by Lexi Scott
“That’s a great idea,” Cohen says, his voice so smooth. I manage to breathe normally again and even recite my phone number without hyperventilating.
That’s all the pseudo-flirty phone time I can stand for one day. I squeak out a good-bye just as Jacinda, the accounts payable girl, knocks on the glass of my door. I slam the phone down, feeling guilty even though there’s no reason at all for me to feel that way.
“You look like you’re up to no good,” Jacinda says as she breezes in and collapses on the chair across from my desk. “Are you secretly a phone sex operator, moonlighting as a nice, organized secretary?”
What is it with everyone thinking I have some wild secret identity? It makes me feel a thousand times more boring. Maybe I should invest in a leather getup and fight some crime.
Just to irritate me, Jacinda peels off three post-it notes and sticks them on the edge of my desk.
My fingers twitch with the urge to rip them off, but I control my anal retentive leanings. I hate it when people touch my office supplies.
Hate it.
I’m going to jack her parking spot tomorrow to retaliate.
As I plan my petty revenge, I try not to blush hot, imagining what phone sex with Cohen would be like. We’ve danced around so many hot topics in our conversations, so it’s not like it’s impossible to imag—
“Talk to me, Maren. I’m bored, and you look like you have a dirty little secret. Spill.”
Ugh! Jacinda is always the worst interrupter of my work day.
Well, after Cohen. But I actually enjoy being interrupted by him. Totally different.
“I am getting work done, unlike you, and, no, my work does not involve moaning and panting into the phone. By the way, you’re one to talk. It’s great you have a new boyfriend, but here’s a public service announcement: maybe you should close your office door when you, um, ‘entertain him’ on his breaks.”
Her smile is completely smug, like she’s not even remotely embarrassed to know the entire office overheard her amorous conversation.
I raise my eyebrows at her. “Why are you bothering me this early?”
She snaps out a new business card, and I try to suppress a groan.
“No. Not again. I had to give scented candles as gifts to every single person I knew for an entire year. And the Tupperware? It’s still in the packages. And the freaking muffin mixes and salsas and dips… Okay, those were delicious, but I had to get a gym membership because I gained fifteen pounds. Stop. This. Madness. These get-rich-quick schemes don’t work for you.”
I try to push her hand back, but she’s unfazed and keeps pressing the card in my face.
“The other things didn’t work because I had no personal investment in them. I don’t really like candles, and I hate cooking, so it should have been obvious those were going to be duds. But this is something I can totally get behind.”
When I refuse to take the card, she lays it down on my desk, and I gasp and shove it under my appointment book like some middle schooler with a sex-ed textbook.
“Jacinda,” I hiss. “I thought you were joking when you asked about the phone sex. What the hell are you thinking?”
“Don’t be such a prude,” she whines, sitting up straight, her bleach-blond bob swinging back as she raises that pointy chin of hers. “I’m planning a little party so potential customers can sample the wares, details on the card. It’s business.”
“It’s smut,” I object, flipping the card back at her. “Where did you even find someone to print these cards up? They’re… They’re porn!”
She laughs, her slight frame shaking. “They get your attention, right? Don’t get all uptight. It’s not only sex toys. Look, I bet you have fourteen pairs of white undies and a couple of nude bras in your drawers. I’m selling lingerie, too, and I bet my favorite vibrator you could use some. We have a ‘jungle red’ that would look amazing with your dark hair and pale skin. We also have some self-tanner with body glitter built in, if you actually want to look like you’ve seen the sun in the last few years.”
I clutch at the top of my shirt only because I don’t have any pearls to clutch. My underwear are not all white. They have colors and designs. I mean, they’re also cotton, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. They’re comfortable, and when I put them on, I immediately forget about them. Which is kind of the point of underwear as far as I’m concerned.
“I don’t need new underwear, especially from whatever trashy catalog you’re ordering from now,” I gripe. “And I would be able to see the sun if you would stop interrupting me and I could get some work done.”
