Ego Maniac

by Vi Keeland

  “Oh? How long will you be gone?”

  “Just the night. It’s a long story. But I’m flying down to pick up my son and flying back with him an hour later. Alexa is staying down there for another week, and I don’t want him flying alone.”

  “That’s nice. So you’ll have him for the week all to yourself then?”

  Without even thinking about it, I said, “Yeah. He’s gonna love you. He’s a real ladies’ man.”

  She smiled. “I’d love to stay tonight, and I can’t wait to meet your son.”

  I’d never introduced any woman to Beck before. But for some reason, I wanted Beck to meet Emerie. Maybe it was the best blowjob I’d had in my life making me not think clearly, but I got the feeling he was supposed to meet her.

  Emerie

  I woke up first. Even though I was generally the late riser, Drew was the one still sleeping at nearly seven-thirty in the morning. He lay on his stomach, the sheet tangled around his waist, leaving his taut ass on full display. Both of his arms were over his head, tucked under his pillow as he slept peacefully, facing my direction. He’d grown a five o’clock shadow and his hair was unruly—we’d only fallen asleep four hours ago—yet if it was possible, he looked even sexier than he had yesterday.

  Could he have grown sexier? Possibly, but it was more likely that I’d grown to appreciate him more, to like him more. It was probably good that Drew’s son was going to be with him for the next week. It wouldn’t be hard to grow attached quickly, and the last thing I needed was to jump from a man who wasn’t interested in me to a man who wasn’t interested in a relationship.

  My phone vibrated on the nightstand, so I reached over to grab it before it woke Drew up. After typing in my password, I found a new text had arrived.

  Baldwin: Casablanca tonight? I’ll bring Moroccan meatballs from Marrak on Fifty-Third.

  I sighed. This was our thing. We both loved renting movies and turning them into a theme for dinner. Back in college, we’d take turns picking out the movie, and the other would have to bring food to pair with it. I’d pick Sweet Home Alabama, and he’d bring southern fried chicken. He’d pick Shawshank Redemption, and I’d bring bologna sandwiches.

  Two weeks ago I would have jumped at a movie night with Baldwin, but now I felt conflicted for some reason. It wasn’t like Drew and I were really dating, or even if we were, that Baldwin had any interest in me other than friendship anyway. So why did it feel wrong to say yes? Maybe because I was lying naked in bed with one man, thinking about making plans with another. That was probably what wasn’t sitting right. I pushed the button on the side of my phone and decided later I’d give Baldwin’s invitation more thought before I responded.

  Since my bladder was calling, I decided to go to the bathroom and then make coffee before slipping out. I needed to get to my apartment for clean clothes and a quick shower before my nine o’clock appointment downstairs.

  When I was done, I left a note under an empty coffee mug on the kitchen counter and headed to the subway.

  Around the second stop, I realized I’d left my phone on Drew’s nightstand. At least I wouldn’t have far to go to get it when I got to work in a little while.

  The office phone was ringing when I walked in with a few minutes to spare before my appointment arrived. I reached over the reception desk and grabbed it.

  “Drew Jagger’s office. How may I help you?”

  “I need to speak to Drew.” I’d only heard Alexa’s voice once, but I knew it was her. Not too many of his clients had a southern accent and an attitude.

  Over-the-top sweetness oozed from my voice. “May I say who’s calling?”

  “No, you may not.”

  Bitch.

  I glanced over the reception desk at the phone and saw that Drew’s office line was red. He was already on the phone.

  I smiled as I got back on the line. “Mr. Jagger isn’t available right now. Would you like to leave a message?”

  She huffed. “Tell him to call Alexa.” Then she hung up in my ear.

  I heard Drew talking as I passed his office, so I wrote the message on my message pad and ripped off the little slip to leave on his desk before my appointment arrived. But when I went back to his office, he was hanging up the phone.

  “Good morning.” I smiled as I walked to him. “I just took a message while you were on the other line.”

