Love Is In the Air Volume 1

by Susan Stoker

  I swallowed the swoonsation—yes, it was a made-up word—building in my throat. “How’s your night so far?”

  “Better now that I hear your voice.” He cleared his throat; perhaps he too swallowed a lump of swoonsation? “Tell me about your day.”

  We were supposed to refrain from sharing too many details about our jobs—thank you, Luv Bytes rules—so I proceeded lightly. “I have an unreachable client. I’ve sent a ton of emails, and all have gone unanswered.”

  “Have you tried a different approach? Maybe call the client? Sometimes the tone in an email can come across curt or blunt.”

  “That’s kind of what my boss suggested—try another approach.” I giggled.

  “God, I love your laugh.”

  I gulped, unsure of how to respond to that, so instead, I said, “So, how was your day?” and tried to gain composure over all the feels even a simple phone call gave me.

  “Just another day filled with meetings, and all I could think about was you.”

  Heat scurried down my spine and traveled to my center with a desire that struck me right between the legs. I mean, if my attraction toward everything about this man, his voice, his words, was so strong now, I could only imagine there’d be a colorful explosion of fireworks when we met. Damn this stupid app. It was supposed to be a failed match.

  “Tell me something very few people know about you.”

  I took a deep breath as embarrassment, or perhaps shame, warmed my cheeks. There was one thing nobody but my besties were privy to, something that would’ve likely shocked even my mother. But if I were going to end up with this guy, it had to be said—better now, rather than in person.

  Here we go. The ugly truth. “I’ve never…” I trailed off, words unable to bypass the sawdust in my throat.

  “You’ve never…what?”

  Eyes squeezed shut, I mentally counted backward—ten…nine…eight… And once I reached one, I blew out a ragged breath. “I’ve never had sex.”

  Boom. I said it. Now he had a reason to end this, ask for a refund. Deem our match a fail and initiate that money-back guarantee. I mean, who wanted a twenty-five-year-old virgin? No. One. This story was over and done. Luv Bytes’ claim would be successfully discredited.

  “Baby, you’re a virgin?” he murmured before a cloud of silence rained down on the moment. Maybe I should have just told him I’d never eaten at Taco Bell.

  “Yes,” I admitted, praying my bed would explode.

  “Damn, baby. That’s just about the sexiest thing anyone has ever shared with me.”

  This man never ceased to drive me wildly insane. Was he not bothered by the fact I’d never had sex? Didn’t care that if this thing—whatever the fuck it was—between us progressed, he’d more than likely be my first?

  “Have you”—he cleared his throat, my candid revelation no doubt a big-ass pill to swallow—“ever had an orgasm?”

  “I’ve given myself a few.”

  “A few?” He let out a guttural chuckle. “And what about the last time you gave yourself one, who did you imagine gave it to you?”

  Truth be told, he’d been top of mind when I got myself off, ever since my ears heard the sound of his gruff, sexy-as-all-hell voice.

  Cheeks on fire, I bit down on my lip, inciting the courage needed to say, “I imagined it was you.”

  He moaned, and I swear it was the hottest thing ever heard. “Why have you avoided sex?”

  I yanked the covers over my head as if shielding myself would save me further embarrassment. “I dunno, it’s not like I’m saving this stupid V-card for marriage. I want to have sex, finally experience what my best friends talk about all the freaking time. But I’ve never met anyone I trusted enough to go there with.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.” The one-word reply floated out in a whisper.

  “Let’s have an orgasm now. Together.”

  I swallowed, warmth wafting from my cheeks southbound to my center. “Over the phone?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I want to hear the sound of your voice when you come.”

  “It would be my first time having phone sex.”

  “Baby, I’d like to be your first now, then again after we finally meet in person, whenever you’re ready.”

  His voice was like butter, and there was no end to the fuckable way this man said things to me. “Phone sex now, please.”

  6

  Jameson

  Factcheckalphabetic96: Breaking news: I’d like you to do me on our first date.

  I choked back a laugh. The timing of her message couldn’t have been better. I was in a boring meeting with the marketing team to discuss their upcoming “Luv Bytes Wright” campaign and had just been asked how my match and I were getting on.

  I’d say we’re getting on pretty fucking well.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Wright?” Tanya, the marketing director, reached over and handed me a bottle of water.

  “I’m fine, thanks. A message from my Luv Bytes match caught me off guard—in a good way.”

  “So”—Tanya leaned back in her seat, brows arched upward—“is it safe to assume you two are getting on quite well then? Can we move forward with this campaign as planned?”

  Part of me didn’t want to speak so soon: brandishing overconfidence that might jinx what felt a lot like a dose of love brewing between me and Factcheckalphabetic96 was the last thing I needed. We were only a week away from meeting face to face. I didn’t want anything to ruin the chance of that going down with success.

  “I’ll give a formal approval a few days after I’ve had a chance to connect with my match in person,” I replied. “I’d like to be able to discuss it with her, make sure she’s okay with what that level of publicity might do to her personal life.”

  Back inside my office, I took a seat at my desk, then fired off a reply to Factcheckalphabetic96’s message.

