Batteries Not Included: A Romantic Comedy

by Christa Lynn

“Good, are you still wet?”

  Oh. My. God. I’m not sure how to answer that, so I set the phone down and ignore it. Two more dings later and I’m reaching for my phone, damn him.

  “You were so wet, I could smell you.”

  “Sweet and musky, I could almost taste you.”

  “Shelby? Are you there?”

  My pussy tingles at his words, but I have none back for him. I’ve never sexted before in my life, and it feels a bit immature. But I fear that if I don’t respond, he’ll be knocking on my door.

  “Yes, I’m here.” But I get no response to my message. I lie there and read and re-read his texts, and I realize that yes, I am still wet. Good God, am I wet.

  Resigned to the fact that he’s now gone, I slide my hand up my t-shirt and graze the side of my breast before rolling my nipples through my fingers. I remember the feel of his mouth on my toe, his tongue swirling around the tip. How soft his lips were against mine, and how the interruption of his cell phone ended what might have been a big mistake. But I can’t help the way my body responds to his. I slide my hands down my stomach and into my panties, feeling the heat that flows.

  I slowly drag my fingers through my folds and my body tenses at the sensations. I picture his face, those lips … lowering between my legs as he grabs my thighs and pulls my pussy to his face. As my fingers skitter over my sex, I feel that familiar tug low in my stomach. I push a finger deep inside myself and stroke in and out, the wetness is like opening a floodgate.

  As I feel headed over the edge, I grab BOB and turn him on, the high vibrations echoing throughout the room. I keep away from my clit in the beginning because I want to draw this out. But as I push the hot pink toy into me, my cell rings. Not a text, but a full out ring.

  I debate ignoring it, but I can’t help but think it’s Nash, of hoping it’s Nash. I glance at the phone, and sure enough, it is. With a heavy breath, I swipe to answer, but I don’t say anything … I can’t, I’m too close to coming that I just listen.

  “That’s my girl,” he groans into the phone. “Play with your nipples while you fuck your luscious pussy.”

  A low moan escapes my lips as I do what he says and pluck my nipple while my wrist works the vibe. Just the sound of his voice has my pussy on fire, just like he said earlier.

  “I can hear how wet you are. Is all that for me?”

  “Yes,” I groan.

  “Good, now put the vibe on your clit, and come for me.” I don’t want this to end just yet, but I need a release, so I do what he says, the sound of the vibe reverberating through the phone.

  “God, girl, my cock is so hard thinking about how you must look right now.” He breathes through the phone. His breaths are short, and as it hitches, I feel my body thrust over the threshold. My pussy spasms, and I choke out a moan as my orgasm takes over.

  “Oh, God,” I scream as my back arches, and I drop the phone, unable to hold onto it any longer. As I moan through the orgasm, I hear him grunt my name, his own orgasm taking over.

  I lie here silently and try and catch my breath, but I hear my name through the phone.

  “Shelby?”

  Oh, God, I can’t believe I just had phone sex. Mortified, I pick up my phone and try to act like my brain isn’t in a frenzy.

  “Shelby, are you there?”

  I pick up the phone and put it to my ear. “I’m here,” I say, my voice sounding weak and tired.

  “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard,” he murmurs.

  “Mmm hmm,” I sigh, but the sound of the radio behind reminds me he’s at work. Fuck, I hope the other guys didn’t hear us.

  “I gotta go,” he whispers. “When can I see you?”

  I mumble something incoherent as I’m still trying to calm my body. It wants more, something else that I can’t put my finger on. Well, I could put my finger on it, but my clit is so sensitive that I’d probably come again, and I’m not sure I can handle that. I hear him chuckle on the other end. “I’ll call you this week. Sleep well, Shelby.”

  “Goodnight,” I croak out before the line goes silent. I set the phone on the table and roll over, my body sated and my mind full of unsureness, but I fall asleep as my BOB hits the floor on a thunk.

  Chapter 8

  I groan as the sun shines through the crack in the curtains, right into my eyes. I crack one eye open and glanced at the clock and see it’s ten o’clock. “Damn it, I slept all morning.”