  Drew leaned back in his chair with an impassive look. “I took a message for you, too.”

  “Oh?”

  He slid my cell phone to the edge of his desk. “I thought it might be you, calling to see if you left your phone at my place, so I answered it.”

  There were only two people who would call me early in the morning. Since Drew was acting strangely, I figured it wasn’t my mother.

  “Who was it?”

  The muscle in Drew’s jaw flexed. “Baldwin. He wanted to know if he should order the Moroccan meatballs for tonight.”

  Shit. This feels even weirder than it did this morning. I sensed the need to explain.

  “He texted this morning and asked if I wanted to rent a movie and have some dinner. I like to match food to the theme of the movie. I hadn’t responded yet.”

  Drew’s face was unreadable. “Well, he’s waiting for your answer.”

  We stared at each other, my mind jumping all over the place, trying to figure out what Drew expected me to say or do. Luckily, the front door buzzed. I looked down at my watch, relieved that my morning appointment was a few minutes early.

  Drew stood. “Is that for you?”

  “I think so. I have a nine o’clock session. I’ll go let them in.”

  “I’ll get it. I have a conference call, so my door will be shut, but I don’t like people to think you’re alone in here.”

  He handed me my cell phone as he walked past. “You don’t want to keep Professor Peckerhead waiting.”

  Ironically, the problem with the couple that had just left my office was they didn’t say what was really on their minds. They weren’t open with each other. Lauren wanted more oral sex and was embarrassed to ask for it. Her fiancé, Tim, wanted her to initiate sex more often. While Drew and I had yet to encounter any problems in the bedroom, I had no idea what he wanted from me. Here I was, counseling people that the key to any type of successful relationship is communication, yet I was hiding from Drew in my office to avoid finishing the conversation I knew wasn’t done.

  I sat at my desk for another half hour, feeling frustrated and angry with myself. Not to mention, Drew was the type of man who said exactly what was on his mind, so why wasn’t he telling me how he felt about my having dinner with Baldwin? And why was I so hung up on what Drew thought if we were just fucking?

  The longer I sat at my desk, the longer I stewed. I needed some clarification on what was happening between us. If I didn’t get it before he left this afternoon, it was going to fester. So I decided to take the advice I was constantly dishing out. And it was better to get it over with while I was annoyed.

  Standing, I took a deep breath and marched into Drew’s office. He was on the phone when I walked in.

  Taking one look at my face, he said, “Let me think about it. I’ll give you a call back next week, okay, Frank?”

  When he hung up the phone, he leaned back in his chair the same way he had this morning and nodded. “Emerie.”

  “Drew.”

  We stared at each other.

  When he said nothing, I rolled my eyes. “What are we doing?”

  “Right now? You’re standing in my office looking a little pissed off.”

  I squinted. “You know what I mean.”

  “Not sure that I do.”

  “Are we…” I waved my hand back and forth between us. “…just sleeping together?”

  “We spend most days together, share almost all of our meals together, and when it comes to sleeping—we don’t get much of that when we’re in bed together.”

  Drew looked amused. I wasn’t.

  “Are we
…doing those things together exclusively?”

  He stood and came around his desk. The playfulness was suddenly gone from his tone. “Are you asking me if it’s okay for you to fuck someone else?”

  “No!” Yes? No? Maybe? There wasn’t anyone else I wanted to be with. Oddly, the thought of sleeping with Baldwin wasn’t even appealing any longer. But I wanted to know if it would be weird if I spent time with another man.

  “So what are you asking me?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  Silence fell between us. I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he stared at me, his thumb rubbing at his bottom lip. After a minute, he pushed off his desk, and that thumb found its way to my chin and lifted.

  He spoke into my eyes. “I’m not planning on sleeping with anyone else. And I expect you won’t either. I thought we settled that in the bathtub yesterday.”

  My voice came out faint. “Okay.”

  “I take it this is about the message I gave you earlier?”

