Her First Billionaire

by Julia Kent

Page 8

 

  Alone was safer.

  Laura used every spare molecule of energy and focus to still her heart, to calm it back down to where it belonged, in the normal, boring, slow pace she’d experienced before the whirlwind of Dylan. She should have known it was too good to be true. Every damn moment of it. He just wanted a piece of meat on the side. A big piece of meat. A little variety was the spice of life, right? Her body was so different from his girlfriend’s, a sleek, muscled, athletic sculpting she couldn’t imagine.

  Damn, damn, damn, – here came the tears. They weren’t the great big heaving sobs that she felt after dating someone for months and then realizing that it just wasn’t working. This was more of the scalding tears of reproachment, of the fact that she should have known better, and of a bit of giddiness that she’d gotten something more than she’d expected out of the evening.

  Dinner and mind-blowing sex was great, but apparently what she had had with him was all she was going to have, because he was clearly involved with whoever that woman was and that woman had a bod that went on for miles. Damn, if she had ten percent body fat, she’d be amazed. If that was his type, what was Laura? Just some cow he decided he’d grab onto for the hell of it, trolling some dating site. Whatever.

  The screech of the cab’s brakes told her it was time and then boom – she felt the car jerk to a stop. She handed the cabbie enough of a tip to make herself feel good and to make him grin, and to wish her a good night, a good morning, a good whatever. As she headed up to her apartment her shoes vibrated like a gong, click, click, click, her legs propelling her on on very weak heels, very tired calves, very tired everything. Mind, body and soul.

  She peeled off her outfit, poured herself into her big oversized flannel pajamas, and just crawled into bed to sleep the sleep of the conflicted.

  Dylan was accustomed to waking alone, Jill’s side of the bed a cold place, a sexual Siberia, but he had hoped to find Laura there this morning. Making her breakfast and having her be his breakfast had been on his mind as he’d faded off to sleep, cradling her in his arms.

  Hopefully, she’d left a note. Maybe she needed to rush off to work. He understood. It was hard to juggle shifts and bosses and –

  His eyes stopped as they landed on a picture of Jill. Hawaii. About seven years ago. Her skin glistened in her wet suit and she grinned a relaxed, happy smile as the sun kissed her nose, Mike standing next to her, turned toward her and showing the camera only his profile, face largely hidden. He was a good foot taller than petite Jill. Their hair had lightened so much on that vacation, though Dylan’s dark locks had stayed the same. By the end of the week Jill and Mike were hooked on surfing, while Dylan…

  His thoughts faded as the enormity of Jill’s death hit him. In some ways, her death was still striking blows. Good ones. $59 million blows a year.

  He, unlike Laura, would never have to worry about getting to work on time again. Man, even letting himself think like that made him queasy. It was a sick, sick way to become rich – losing your soulmate – and he was still so angry at something – God? Cancer? Fate? His own helplessness? – that he just wouldn’t quit the fire station, preferring to act like a working class slob because until two months ago, that’s exactly what, and who, he had been.

  The masquerade of normalcy was important. Necessary. Especially now that he was dating Laura. Until he knew she cared for him as the old Dylan – before trust fund – he needed to play it cool.

  Sitting up, he stretched his arms over his head, willing blood to flow into his biceps, triceps, popping his elbows and slowly stretching out his neck. His hips ached just a little, the good kind of ache from a nice, deep, intense session of lovemaking. He grinned, the smell of her still on his sheets, her soft skin nearly still there, brushing against his chest. Laura was soft and sweet and sighed like it was all some kind of dream, as if his touch were new. He’d been tender with her, but detected a little something extra, a naughty streak. He’d been right and reveled in the discovery.

  If he texted her now would that be seen as too pushy? Too stalkerish?

  Who cares.

  Grabbing his phone, he dug out her number and texted.

  So you went home and all I got was this morning boner. ;)

  Silence. Give it five minutes, Dylan, he told himself. Standing, he let the sunlight stream in through the window and wash over him, his naked form tight with need. A bottle of lotion and a nice hot shower could kill off his arousal. Even better, though, would be a date tonight.

  Nothing. He knew it seemed way too desperate, but he looked up her number and dialed. No answer. Not even a voice mail message. That was supremely weird, because the only reason you couldn’t leave a voice mail on someone’s phone was if they blocked you.

  Cold rushed through his body, his flesh covered with goosebumps in seconds. Blocked? Why would she block him? He took a really good look around the room and let himself inhale, then exhale, a few times. Centered, he thought carefully through the last twenty-four hours.

  He had found her online. Asked her out. Scheduled a dinner at the hottest restaurant in town. Found her attractive and the feeling mutual. Made a move, invited her over, hand mind-blowing sex (which he wanted more of) and had fallen sleep spooned with her in his bed.

  Waking up, he was alone. He texted her. He called her – and now it appeared she had blocked him.

  Blocked?

  That had to be a mistake. He called again. It rang twenty-eight times before he hung up. Where was Mike? Oh, that’s right – at his cabin. He had decided to clear out so Dylan could have alone time with Laura. Except now Dylan had tons of alone time – with himself. Not the kind of private time he was hoping for.

