by Roxie Ray
A tingle spread across my skin, a literal tingle like I’d just touched a small electric current. I froze in shock and horror as she continued to call me names in a low, angry voice.
“Asshole!” Kaylee whirled again and walked away.
My whole body felt strange as I continued my walk home. I couldn’t even begin to describe what it was. Like an extra awareness. I tried to push it away and ignore it, and only when I dug into the case, a nasty custody dispute, was I able to push it aside.
Until I lay down to go to sleep. My phone mocked me, calling to me that I could just turn on Kaylee’s website and give myself another healthy orgasm.
Her instructional video started playing on a loop in my head again. She was a loudmouth, as proven today in the street, but it was such a pretty mouth.
I had to let it go. Forget about it.
But the next thing I knew, I had my phone in hand and I’d pulled up her website. I had to know what the video looked like to go along with the commentary I’d heard.
I found it and played, discovering the flash of red I’d seen was a Mrs. Claus-type outfit. She had a curved toy she used to demonstrate where the G-spot was. Arousal flowed through my skin and down to my dick. I was enraptured by her, and I hated myself for it.
But my dick didn’t respond. I kept watching, giving it time to wake up and put on a show, but even though I was majorly aroused, and even though I began to stroke, my dick didn’t move at all. Not even a twitch.
Alarm filled my stomach. I sat up and stroked in earnest, and though if I closed my eyes, I would’ve thought for sure, one hundred percent, my dick would be hard, it wasn’t.
I grabbed my phone again and scrolled to Jace’s number, then tapped it to send him a text. What’s the pack doctor’s number?
This was new and totally alarming. I’d never had trouble getting or keeping an erection in my life, not one time. I never got whiskey-dick. I wasn’t sensitive to hot water.
Nothing stopped this thing.
I settled down to sleep. I’d call the pack doctor first thing in the morning. Maybe I had a virus. That was possible, I thought. Maybe. Hopefully. Or an antibiotic would do it.
As I started to relax and drift off to sleep, Kaylee’s voice blared in my mind. “I hope it never gets hard again!”
I sat upright in bed, panting hard when I realized what had happened.
She’d really cursed me. Kaylee had cursed me. But how? She wasn’t a witch!
Maybe I didn’t need the pack doctor. Maybe I needed Sammy.
But she’d probably just tell me I deserved it.
Moaning, I lay back and tried not to think about how much I wanted to wring Kaylee’s neck.
It was going to be a long night.
9
Kaylee
Something wasn’t right. I rolled over in bed and moaned. Oh, no. I was all stuffed up. My sinuses pounded right above my eyes and behind my nose. And my temples. Uuuugh.
Oh, no, wait. It wasn’t the rhythm of my blood making my sinuses pound. Someone was at the door.
I dragged over to the door and looked through the small window to find Wayne. I’d totally forgotten he’d said he had to come today instead of Sunday because of a scheduling conflict.
After unlocking the door, I shuffled back to bed as he let himself in. Grabbing my comforter, I wrapped it around myself and sat on the end of the bed. “Morning,” I mumbled.
Wayne stood in the doorway, arms full of bags, and stared at me. “You look like shit.”
“Tell me how you really feel about me, Wayne,” I said in a grumpy voice.
“Well, you’re sick, so get right back in bed. I’ve got a few extra minutes, I’m going to make you a soup that packs a lot of vitamins.” He moved from the doorway into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. “You’re lucky I shopped already. I’ll go get the extra stuff from my car.” He set the bags of prepared food he’d brought in with him on my kitchen island and turned toward the door again.
“No,” I said weakly. “You’ll have to shop again.”
“I’ll be fine. You need the soup.” He waved me off and disappeared. I leaned over and curled up on my side at the foot of the bed, all bundled in the comforter.
I didn’t get sick often, maybe once a year, but when I did, it hit me like a train, stayed about a week, then I was fine again for months. I just hoped I could rest long enough to be able to do a stream tonight. If I didn’t, I was going to lose the house, for sure.
No way I could stall another day past Monday. Asking for that paperwork had been the only thing that helped me. It’d been a solid week since I viewed the house. I was out of time.
Wayne came back with more bags. After he set them down on the table, he walked to the bed and grabbed my pillows, tucking one under my head and the rest all around me, then covered me up with my other blanket. “You just try to rest,” he said with a pat on my shoulder. “I’ll take care of the kitchen.”
“When are you just going to marry me?” I croaked and as I did, realized my throat was starting to hurt. “Stop playing games.”
He laughed. “You know we’d never work. You’re not ready to settle down.”
“You are?” I asked, burrowing deeper into my blankets.
He stopped in the act of pulling a head of cauliflower out of a bag. “Maybe? I think I am. I didn’t, but then I saw how my friends have taken to married life, and now I’m wondering what I might be missing.” He shrugged. “Most days I’d answer no, I’m not ready, but if the right woman came along, I’d be open to it.”
I understood that. I had a strict rule not to get emotionally involved with the men I dated, but I couldn’t help but think about what it might be like to have what Skye and Bri had.
My best friends had both found love in the last two years, and Skye’d had twins.