  I nodded.

  “You want to know what I think about you spending the night alone in your apartment having dinner and watching a movie with the putz?”

  I nodded again.

  “Alright.” He looked away, seeming to contemplate his answer for a moment, and then said, “I like you. I like the way you listen to people’s bullshit problems all day but still believe there’s a reason to work through things. I like that you’re up for anything—that you like staying in and watching old movies, or going out to a pool hall. I like the way your eyes light up when you talk about your parents. I really like the way it feels when I’m inside of you and the way you moan my name when you’re about to come. I like that you made me coffee before you left this morning, and I even like that you’re concerned what I’ll think about you having dinner with Professor Pansyass.”

  He paused. “I think all that should tell you that for me, there’s more here than just fucking. That being said, I’ll tell you straight out that I hate the thought of you snuggling up on the couch to watch a movie with some dickhead you’ve been in love with for three years. But I’m not going to ask you not to spend time with him. That’s a decision you need to make on your own, and I’ll deal with whatever you choose because I realize my trust issues come from a place that has nothing to do with you.”

  I swallowed. That was a lot to take in at once. And it was way more than I’d expected him to commit to. “Okay.”

  “We good? Because I have four hours to do eight hours worth of work before I hop on a plane so my lazy-as-shit ex-wife can complain about the traffic getting my son to the airport while I fly nine hundred miles to pick him up and then turn right back around and fly another nine hundred miles back home. And I need at least a half hour of those four hours freed up so I can fuck you bent over your desk. Because you might have made me coffee this morning, but you didn’t stay long enough for me to come inside of you, and I plan to remedy that before I head to the airport.”

  My head might have been spinning, but I knew one thing for sure. There was nothing I wanted more than for Drew to get his work done and make good on his plans.

  I pushed up on my tippy toes and kissed his lips. “Go. What are you standing here for? You have work to get done.”

  Drew

  “Look how long her legs are.”

  Screw biology; this boy was definitely my son. Beck was staring at a flight attendant with the longest stems I’d ever seen. She reached up to tuck some luggage in the overhead compartment above the seat in front of us and caught Beckett leaning into the aisle and staring.

  “What’s your name?” She smiled down at him.

  “Beckett Archer Jagger.”

  He’d said it so proudly, I didn’t have the heart to tell him it wasn’t normal to recite your first, middle, and last name to strangers. The flight attendant snapped the overheard bin closed and knelt down next to him.

  “Well, hello, Beckett Archer Jagger. I’m Danielle Marie Warren, and you’re adorable. How old are you, sweetie?”

  “I’m six-and-three-quarters.”

  “Six-and-three-quarters, huh? Well, I’m thirty-one-and-a-half.” She winked at me and continued talking to Beck. “Only I usually round down from thirty-one-and-a-half—to twenty-seven. Can I get you something to drink, six-and-three-quarter-year-old Beckett Archer Jagger? Maybe some juice?”

  He nodded. Then added, “You have legs like a giraffe.”

  “Beck,” I scolded.

  The flight attendant laughed. “It’s okay. I’ve gotten that before. When I was your age, the kids used to make fun of me for having long legs.” She pointed to her name badge, which read Danny. “My name is Danielle, but everyone calls me Danny for short. And when I was in elementary school, the boys used to call me Danny Long Legs. You know…” She wiggled her fingers. “…like the long-legged spider bugs? Daddy long legs.”

  Beckett chuckled. “My mom has a nickname for my dad.”

  “She does? I bet it’s something better than Daddy Long Legs.”

  I interrupted. “Not sure we want to repeat any of the nicknames Mommy uses for Daddy these days.” I looked at the flight attendant and explained, “Divorced.”

  She smiled and winked. “Well, how about I get you some juice before we take off? And something special for Daddy, too?”

  A few minutes later, she came back carrying apple juice in a plastic cup with a lid and straw and a glass with two fingers of clear liquid over ice.