  He popped on the computer and opened a chat window at the dating site. She wasn’t in his “Favorites” any more. Huh? He ran a search – now Laura Michaels. It was as if she had vanished.

  Blocked?

  And, in fact, she had.

  Beep-beep-beep! She whammed her hand on the alarm button, but it was elusive; a little too far out of her grasp, but instead she whacked the heel of her hand on the corner of her end table and listened to her own yelp of protests.

  “Damn it. ” She opened her eyes, giving the machine a glare meant to melt circuits. 6:00 a. m. – time for work. Really – had she really only gotten two and a half hours of sleep? Shit.

  She stood up, forced herself to stretch and then wondered why she felt so sore, so sticky, so –

  Oh. Dylan’s tongue on her clit, lapping in circles as his finger slid in and out, her legs on his shoulders and – That’s why. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily, letting emotion wash over her and just feeling it, knowing that blocking it out, denying it, or pushing it aside would do her no good.

  Let it be and it would fade. Force it away and she’d carry the pain forever.

  What she had thought might have been just wasn’t meant to be, and she had to accept that. Too good to be true, really – the night was some sort of magical, very authentic encounter with a hot guy way out of her league.

  But that was OK. It was OK. It was a new day and she reached for her smart phone, confirming the time and then seeing that she had about twenty-seven texts from Josie, and she’d have to answer those later. Josie would make her spill everything, tell all, and would congratulate her for refusing to accept second best.

  Right now, though, Laura needed to wallow. And that, like so much else, was OK.

  Her coffeemaker gurgled, the tell-take signs that the pot was just about finished. She had forgotten that before the date she’d set it all up just like she always did, had come home from work and set up the coffee for the next day. She was grateful as she sloshed the coffee into her mug and sat down, booting up her computer to check email, today like any other morning, although, she knew deep inside it really wasn’t.

  Dylan, Dylan, Dylan, Dylan, Dylan.

  Laura popped into her email, ignored a bunch of ads, found nothing
of real value in there until suddenly she noticed that the online dating site had sent her a message. “You have a new request to chat. ” Yep – boom, boom, boom, boom. A hugely full inbox.

  She had seventeen new requests to chat. Yeah, right – they wouldn’t be chat requests, but rather fuck requests. Thanks, guys, I’m all chatted out and my fuck request meter is broken.

  She knew it was fine, deep down – last night was all that she needed. That’s what she wanted – she wanted more of last night. The magic. The thrill. Being charmed and charming someone back. Falling into that special knowing and feeling warm and safe and excited all at once, the heady passion of the new.

  And then the image of the pictures all over Dylan’s room filled her brain, that woman, his girlfriend, his wife, his whatever. He didn’t wear a ring, but that didn’t mean anything. She had learned that within her second or third date after college. The married men always lied and they tended to be the slickest – and this guy was pretty slick. Laura took a deep breath and – and it almost tasted like he was in her, as if his scent had permeated her lungs, as if it coated her trachea, as if –

  Inhale. Exhale. She breathed in, she breathed out – breathed in sadness, breathed out happiness, breathed in sorrow, breathed out joy. No matter how hard she tried, though, it wasn’t cutting it. Caffeine would have to do what meditation could not, no matter what her yoga teacher said about the evils of coffee. You can pry my caffeine from my cold, dead, outstretched hand.

  She sucked down the cup of coffee, poured herself another and thought what the hell and clicked on one of those chat messages in email. Hmmm. Hey there, Mike, she thought to herself. Some guy named Mike wanted to meet or wanted to chat with her. Mike – let’s see, he’s 32, 6‘5”, 180. Sounded like a runner. Online dating was devolving into ordering from a menu. Would you like fries with that?

  There it was: “likes to run marathons and works at a ski resort. ” Oh, dear – her idea of running was waving madly at the bus driver and sprinting when she was late for the morning bus, and skiing? Lodge. Hot toddy. Not snow.

  Deleting his message would have been the easiest thing in the world, and her finger even hovered over the button, but something stopped her. If Josie had been there and asked, Laura couldn’t have explained it. She just…stopped. Clicking to his profile, she read up on him. He looked kind of like the mirror opposite of Dylan. This guy had sandy blonde hair and Nordic features while Dylan was Italian and dark and swarthy. Mike looked long and lean in pictures of him riding a bike, shots of him crossing finish lines, and pictures of him camping.

  Camping. She shuddered. Her idea of camping was no mint on the pillow. She wasn’t sure this was going to work. And then she read his little intro about himself:

  “Hi, my name is Mike Pine, I am 32 years old. I am really new to this online dating thing. I am very active and athletic, work at a ski resort, I teach skiing and also work on the first aid team. In my spare time, I like to run and camp and bike, and I’m looking for friendship or more, whatever and would like to chat with other people who are interested in the same thing – ”

  Beep-blip! A little chat window popped up and Laura splashed coffee on her hand in surprise at the unexpected sound. “Ow!” she shouted, grabbing a kitchen towel and shaking it out. “What the hell!?” She peered at the now lit-up screen, a familiar chat window open in the right lower-hand corner.