  I toss the covers back and sit up, rubbing my face and eyes, and look around the room as if I don’t know where I am. I stand up and take a step toward the bathroom and step on something cold and hard, my ankle almost twisting. I look down and see my trusty pink vibrator alone and lonely on the floor, and then last night comes racing back to me. I sit back down on the bed and lean over, picking up the toy and staring at it. I thought maybe I dreamed last night, but seeing Frank on the floor hits me upside the head.

  “Fuck me, I had phone sex. With the hot fireman. Oh, God, I’ll never be able to face him again. I need to move away, change my name and enter the witness protection program. What in the Hell were you thinking?” I ask myself as I walk into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. “You were thinking with your lady dick, not your head, silly girl.”

  My blue eyes are bright, and my skin is flushed, something I haven’t seen lately. But I know inside, I can’t do that again. I splash cold water on my face and brush my teeth before I go to the kitchen for coffee. I reach for the canister and lift it up, though the top isn’t on tightly and the canister goes flying, as does the coffee. I stand and stare at the mess that is now my kitchen and laugh, uncontrollably. As the tears of laughter stream down my face, it turns to an honest, ugly cry.

  “I can’t do anything right,” I cry as I sit down on the kitchen floor, brush the tears from my face, and start to scoop up coffee grounds that are now sticking to my wet hands. “Ugh,” I grunt, standing up and brushing my hands off on my bare legs.

  I grab the vacuum and cry through the noise as the vacuum sucks the coffee grounds into the bag. Then a loud shrill sound comes from the machine as smoke billows from underneath it. I stand and stare at it, unable to move until I see small flames licking out from underneath it. “Fuck my life,” I groan as I yank the plug from the wall, pulling the outlet cover with it and leaving a small hole in the wall. “Good fucking grief!” I yell as I drop the cord, the solid plug landing on my injured foot. “Fuck!” I scream, jumping up and down holding my foot as I watch the scab reopen and a small drop of blood escape. “That’s it, I need a padded room and a fucking straight jacket,” I cry as I limp to the bathroom for the peroxide and a Band-Aid. I sit down on the toilet and rest my foot on the side of the tub as I clean the wound and stick the Band-Aid on it, a crimson dot appearing on the pad.

  I decide at that second I’m not leaving this house. Not today … Not this week. Michelle can handle the presentation without me, and I’m going to lock myself away for a few days. No phone, either, I’m turning it off. I power my phone down and tip toe back into the living room where I flop on the sofa and turn the TV on, only all I see is fucking diagonal lines, blinking and flashing. Then a pop from behind it and the whole thing goes dead. “Really? First the vacuum and now the TV? I can’t win for losing,” I groan as I lie down on the sofa and pull the blanket over me.

  Maybe I’ll go back to sleep, wake up, and try this again. I’ve been up for all of twenty minutes, and I need a do-over already. Hell, I need a do-over for this whole week. It’s like my life is trying to tell me something, though I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is. It all started at the bar the other night with Sarah … and Nash. Nash is the one that’s crashed my life, and not in a good way. I knew I should have stayed away from him, but no, I gotta go and get myself off to his voice on the other end of the phone. “What is wrong with me?” I ask as I cry myself back to sleep, my foot throbbing and the condo smelling like burnt wires and coffee.

  A loud knocking wakes me up, and
I sit up, focusing on my surroundings. The TV is still on, though it’s nothing but static now so I grab the remote to turn it off, it does nothing. So, I get up and unplug it, careful not to pull that outlet out of the wall too. Then the knocking begins again. I look at the door and see the door knob jiggling, but I make no move to open it. I just want to be alone, and if I open that door, my self-induced pity party will be over.

  I feel like a zombie, and the apocalypse has started, and I’m the only one left with a brain. Only my brain has malfunctioned, and I don’t know how to fix it. Nothing on my body works like it’s supposed to, except for my vag, and that’s another story I don’t want to talk about right now.

