Oh my fucking lord. I need a minute to think. “I love women, and I love women who love women, but really, you’re off the one-eyed monster because of me?”
“When you say disgusting things like that, then yes, I guess your demoralizing and appalling treatment of women have turned us into muff divers!” Her comment is completely laced with sarcasm, as I know she used that phrase to stoop to my level.
I cringe. I know I’m no Shakespeare, but I didn’t think my mouth was that offensive. It appears I was wrong. It was enough to turn Siobhan into a lesbian, apparently.
“Don’t pretend this was something it wasn’t. We both know you were a stand-in before the real deal. And I was the same thing for you. Please don’t call me again.” Well, if that wasn’t a blunt fuck you, then I don’t know what it was.
The line goes dead and I hang up, scratching my head and wondering what the hell just happened. I was a stand-in. Like a substitute to serve in someone else’s place? Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?
Well, that entire conversation did nothing for my ego and has me questioning my manhood. Groaning, I thump my head on my desk, in hopes of rendering myself unconscious. “Mr. O’Shea?”
“Unless you have scotch, beat it,” I mumble, my cheek pressed to the woodgrain. I have no idea who is outside my door, but they have three seconds to scram before I throw my Yankees paperweight at their head.
“I can run down to the store and get you some liquor?”
Now that I’ve wrapped my brain around the fact I’ve turned two women gay, am a stand-in, and can’t seem to find a willing woman to take to tonight’s celebrations, I lift my head to uncover who this soft voice belongs to.
The sun streaming in from the window illuminates a young woman standing in my doorway. Her hair is long, golden, and her glossy lips full. A pair of large, black rimmed glasses sit prettily on her small face. She’s in a tight black skirt and white silk blouse, which doesn’t leave much to the imagination. She is the perfect stereotype of geeky, but kinky secretary.
I have no idea who she is and believe me, I’d remember a face and body like that. “Hello, do I know you?” Not the smoothest of lines, but I’m done with the small talk.
Her pale cheeks turn a rose pink. Everything below the belt is electrocuted. “I’m Keira Celly. I’m Mr. Gail’s assistant. I just started a week ago.”
“Well hello, Keira Celly. I’m Hunter O’Shea, but you seem to know that already.”
Fuck me, her blush swoops down the column of her slender neck. “Yes, I know who you are. Your reputation is notorious.”
I don’t like to brag, but she’s right. However, I suddenly don’t know which she speaks of—business or personal. At this stage, I’ll take anything she wants to give. “So, what did you do in your past life to get stuck working for that asshole, Aaron Gail?” Leaning back in my seat, I gesture she’s to enter.
She does.
There is no love lost between Aaron and I. His efforts will always pale in comparison to mine because he can only wish to be me. I earned this glass office fair and square, and it gives me great pleasure knowing Aaron is stuck in a corner, windowless office, one day hoping to play with the big boys.
He’s tried on numerous occasions to sabotage me, steal my clients, and pawn off my work as his own. Luckily, I can smell a rat, because if undetected, Gail would fly under the radar and steal what is rightfully mine.
Smiling, Keira very ladylike, holds down her skirt and sits. “Well, you weren’t hiring,” she offers, while I almost choke. “So I thought I’d try second best.”
“Second?” I scoff, intertwining my hands behind my nape. “He’s so far out of my league, I’m pretty sure he’s sitting in a parking lot in Detroit sucking his thumb.”
She bursts into laughter before slapping a hand guiltily over her plump, pink mouth. Sadly, she’s an employee and completely off limits. I learned the hard way from Dixon—don’t mix business with pleasure, regardless of the fact if I lean a little to the left, I can see the innocent, white triangle of treasure between her legs.
“That was really inappropriate. Please don’t tell him.” She interlaces her hands, on the cusp of begging. “I really need this job.”
As much as I want to slip in a lewd remark, I bite my tongue. “Don’t worry, I don’t talk to the nimrod, so your secret is safe with me.”
Her relief is clear. “If I can make it up to you, off the record, please let me know.”
The delicate flutter at the side of her neck betrays her nerves, and for some reason, the sight has my mouth watering and wanting to cherish this sweet, innocent dove. I can’t remember the last time I encountered such innocence, and it stirs something in me. Insanity maybe, because what I do next can only be classified as that.
Sitting upright, I steeple my fingers in front of me. “Well, there is this thing tonight.”
“What thing?” she asks, eagerly shuffling forward to sit on the edge of her seat.
“I have this dinner and I need a plus one. I don’t suppose you’re free?” When she hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip, I know I’ve probably just overstepped a line. “I promise I’m not some creep, and you’d be doing me a real solid. It’s purely platonic, but I completely understand if it’s weird or…”
“What time is it?” she says, cutting me off.
I don’t hide my surprise. “You want to come?”
“Sure. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything.” I wave her off because I don’t want her thinking that. “If you wanted to come, of your own free will, then I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”
Her pretty lips curve, and although I said I wasn’t a creep, I can’t stop staring at them. A blush creeps over her once again, as I’m not exactly being subtle. “Six-thirty it is then.”
Whoever this woman is, I’m completely hooked. She is gorgeous and I don’t get a bunny boiler vibe from her. Win, win. With a slow, measured pace, I reach for a business card and pass it to her between two fingers. She looks at it, then back at me, as if weighing the wrongdoings of the situation.
Her deep blue eyes hold me captive, and I actually am worried she might change her mind. But she shyly leans forward and accepts my offering. “Text me your address.” She nods, brushing a piece of long golden hair behind her ear.