  Me: You sure about that? We can take things slow, explore each other between-the-sheets once you’re more comfortable.

  Did I want to be deep inside her tight heat? Uh, hell yeah. Regardless, my first time with this woman needed to be as special as she had proved more and more to be.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: No need to take things slow. I want you. I’ll be ready, promise.

  Fuck. I bit down on my fist, cock hard from the idea of us tangled up in my sheets.

  Me: Okay…suppose we do it. Have you imagined where or how you’d like our first time to be?

  No harm in asking. If the chemistry we had in person was as explosive as what we’d shared over daily chats and voice calls, the possibility we’d end up in bed at first sight seemed beyond probable.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: To be honest, I’ve had this fantasy that our first time doesn’t even happen in bed.

  Me: Where does it all go down? The backseat of my limo? I chuckled at the thought.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: No, lol. In the kitchen. Then a shower together before we fall into bed for more.

  My cock jumped at the thought of having her in my kitchen, my shower, and my bed.

  Me: I’d like to make your fantasy come true.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: Then it’s settled. Once I stroll in—providing you like what you see—I’m all yours.

  God, this woman was more than a dream come true.

  Two days later, I woke up in a sweat as my heart raced, that looming sense of doubt kicking my ass.

  I sent off a message to Factcheckalphabet96, even though my bedside clock beamed 3 a.m. If she were asleep, she’d be able to reply sometime after she had woken up.

  Me: Wanna talk about our age difference? The 96 in your screen name tells me you’re twenty-five. No problems with me being ten years older?

  Nearly three weeks in, this should have already come up, and since it hadn’t, I figured better late than never. Suppose she had checked the wrong box when she answered the questionnaire? It happened before, and those few members had to go back to Luv Bytes, complete a new questionnaire, start the
process all over again. I set the phone back on the nightstand and willed myself to ignore the thoughts racing through my mind, close my eyes, and get back to sleep.

  My eyes sprang open when the phone buzzed.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: Can’t sleep?

  Me: Just got things on my mind.

  Dots danced on my screen, heart racing as I waited for her reply.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: So, those guys I mentioned dating in the past who were dicks…Well, all had been closer to me in age. When I completed the Luv Bytes questionnaire, I purposely checked the thirty to thirty-five-year-old range. So, to finally answer your question, no, I have no problems with you being ten years older. What about you? Did you just now realize my age may be all wrong for you?

  Nothing about her was wrong; I was the bastard with a boatload of buried issues.

  Me: Truthfully, I’d never dated anyone less than two years younger than myself. But when it came time to answer the questions, I checked the twenty-five to thirty-five-year-old box. I wanted to give Luv Bytes’ algorithms a greater chance of finding my match, even if the range was younger than I’d been used to.

  Beats of silence whirled by as more doubt stabbed me in the gut.

  You don’t deserve this.

  You don’t get to be happy.

  May as well fuck this up now since you’re going to lose her too.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: Everything okay?

  I wanted to tell her no, admit the guilt that plagued me for the last two years refused to let me be happy.

  The app chirped with an alert that she was calling.

  “Hey,” my voice oozed out, “sorry I woke you.”

  “What’s going on?” Her voice was sexy and husky from sleep. “You can talk to me.”

  I sat up in bed, blew out a deep breath. “Remember when I told you Hope was in a car accident?”

  “Yes…”

  “I was driving.”

  Her gasp was audible.

  You can leave me now, the angry, guilt-stricken jerk who doesn’t deserve to be happy.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Nope. Yet, here was this sweet woman on the opposite end of the call giving me a pass to open up, get things off my chest.

  “We were on our way to her parents’ Hamptons estate for the weekend. I took my attention off the road for one second, eyes on Hope and her breath-stealing smile as she laughed and recounted something that had happened at her job earlier that day.” I paused to clear my throat. “But Hope’s laugh morphed into a gut-wrenching scream, and when she told me to watch out, headlights from a car coming at us from the other side of the road are the last thing I remember.”

  Quiet severed the seconds that marched by, save for what sounded like sobs coming from her end.

  “Oh, baby,” she murmured, her tone wrapped in empathy. “You can’t blame yourself for something someone else caused, something out of your control.”

  Truth was, I blamed myself every second, minute, hour that dragged by; survivor’s remorse was an asshole that punked you for life.

  “I feel like I don’t deserve you, like I’m somehow going to lose you too.”

  “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

  7

  Jameson

  From: ChloeYorkAssistantEditor@HotShotMag.com

  To: JamesonWrightCEO@WrightInc.com

  Subject: Let’s Start Over

  Dear Mr. Wright,

  Maybe it’s time we call a truce, wave a big white flag, put this war behind us, and start anew?

  Sincerely,

  Chloe York - Lifestyle Assistant Editor, Hot Shot Magazine

  I read the email, my head falling back with a chortle.

  Chloe York had a relentless drive.

  Thirteen emails, all of them left unanswered, and she didn’t hesitate to send another. But this time, her tone was different. Or maybe I read it differently than I’d read her others, now unbothered, no longer put off by small and meaningless shit.