  “Shelby?” I hear Sarah’s voice through the door. I debate not opening it, but I know if I don’t she’ll call Nash, and then I’ll really be in trouble. I unlock the deadbolt but don’t remove the chain so she can’t come blasting in here.

  “Hey,” I say as I peek through the crack in the door.

  “Hey, you look …”

  “Thanks, see ya,” I say as I close the door. I’m not in the mood for her to tell me what a hot mess I am, and now that she knows I’m okay, she’ll go away.

  “Shelby, open the door!” Or maybe not. I open it again the same way as before. “You gonna let me in?”

  “No,” I say. Short and sweet.

  “Oh, come on, you can’t still be mad about yesterday.”

  “Mad? Oh, I’m not mad, just in no mood today.”

  “What happened?” she asks, pushing the door but quickly realizing that the chain is still latched. “You’re really not going to let me in?”

  “No, Sarah, I really just want to be alone today. Can you respect that?”

  “Hell no, now let me in and tell me what’s going on.” I see her eyes squint at me and her hands on her hips.

  “No now, go home. I'm all right.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “Really, I’m fine. Look … I just … need a break, okay? I need to stay inside, wallow in my own self-pity and get it out of my system before I need to go back to work. I’ll call you later,” I say as I close the door.

  “Shelby!”

  “Go home, Sarah,” I say as I latch the deadbolt and walk away from the door. I finally hear her drive away, her tires squealing on the pavement. She’ll be back, and she won’t be alone this time, so I need to figure out where to go so I can avoid her … and Nash.

  Then I remember, my mom’s place on Fripp Island is empty, and I have a key. She lives in Tampa now but kept her house on the island and actually wanted me to live there, but it was just too far away from my office. I guess I could move the office, but Fripp is a bit over two hours away. I’m not sure even Sarah knows about the place, so I throw a bag together and slip on my flip-flops and lock up, sneaking to my rental car.

  My body doesn’t relax until I’m an hour or so down Highway 17 and I’m sure I’m not being followed. My eyes keep hitting the rear view, and with no one behind me, I think I’m safe. Am I acting like an immature fool? Probably, but I can’t help it. The last week has just about killed me, and I need a break from it all. I reach into my purse and pull out my cell, turning it on and listening to the insistent dinging from message to message as they load. I toss it onto the passenger seat and crank the tunes up, JT’s “Can’t Stop the Feeling” blares out of the speakers as I careen down the highway.

  I’m bouncing and dancing and finally relaxing a little when the blue lights in my rearview mirror catch my eye. “Fuck,” I say as I put my signal on and move over into the right lane. But low and behold, the cop flies right past me and grabs the car that just passed me in the right lane. My heart is racing, and I feel relieved as I watch him pull the other guy over.

  “Whew!” I say that was too close for comfort, and I start to wonder if my luck isn’t changing now that I’m out of Charleston. I slow my speed and turn down the radio and pay more attention to my surroundings. All I need is a speeding ticket, and until my heart stops racing at the close call … the speed limit it is.

  But people zoom past me, and I watch at each divider to make sure the coast is clear. I set the cruise control at just over the speed limit and bide my time, finally making the right turn onto the Sea Island Parkway. I immediately feel my body relax as I travel through Hunting Island State Park and cross the bridge onto Fripp Island. I make a pit stop for some groceries and then finally get to the driveway of my mother’s ocean-front house and take a deep breath. Frankly, I have no idea why she’d trade this in for Tampa, but whatever floats her boat. And, it’s Phil that’s floating her boat right now. For now, I’ll enjoy having the house to myself.

  I turn under the tall palm trees that seem to be a foot taller now than the last time I was there, and pull under the carport and open the door. The salty sea air assaults me, and I inhale the freshness. Kids are riding their bikes down Tarpon Ave and the parents following close behind, drinking beer and laughing.