Oh, no. That reminded me. The twins’ first birthday party was tonight. No way I was going to go and take this mess to them.
I dozed off as I contemplated if it was worth getting up to get my phone now or if I should just wait. A small bang from the kitchen startled me awake a little while later.
Wayne was bent behind the island, picking up a pot lid. “Sorry,” he whispered with a sheepish look. “Dropped it.”
He stirred something in a pot on the stove, then went back to the island, where it looked like he was pressing fresh juice. He picked up an orange, confirming it. “You didn’t have to press my juice,” I said softly, probably too quiet for him to hear.
He looked up at me and smiled. “Hush and rest.”
I watched him move around the kitchen, putting more prepared meals in my freezer and stirring the soup, cutting more oranges for pressing. “Thank you,” I whispered.
He didn’t hear me that time, though he twitched. For a second I thought he had, but I’d spoken far too softly. There was no way.
“Okay,” Wayne said a while later, making me jerk awake. I hadn’t realized I’d dozed off.
“I left you the ingredients and instructions for some fresh smoothies. Drink them every morning, they’re great for colds. The soup is on the stove but turned off now. You can reheat it today in the microwave.” He hummed and looked around the kitchen, ticking off what all he’d done on his big fingers.
“Thank you,” I said, finally pushing myself to sit up.
“My pleasure. You’re probably my favorite client. I don’t like to see you feeling bad.” He pulled a glass of juice from the fridge and walked it over to me. “Drink this.”
I held the glass as Wayne walked out, and I thanked him two or three more times for taking such good care of me, then when he was gone, I sipped the juice and sighed as the cold liquid hit my throat. It felt amazing. Soothing.
I had a long stream scheduled for the afternoon, so I had to get to feeling at least somewhat better. I could fake it through then sleep all night.
As I let the smoothie mix up in my blender, as he’d suggested, I rifled through my medicine cabinet for painkil
lers and sinus stuff. I had to salvage the day. I’d try a little yoga as well. That might work out some of the tightness in my muscles.
When the smoothie was… well, smooth, I set the cup down by my yoga mat and turned on my laptop to my favorite online yoga instructor. I selected one of her low-key, beginner workouts, and went through it, determined to finish the session.
By the time it was over, I’d downed the smoothie and broken a sweat. I put the cup in the sink and stumbled into the shower but ended up curled up in the corner of the tub as the hot water beat over me. I didn’t have the energy to get up and actually wash, so I lay there until the water cooled, then dragged my ass out of the bathroom.
I just couldn’t do it. I knew I should’ve gone over and heated up some of the soup Wayne made, but my muscles were like rubber. Painful rubber. I couldn’t bear the thought of anything but my bed. I did manage to get into bed properly, so I was able to reach over and get my phone from underneath the blankets.
I had to cancel my stream. A few tears rolled out of the corners of my eyes. Thanks to a cold, a bad cold, but still, just a cold, I was going to lose the house of my dreams. Everything was ruined.
Using my phone’s browser, I logged onto my website and posted a quick message, explaining that I’d come down with an awful cold, along with a picture of me all bundled up in blankets. Hopefully, I was sufficiently pitiful to deter any of the naysayers. There were always some.
In a way of apology, I turned on some of my prerecorded video stashes. I kept a half-dozen videos on hand for moments such as this. At least they’d still bring in a bit of revenue and keep the subscribers happy, anyway.
I had one more message to send before I could sleep. I sent a quick text to Skye, apologizing because I’d be missing the twins’ birthday party. I hated to miss, but this was the worst I’d felt in… probably a year or so.
I was being selfish, asking Gazelle to wait. It meant prolonging her sale as well. Either way, as the selling agent, she’d get paid, but I was already delaying her paycheck by a solid week. It wasn’t cool of me.
I hated to give up. It went against everything in me to admit defeat. But I couldn’t draw this out longer than Monday. If I didn’t have a miracle happen between now and then, I’d tell her to let Porter buy the house.
What a shitty day.
As I drifted off to sleep, I tried to tell myself I’d buy a bigger, better house in a few months. Something else would come on the market that I’d love even more than the big white house. And by then I’d have a massive down payment saved.
But I couldn’t shake the melancholy. There would be no miracle this weekend.
I grabbed my phone one more time, and as I pressed the screen to text Gazelle and withdraw my bid, my heart cracked a little. Maybe I was being melodramatic, but it bothered me to give up. More than bothered me. It hurt.
Before I put my phone down, I double-checked my site to make sure everything had loaded properly and was shocked to find a ton of replies to my post.
I hadn’t realized I’d set it to email out to my entire following. Whoops.
My regulars had all posted get well soon messages, many of them sending gifts, which I could cash in for some extra money. Several of them sent close to the equivalent of twenty bucks with messages to order in some soup so I wouldn’t have to cook.
Their kindness overwhelmed me. If I’d just been some pussy they looked at on the computer, they never would’ve spent their hard-earned money to help me.
My own parents hadn’t given two shits about me or my well-being, yet virtual and complete strangers cared enough about me in their own way to try to help me.