  I was on the world’s puffiest cloud nine, floating around without any fucks to give.

  Only days away from my first in-person meetup with Factcheckalphabetic96, nothing could burst my bubble of bliss.

  From: JamesonWrightCEO@WrightInc.com

  To: ChloeYorkAssistantEditor@HotShotMag.com

  Subject: Re: Let’s Start Over

  Dear Ms. York,

  I agree, a truce is in order. How about you meet me at my office Thursday, 5 pm? We’ll discuss your questions, on the record.

  Sincerely,

  Jameson Wright - CEO Wright, Inc.

  8

  Chloe

  When Jameson Wright replied to email number fourteen, a sense of victory bloomed in my chest. “I have a meeting with Jameson in two days.”

  Bree clapped her hands, eyes lit with excitement. “OMG. It’s about time. Wait, isn’t that the same day you have your first in-person with—”

  “Citydevelop86,” I injected since she often said his screen name incorrectly. “And no, my date with him is Friday.”

  She plopped onto the edge of my desk, amusement pulling her mouth into an even wider smile than it already was. “I’m so happy for you, Chloe. Who would have thought this Luv Bytes thing would lead you straight to Mr. Right?” Her lashes fluttered as a sigh fell from her lips. “Just in time for our Love Is In The Air issue. Where’s he taking you on your first date? La Grenouille? Ocean Prime?”

  “We’re having our date at his place to prepare dinner together.”

  Bree let out a faint gasp before she slapped her palm over her mouth. “I bet more than dinner will heat up in his kitchen.”

  I giggled, hope adrift in my belly. After numerous phone-sex sessions, my body all but begged me to level up.

  Two days later, I stood in front of the familiar mahogany door.

  Office of Jameson Wright, CEO.

  A surge of apprehension captured my ability to breathe as thoughts of what happened last time wrapped around me like a ghost.

  All of me wanted to forget the whole thing. Finish the Love Is In The Air piece without answers to the questions I’d sent him. My personal experience, along with all that transpired between me and Citydevelop86, would be more than enough to pique the interest of Hot Shot readers.

  Who needs Jameson Wright?

  I did. Because whether or not I wanted to admit it, the information he had for me would likely make the story all that more badass.

  I knew Kat Agassi’s eyes were going to be all over this, all over the ruthless journalist in line for the open editor position.

  Just. Walk. In.

  Inside, Jameson was behind his desk. “Good evening, Ms. York—”

  “Chloe,” I corrected, only a few steps away. “Call me Chloe.”

  He motioned for me to take a seat. “Feel free to call me Jameson.”

  Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, I slid onto the edge of the chair in front of his desk. “Thanks for meeting with me, Mr. Wr—”

  His left brow hiked northward.

  “Sorry…I mean Jameson.” I swallowed. “I’ll be sure not to take up too much of your time.”

  “Would you like something to drink? Nancy can bring in some coffee, water, tea?”

  “No, thanks, grabbed coffee on my way over.” I gave a glance away in an attempt to steel myself from his dark, penetrating gaze.

  “So, has Cupid found you a match?”

  I dragged my attention back to him. “Yes, not too long after I signed up. What about you?”

  He nodded, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “I can’t wait to meet her in person. I’ve developed real feelings for my match, feelings I’ve not felt in quite some time.”

  “Surprised to say, I too am quite taken with my match. Can’t wait to tell readers about my wonderful experience with the app.”

  A pleased look stretched across his face. “Glad to hear it.”

  Beats skated by, the two of us seemingly unsure of what to say next.

 
“So,” he sliced through the silence, “since we began this journey around the same time, is it safe to assume you’re also near the point where you two will finally meet?”

  “Just about,” I said, a riptide of embarrassment crashing over me.

  “Great. Shall we get on with your list of questions?”

  “Oh, yes”—I snagged my phone from my purse—“got them right here.”

  “I’ve memorized them. I mean, after thirteen emails…”

  Setting my phone on my lap I said, “Then why didn’t you reply?”

  “Guess I was acting like a dick.”

  I shook my head, cheeks hot. “You men and your dick tendencies.”

  “It’s a freaking epidemic.” His blithe statement revealed a fun side to him, and when I laughed, Jameson’s dark gaze studied me with an intensity that made my bottom lip quiver. “Your laugh, it’s…” he paused as if trapped in thought. “Never mind, let’s jump to the first question—”

  “Where did you get the idea for Luv Bytes?” I interjected, leaning forward in my seat. “Sorry, guess I’m just a little eager.”

  “That’s the one.” He chuckled, then explained that Luv Bytes came to life because of his mom and dad’s real-life experience.

  “They’d met by accident when my dad dialed my mom’s phone number after a woman he’d met at a party gave him the wrong number.”

  My mouth curved up in amusement.

  “As the story’s been told, too many times to count, my father called my mother back the next night. It was 1982, and there was no internet, no video chat, nothing like we have now. For some reason, she refused to give her name, didn’t want to know his either, and they only described the basics of their appearance. The two spent four weeks getting to know each other through long conversations.”

  I leaned back in the chair, hand over my chest. “And during that four weeks’ time, they fell in love?”