Jacinda raises one dark, over-plucked eyebrow. “Can I interest you in a vibrator, then? It’s been two weeks since you went on that date with that boring guy you met at the coffee place. The one you revenge dated after Lenny stood you up. And I assume from your stories about his rancid garlic breath and clammy hands that it didn’t end with a hot, body-shaking orgasm.”
I point at the door. “Get out.”
“Oh! Is it back on with Mike? Watching you two date was like watching a yo-yo competition.” Her eyes go wide. “I know he’s a jerk, but, good Lord, he is hot sex on a stick! And there’s a sweet little set on page forty-three, one of those thongs with a bow that will make your ass look like a present. I bet Mike would unwrap you the minute he saw it, if you know what I mean.”
“Out!”
“Think about it.” She gets up and straightens her too short skirt with a quick tug. “It might be fun. Fun…hmmm. Do you know what that word means anymore? Because you used to be fun. Lots of fun. Remember? And then you got…so adult.”
“We are adults, Jacinda.” I sigh.
Has it really been two weeks since my disastrous date with that idiot whose name I can’t remember? Maybe that’s why I’m thinking about seeing Mike again, even though I swore three months ago I’d never stoop to calling him again.
Geez, I’m seriously in danger of turning into a cobwebby old spinster.
I think about another night with my dad passed out drunk in his recliner, some tasteless dinner, and a mindless TV show— All I had to distract me from the pile of bills I’m trying so hard to ignore.
I deserve…something else. Something fun. Just for the night.
Jacinda senses the fact that I’m considering her stupid idea, and she bounces on the balls of her feet, anticipating my cave-in. I slide the card out from its hiding place, and the image of the entwined bodies makes me blush. And feel a little…horny.
I think about Cohen’s guesses about my alter ego. Sure, they were crazy, but they sounded fun as hell. And sadly unlike boring little me. Maybe I can’t fight crime or play bass, but I could definitely indulge in some harmless mischief.
Maybe this office isn’t somewhere I’m stuck for the present. Maybe it’s the future I’m barreling toward without even realizing it. That clinches it for me.
“Fine.”
“Fine? You’ll come?” She claps her hands a little. “Can you bring someone? I can get you a discount if you bring someone!”
“Get out,” I groan. “I seriously have so much work to do. Work that doesn’t involve selling flavored lube.” I glare at her, but Jacinda is unruffled by my disapproval.
“Bring a friend. My place, eight sharp on Friday. I’m glad you’re finally dusting off your lady parts after all these weeks and getting back in the game.”
She trills this lovely observation at the top of her lungs as she exits into the main office hallway.
I sprint to the door and slam it shut, contemplating co-worker murder. I cram the scandalous card in my purse and put it and all things sexy out of my mind so I can get some work done without X-rated thoughts gyrating through my head.
Chapter Three
Cohen
“What are you doing here, man?” My best friend, Deo, stands in the open doorway. I lean against the doorframe and close one eye to steady myself and to help focus on him, since the earth spun the entire walk over here.
“Do you want me to drive you home?” Deo asks.
I shake my head. Then realize that was a bad idea. More spinning.
“No cars. Too much movement. Can I just crash here?”
“Deo, stop torturing the poor guy and let him in for fucks sake!” Whit, his hot-as-hell girlfriend calls from behind him.
Deo smirks at me before stepping aside to let me pass. I take the four longest steps of my life, then collapse onto his sofa, face first.
“I take it you had a little too much to drink?” Deo laughs.
“Fuck off,” I mumble. I think I’m drooling on their couch. I sort of don’t care.
“Cohen, you want something to eat? We had chicken and rice for lunch,” Whit yells from the kitchen.
“You cooked, Whit?” I pick my head up just a bit at the mention of home-cooked food. Thankfully, I’m not too drunk for that.
Deo snorts. “Please. Whit brings the sexy to this relationship. I’m the domesticity.”