I thanked them all for each comment and turned my phone off again. I couldn’t hold my eyes open another minute.
After a long nap, I awoke feeling like I’d been run over by a Mack truck. Achy, sweaty, and I didn’t want to even contemplate eating.
I lay in bed, trying to fall back to sleep, too exhausted to even turn on the TV when my phone rang.
Rolling over, I didn’t even pick up the phone or see who it was, just pressed the green circle, then the circle for the speakerphone. “‘Lo?” I croaked.
“Hey, are you okay? Skye told me you texted saying you’re sick, but then didn’t reply to her messages.” I barely heard Bri over all the noise in the background.
“I’ve just come down with a bad cold, but I’ll be okay.” I winced as the noise of the phone made my head pound harder.
“Sounds like you need a doctor,” she said. “But I can barely hear you. There’s a ton of people here.”
“I’ll go to the clinic if it gets too bad,” I called, trying to raise my voice. It hurt.
“Don’t make me go mama bear on you and pop over there.”
I laughed, clutching my throat as I did. “Thanks for caring about me.”
“Of course we do. Skye is right here and says she’ll come to go mama dragon on you if she has to.”
“Oh, she gets to be a dragon, huh?”
They both laughed in response. We said our goodbyes with them telling me to get lots of rest.
My friends were my family, too. I didn’t need parents when I had Skye and Bri.
I did as I was told, but first I rolled out of bed and shook a couple more pain relievers out of the bottle before bundling myself back up and going to sleep again.
When I woke again, I couldn’t figure out where I was or when it was. My head cleared slowly, and the source of my waking banged on the door again. Moaning, I forced myself upright and to the door. “Who is it?” I called, but no way they heard me. My throat wasn’t working right. It couldn’t be anybody important. I’d dumped the guys I’d been seeing casually, not that they would’ve come to check on me anyway.
“Porter,” he called through the door.
I opened it and glared at him. “What are you doing here?”
“Bri sent me. I was coming this way.”
I chuckled, but it hurt so I stopped immediately. I didn’t care if he came in or not. I turned to go back to bed, but I nearly fell over. Damn it. I was so lightheaded.
Porter put his arm around my waist. “Whoa, there. Don’t fall on me.”
It was real proof of how sick I was that I let him help me back to bed. I lay there and tried to make the room stop spinning.
Porter came back a few minutes later with a glass of juice. “I bet you haven’t been hydrating, have you?”
“Where’d you get that?” I asked. “I drank all I had earlier.”
“Bri had me stop by the store and get you a few things,” he said. “Including juice.”
He sighed, and I had a hard time interpreting his facial expression. He was either feeling down or he needed to poop.
He walked into the kitchen while I sipped the juice through a straw. “What are you doing?” I mumbled.
“Making you this soup, as I was instructed. I bought you some at the store, but I’ll put it in the fridge and heat this up on your stove.”
I didn’t have the energy to tell him I didn’t feel like eating it.
When he brought the warmed soup over, I looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you doing this?”
His eyebrows dropped and he pursed his lips. “Just take the kindness.”
It made me laugh. I moaned and rubbed my throat as I chuckled.
“You’re a bit of a brat, you know that?” he asked. He went back into the kitchen and came back with the juice carton to refill the glass.
I didn’t deny his accusation. I was a brat, and I was a self-made brat, which gave me a big fat pass.
He sat on the bed and watched me eat the entire bowl of soup. “I was told to stay until you were taken care of,” he said. “And I don’t argue with my future sister-in-law.”
By the time I finished, I could barely hold my eyes open, and my arms shook.
He took the bowl from me as I lay back and pulled the blanket up again. “Thanks,” I whispered. “Even though you’re kind of a dick about it.”<
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“You’re welcome, even though you’re a gold-digging brat,” he replied as he rinsed out the bowl in my sink.
I chuckled as I fell asleep, but then I dreamed. In my dream, he came back over and ran his fingers along my jawline, then brushed my hair out of my face.
When I woke, I had to pee something awful. I would’ve thought the whole encounter was a fever dream, except as I passed the kitchen island, I spotted the almost empty carton of orange juice.
It was all real. Except for maybe the face stroking.
10
Porter
After sticking the last label on the last folder, I sighed and looked at my office. It was mostly organized now, thanks to a lot of hard work.
The guy before me had apparently been a ridiculous slob. I was expected to take over his workload, which meant several cases being dumped in my lap all at once.
And none of them had the first inkling of organization. It had taken most of the week to get everything in order. I’d only just begun actually digging into the cases.
But Christmas was tomorrow, and the firm was closed until the day after New Year’s, so I wanted to get as much done as possible tonight.
One of those things that interviewers like to hear was how their candidates were hard workers. Unfortunately for me, it was true. I couldn’t stand the thought of all the disorganization, so I’d worked from sunup to sundown like my life depended on it to get to this point.
I’d kind of barely stopped to eat or interact with others. But once I had everything set up to my system, I’d be back to myself and less like the Grinch. And now that I was nearly done, I sucked in a big sigh of relief and continued reading the details about the last case a clerk had plopped on my desk.