  Passing them to us, she said, “We’re going to be delayed a bit waiting for some weather to pass. Hope you didn’t have plans for tonight.” She looked at Beck and teased, “You don’t have a date or anything, do you?”

  He scrunched up his face like she’d just told him he had to eat all of his broccoli and beets. Let’s keep it that way for a long time, son. I haven’t even figured out women yet. I’m far from ready to give you any advice.

  While neither Beckett nor I had any plans for tonight, Danny Long Legs’s comment had me wondering what plans Emerie had decided on for tonight. After our conversation this morning, she hadn’t mentioned anything else. It might have been because the only talking we had time to do this afternoon was me whispering into her ear while she was bent over her desk with her skirt pushed up twenty minutes before I had to leave. Come on my cock was a hell of a lot better than any more discussions about Professor Putz.

  But now it was eating at me. Was she sitting at home next to that douchebag she’d been pining over for more than three years? The asshole might act more refined than I did, but when it came down to it, we were both men, and Emerie was a beautiful woman. I’d seen the way he acted when he suspected something might be going on between the two of us. He became territorial—not jealous. Which told me a hell of a lot about how he thought. People are jealous when they want something someone else has. They’re territorial when they’re protecting something they already have. That fucker knew he’d had her all along.

  My gut told me he was avoiding getting involved with Emerie because he wanted to have a good time—fuck his way through the faculty and his students, avoiding any real relationships. And how, exactly, did I know this about the guy when I’d only met him a few times? Because I knew the face of that type of man. I’d looked him in the mirror every day for the last two years since my goddamned divorce.

  Beck had taken out his drawing pad and was drawing a giraffe. I laughed, thinking how often I doodled while on the phone. Nurture won over nature more often than not. I could totally see myself drawing a giraffe right now if that pencil had been in my hand. Although my giraffe would probably have had tits, because since I hit the age of ten, all of my doodles had pretty much incorporated tits in some way.

  While during my entire childhood everything had reminded me of tits, the last week everything reminded me of Emerie. An advertisement for bright red lipstick at the airport. Emerie’s bright red lips wrapped around my cock. The flight attendant mentioning that our plans might be ruined by the weather
delay. Emerie’s plans—was she snuggled on the couch with the putz? My son drawing a giraffe. If I drew a giraffe, it would have tits. Emerie’s tits are incredible. All the roads in my mind had been rerouted to one destination lately.

  I knocked back half of the drink in one gulp and dug my phone from my pocket.

  Drew: What did you wind up doing tonight?

  Then I waited for the buzz to tell me Emerie had responded. And waited.

  I was turning into a pussy. This was the third time I’d checked my cell phone this morning. Nothing. Twelve hours had passed.

  After making chocolate chip pancakes that were more chip than cake, I’d asked Beck what he wanted to do. His answer was always the same: ice skating. The boy was obsessed with hockey. So I bundled the little monster up in three layers, tied the laces of our skates together, and flung a pair over each shoulder before we took off.

  We made it to the lobby, and I told Beck I needed to make a quick pit stop in my office. Having still not heard from Emerie, I was starting to wonder if maybe I should worry instead of getting pissed off at what she could have been doing.

  Inside my office suite, faint music was playing. It was an instrumental of some sort, and my heart sped up knowing Emerie was just down the hall. I wasn’t sure if it was excitement or anger, but I heard the blood swishing through my ears as I got to her office.

  The door was half open, but she didn’t seem to have heard me come in, so I knocked, not wanting to scare her. Considering she jumped onto her chair, I’d say I didn’t succeed.

  Instinct had me raising my hands in surrender to her. Again. “It’s just me.”

  “You scared the shit out of me.”

  With that, Beck, who had been standing behind me, popped out from behind my legs.

  Emerie covered her mouth. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. My language.”

  Beck answered for me. “My dad says a lot worse.”

  I smiled and mussed his hair, but I needed to remember to have a conversation with him later about spilling my secrets.