He hands me a glass of some thick, red shit that I know will perk me right up. Many times before we’ve shared pitchers of this mystery concoction his mom makes. No telling what’s in it, but it’ll sober you up and cure any hangover. I hold my breath and chug the gritty sludge as fast as I can, then lie back and wait for the mystery potion to work its magic.
“So, what’s with you trying to out-drink the frat house?” Deo asks as he sits down on the armrest of the red sofa.
“Kensley. She broke up with me.”
Deo sucks in a quick breath through his teeth. “Ouch. Sorry, bro.”
“She said I’m not impulsive enough or some crap like that. What does that even mean? I’m bo-hoodles of fun.” No one says anything, and it’s like total confirmation of my lameness. “Right?” I plead.
“C’mon, you know who you are; you’re super predictable and responsible and stable and all the things that most girls don’t want in a guy at our age, Cohen. That doesn’t mean there’s a thing wrong with you. Embrace your dependability,” Whit says. She’s standing next to Deo. He’s rubbing his hand up and down her thigh while she talks, and I can’t help but want to roll over and cry like a man-baby at the sight of them. “She wasn’t good enough for you anyway.”
“She was way out of my league,” I say.
“Wrong. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself right now. Once you sober up, things will look different,” Deo says.
“I’ve got to go to work, boys.” Whit takes Deo’s face in her hands and kisses him for a few seconds.
“Damn, you sure you have to go? I was kind of hoping you’d stay here and hold me, Whit,” I say just to break their romantic moment.
Deo reaches over and smacks me in the back of the head.
“I’ll give you that one because you’re drunk, but Whit doesn’t spoon with anyone but me.” He smacks Whit on the ass as she walks by to get her coat, and she giggles and swats at him. “You want me to drive you, baby?”
“No thanks, I’m fine. You guys have a good night,” she says. She leans over me and kisses me on the temple. “Hang in there, Cohen.”
“Sure thing,” I say.
But I don’t want to hang in. I want my girlfriend back. I want to be at home right now, in front of the TV, eating takeout with Kensley. I want to go through our nightly routine—head to bed after The Daily Show, freakishly good—albeit predictable—sex, coffee in the morning. What was so wrong with that?
Apparently everything.
“Your girlfriend is a fox,” I say after Whit’s closed the front door behind her.
“I told you, Cohen. You got one shot. Don’t make me kick your ass right now, when you’re practically crippled.”
“Maybe Kensley was right,” I say.
“Maybe Kensley is a bitch.” Deo was always pretty cool about not throwing how much he hated Kensley in my face when she drove me crazy, but they never liked each other. I guess now he’s not going to hold back.
He’s not exactly wrong.
“Possible. But also, maybe she was on to something. Maybe I could change, and she’d want me back.”
“Dude, why would you want to change for her? For anyone?”
“Whit changed you,” I say.
And it’s true. Deo went from this slacker, freeloading hippie to a full-on respectable adult all in the name of love and Whit’s fine ass.
“True. But the difference is, Whit never asked me to change. And she was worth it. You just need to find someone who’s worth it. Then it’ll all fall into place.”
“Like who? The only women I interact with are at work, and they’re usually buying recliners for their husbands.” I pinch the bridge of my nose to relieve the last of my headache, but the mystery sludge has already made me feel a hundred times better.
“I don’t know, man. I can see if Whit can think of anyone to set you up with.”
“What about… What’s her name? I saw you talking to her at Rocco’s place the other day? She came in for some ink. You used to hang out with her cousin, who was a pro-snowboarder.”
“Claire?” Deo says, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.
“Yeah, what about setting me up with her?”
Claire was hot as hell.
“No way.” Deo crosses his arms and shakes his head.
“Come on, man. She looked super put-together. I was actually surprised to see her in there getting a tat. What’d she get anyway?”
“A bird. Tramp stamp, obviously.”
