m not going to start now. I’ve also never fucked a regular guy. This is a first for me, and honestly, I don’t expect much. Not for me, anyway, and that has nothing to do with him.
It’s solely because of me, but he’ll never know. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, so I’ll keep everything short and on point. I don’t need lies or romance. I don’t need foreplay or a serenade. And even if we fuck, that doesn’t mean he’d be my date at Isabel’s engagement party. If things turn out half decent, I’ll make sure he is a satisfied man when I leave his place.
The door swings open and Nick enters the room holding two glasses half filled.
His house is spacious and brand new.
It’s a subdivision I’m familiar with. I’ve bought a couple of properties here. His place is decluttered and tastefully decorated like a home staged for sale.
The living room is vast and opens to the kitchen, the layout quite popular with the residents of this area. The furniture has an elegant espresso finish, a nice contrast to the gray marble.
Large glass doors st
ream the view of the well-lit pool and the manicured backyard.
He edges closer to me, his eyes sparkling with mixed emotions. I detect excitement and a lot of nerves. He must be close to Mark’s age. Somewhere in his early thirties.
The soft tremble of his fingers tells me not many women have slept in his bed. Even if they have, they must’ve been even more anxious than he is.
I drink wine as he brings the short glass of bourbon to his lips and takes a swig.
We’re both standing.
I spin, place my glass on the coffee table and turn to him.
“Do you...?” he murmurs.
I slide my finger to his lips.
He goes silent as I reach back to my zipper, pull it all the way down and shimmy out of my dress. His eyes stay locked with mine.
My lips curl into a slow smile as I work my way through the buttons of his shirt and shed it off his shoulders.
Brushing the silky hair dusting his chest, I lean into him and softly kiss him. The light of a smile flutters in his eyes. He takes a long, quiet breath. I’ve never seen a man so nervous.
Swiftly, I dip my eyes.
He's well built. I wouldn’t necessarily see him slamming weights in a gym, but I can envision him an outdoors enthusiast.
“Senna?”
“Shh.”
I nudge him to the couch.
He lowers himself, his gaze drifting below my chin. I let him study me before I set my knees on either side of him and sit on his lap.
His arms loop around me as I lower my mouth, cup his face and teasingly run the tip of my tongue across his lips.
His eyes flicker with surprise. Slowly, I roll my hips and grind against his groin, his shaft growing hard between my legs.
Smoothly, I flick my bra open and tear it off my shoulders.
He brings his hands to my chest, and cups my breasts, gently kneading them while I slide my crotch onto his erection, pushing my chest against his touch.
Tipping my face down, I slip my tongue between his lips.
His response comes quickly.
He tastes good, and he’s a skillful kisser. We explore each other for a few good moments, his body swiftly warming up.
Growing confident, he deepens his kiss, and our tongues start moving smoothly in a dance of lust.
“That’s good...” I purr, my body filled with icicles inside.