  Fripp is so laid back that I start to really wonder if I should take my mother up on her offer and move here. Since it’s only me and Michelle, I can run the office where I want to. I set the bags on the front porch and unlock the house, the heat overwhelming me. I guess Mom didn’t leave the A/C on. I set the bags down and flip the lights on, glad that the electricity is still on. I cut the air on and open the windows to let the stagnant air out and the fresh air in, then step out onto the back porch overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

  The sun is high in the sky, so I put the groceries away and grab my suitcase, pulling out my bikini and throwing it on. Maybe a little vitamin D will do me some good. I cover the cut on my foot so as to not get sand in it, grab a chair and a towel, and make my way down the pier to the beach. The tide is high, and the waves are crashing against the beach, and I immediately feel at peace. Something about the beach does that to me unless I’m with Sarah with vibrating panties on. I have to laugh at that now; I know she’s only trying to help, but she needs to back off a little.

  I toss my towel down and walk to the water’s edge, the salty water rushing up over my feet. I brace myself for the onslaught of burning when the salt water hits my cut, but thankfully I have it wrapped tight enough I don’t feel anything.

  After covering the chair with my towel, I sit down and lean my head back. The warm sun on my face calms me as the soft breeze cools me. Knowing no one knows where I also calm me and I close my eyes and take in the clean air around me.

  The loud calls of a flock of seagulls fly over me, and something wet hits my head. “Good God, I know one of you fuckers didn’t just shit on me,” I yell out to the passing cloud of birds. I pat my head, and sure enough, a huge blob of bird shit is right on the top of my head. “You better be glad I don’t have a BB gun!”

  I grab my things and walk through the sand back into the house to take a shower. As the water is warming, I realize I don’t have my phone. I wrap a towel around me and head to my car to get it, seeing I’ve missed eleven phone calls and sixteen text messages from Sarah and Nash. “Damn it, didn’t take them long to realize I was gone,” I say to myself as I head back inside and into the shower, washing the smelly bird shit out of my hair. Sarah and Nash can wait for me to respond.

  After my shower, I flop on the sofa and grab my phone, quickly shooting off a text to them both letting them know I’m okay and decided to go out of town for a few days. I thought this would be enough to satisfy them; but sadly, it was not.

  “Where the fuck are you?”

  “I went out of town.”

  “Thank God, I’ve been worried sick.”

  “Don’t be, I’m fine.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “I’m at mom’s house.”

  “You went to fucking Tampa?”

  “No, Fripp Island.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “NO! I need some time.”

  “Is this about Nash?”

  “It’s about a lot of things. I just need to be alone.”


  “Did you fuck him?”

  Then I respond to Nash’s texts, which are spilling into my phone after I reply and tell him I went out of town.

  “Where are you?”

  “I told you, I went out of town.”

  “Which is where?”

  “Can I not get some time alone?”

  “No, not after what you just said.”

  “Can I not get some time alone?”

  “No, not after what you just said.”

  What? That’s when I scroll back and realize that I sent a text to him, that was meant for Sarah’s eyes only, and my heart drops into my stomach.

  “Oh God, I just sent a text meant for you to Nash.”

  “So, what did it say?”

  “I answered your question.”

  “Wait, what? The one where I asked you if you fucked him last night?”

  “Yeah, that one.” I groan out loud to the empty room.

  “And what was your answer?”

  “I said ‘no I didn’t fuck him, but I wanted to.’”

  All she replies with are that stupid emojis that are laughing with tears coming out of their eyes. “I think I need a new best friend,” I answer before tossing the phone to the end of the sofa, far enough away where I can’t type more stupid shit. I scrub my hands down my face and brush the stray tear away. What the fuck is going on with me? My luck has turned to shit, and I can’t catch a break. I feel like I’m in an episode of Hee Haw. Gloom, despair, and agony on me.

  My phone dings again, and I dread looking at it. It’s either going to be Sarah laughing some more, or Nash demanding to know where I am. I lie there quietly before a loud rumble from my stomach reminds me that I forgot to eat today. I shuffle into the kitchen and make myself a sandwich, grab a Coke, and head out onto the back porch to eat and watch the waves.

  My head is spinning after the conversations with Sarah and Nash, but I shake it off. I’ll deal with that later … much later, if ever. I think if I pretend it never happened, it will all go away. I know I’m fooling myself, but that’s the approach I’m taking right now. Out of sight, out of mind.