“I’d like to see that.” I laugh.
“I’ll think of someone else.”
“Why?” I press.
“Because the first girl you date after a breakup should be pure fun, no craziness.”
“A little crazy can’t hurt. I’m ready for crazy anyway— Remember, the whole ‘too predictable’ thing I’m trying to shake?”
“Once again, you don’t need to change a damn thing, man. You need to find a better girl.”
“Claire’s hot.”
“She is, no doubt. But she’s unhinged. Let me make it simple— However hot you find her, she’s triple that amount crazy.”
“I need to date outside my comfort zone,” I protest.
Deo laughs. “Trust me, dude. You’re not ready for Claire.”
“Now I feel like I have to prove myself. Challenge accepted.”
…
It was Whit who finally helped set me up on the date with Claire— After she echoed Deo’s warning. Most of her hottie friends from college were already hooked up, so it wasn’t like there were tons of alternatives. Even if I wasn’t sure, I wanted to at least see how one date went.
What could go so wrong on one date?
“You look great,” Whit says with a sigh after I asked her for the third time if she was sure I looked okay. But she did get up and unbutton the top button on my new shirt. “Did you iron this?”
Her eyes are so dark I can’t really tell, but I think she’s teasing me.
“Too much? God, I’m such a dork, right? It’s just been years since I was on a first date with a girl, and I don’t want her to think… I don’t know what the hell I want her to think.”
I push a hand through my hair, then groan, realizing I just undid all the time I spent in the bathroom trying to make it look half decent. Whit’s laugh isn’t reassuring. She grabs my wrists and pulls my hands down, then musses my hair more.
“Stop. Worrying. And loosen up. All this gel and starch is going to make you look nervous, and then you’ll feel nervous. You’re amazing, Cohen. If I wasn’t with Deo, I’d snap you up in a second.”
“Stop torturing me, or I might push him off the side of his boat just to take you up on that.”
She squints at a piece of my hair, moving it back and forth like it matters, then grins. “I’m way too mean for you, Cohen. And you and Deo are—and it hurts me to say something this cheesy, but it’
s so true—you guys are like peas and carrots.”
“Am I the peas or the carrots?” I smile when she shakes her head.
“The peas, buddy. You’re so the peas.” She glances over her shoulder when Deo comes in, and her whole face goes bright.
“So what are you, Whit? Cause you guys look pretty peas and carrots to me,” I say as Deo practically runs over, grabs Whit around the waist, kisses her neck, and shakes her back and forth.
Through her insane laughter, she gasps, “The steak! I’m the steak!” She turns in Deo’s arms and kisses him, then slaps at his chest. “And you”—she turns to point at me—“need to find your mashed potatoes.”
“I thought you were going out for Mexican tonight?” Deo asks, kissing Whit behind the ear.
“I’ll explain later,” Whit whispers, clearly meaning later when they’re locked in the bedroom for hours on end.
As much as I totally love my friends, eavesdropping on their sexy-time plans is not my bag.
“Hey, I better get going. Thank you for messing up my hair, Whit.”
“Trust her,” Deo says, clapping his hand against mine. “She knows what looks good. Obviously. She picked me.”
“Ass,” she cries, biting his jaw with little nips as I head out the door.
“And Cohen,” Deo yells as he throws Whit over his shoulder and she pounds her fists on his back. “No worries, man. You got this. Just be cool. Be yourself.”
“Right. Okay.” I leave them, crazy laughing and so damn in love it hurts to watch, and head to my car, a responsible gray Honda that gets amazing gas mileage.
I pause, my key in the lock. Maybe I’m really not spontaneous enough. Maybe I really am no fun. Maybe I need to break out a little.
And Claire may be just the person to help me do that.
I drive to the restaurant we planned to meet at, a little open-air Mexican place on the beach that serves the best kosher pozole. It might even be better than my abuela’s, though just thinking the thought makes me nervous that lightning will strike me down where I stand.