Flicking the edge of my business card with her pointer as if in thought, she has me guessing what she’s thinking. “See you tonight, Mr. O’Shea.”
There is a certain time and place to be called Mr., and tonight isn’t one of them. Although, I have depraved images of bending her over this desk and spanking her as she calls me Sir. “Please, call me Hunter.”
She looks as if she just won the lottery, because she nods quickly, holding back her grin. “Okay, Hunter.” She squeaks when trying it on for size, but quickly composes herself a moment later. The action has me smiling.
Breaking eye contact, she smooths out the wrinkles in her skirt and brushes over invisible lint on her top as she stands. Sadly, the movement highlights the fact I can see her budding nipples very clearly through her white blouse.
I have no idea how old she is. At a guess, I’d say twenty-two. Way too young for the likes of me, and I suddenly feel like a perverted old man. But holy shit, her tits, curvy body, her angelic face, they are leaving me with serious wood.
Crossing my legs, I roll the chair forward to hide my looming hard on. “See you tonight.” I know it sounds like a brush off, but it’s either that, or she sees me pitch a tent, which really goes against my whole purely platonic speech.
She nods, tugging at a silver locket around her neck. “See you then.”
I pretend to busy myself, reaching for a pen and notebook from my desk drawer. She gets the hint and turns to leave, rewarding me with a spectacular view of her ass. I’m now busying myself with attempting not to drool as I ogle her lush derriere. I can’t look away, her heart shaped behind hypnotizing me with each step she takes.
The loom
ing hard on becomes full wood, straining against my fly. When she turns over her shoulder, I bite back my internal pain. “What should I wear?”
The mere mention of clothes has me daydreaming about stripping off every shred of her current attire…with my teeth. But I stay composed. “I’m sure you’ll look smoking in whatever you wear.” Or not.
Shit.
It’s too late to backtrack. All I can do is apologize for my crude behavior. She’ll have to excuse me because all the blood has drained to my dick, but I can’t exactly tell her that now, can I?
“Keira…”
But she surprises me when she purses her lips. “I better make sure I don’t disappoint, then.”
I choke on air, very uncoolly wheezing like an emphysemic old man. She doesn’t give me a chance to reply. She instead flutters her long, golden lashes, before leaving me with a view that will be stored in my spank bank and revisited more than once today.
It’s 6:25 p.m., and I’m pacing the sidewalk outside of Keira’s apartment complex in Brooklyn. I’m early because I’m talking myself out of going through with this.
This is wrong on all counts. I was vulnerable—she caught me questioning whether I deserved a dick or not. There is no better time to enforce my rule of not shitting where you eat. I have no intention of things advancing with Keira, not because I don’t find her attractive, but because I know what will happen soon enough.
The sex will be mind-blowing and things will start out great. She won’t have an issue with my wanting to play things cool, and I won’t mind if she stays over a day or two. But then as days turns into weeks, my detachment will piss her off and she’ll demand more. More time. More sex. More me.
More. More. More.
I will back off, her need for more scaring the living bejesus out of me because I’ve seen what happens when this stage hits. Women get crazy. They get suspicious and think you’re screwing around. Chances are I probably am, because we never agreed to be exclusive and she was fine with us playing it cool. But when an attachment forms, it’s all downhill from here on in.
It’s scientifically proven that a key hormone is released during sex—oxytocin, also known as the cuddle hormone. It’s fundamental to bonding, and women produce more of this hormone, meaning they are more likely to let their guard down and dum dee dum…fall in love with a man after sex. Men, on the other hand, instead of getting a surge of the bonding hormone, we’re smacked in the cock with the pleasure hormone, dopamine, which means…all we want to do is fuck.
So, my dilemma here is, once Keira’s oxytocin wants to strangle me to death, I will have to see her every…single…day. There will be no escaping her, and before I know it, she’s shit in my coffee and glued my balls to the chair.
Office romances can be dangerous. Note to self: abort!
Just as I turn on my heel, making a beeline for my Jeep, I hear my name being called. The oxytocins of the world are flipping me off and high fiving their sistas in crime.
Closing my eyes, I curse the day I found out what my dick could do, because lately, all it seems to do is get me into trouble. “Hey, Keira. Look…” I spin back around, prepared to give her a speech worthy of an Oscar, but I hardly remember my name when I see her standing feet away.
She is a fucking vision. Her long blonde hair is curled around her slender face. Her incredibly blue eyes are emphasized beneath her large glasses. Her lips are stained a plush peach. I can’t help but stare, but the first thing I notice in that tight black dress are her supple tits. The neckline plunges so low, it stops inches from her belly button. I have no idea how she’ll move without flashing the room.
If that isn’t bad enough, the dress is short, stopping mid-thigh, and although she’s wearing stockings, if she bends over, Holy Mother of God…my dick stirs once again—the gluttonous bastard. I’ve jerked off twice already, but clearly, that’s not enough.
“It’s too much?” she says, tugging at the hemline and shuffling her stiletto-clad feet.
It’s not enough, I internally groan because I have no idea how I’m going to keep it in my pants. Pulling it together, I smile. “You look great.”
I can see her disappointment, but visions of being cuddled to death spur me on. “Shall we?”
She toys with the strap of her handbag, possibly having second thoughts, before nodding. I’m thankful she has a coat draped over her arm, because I’ll turn up the AC if I have to, anything to put me out of my misery.
Walking to the door, I open it for her, because the sooner we get this over with, the faster I can jerk her out of my system. I have no idea what I was thinking. When she brushes past me, her floral perfume engulfing my senses, I know the answer is I wasn’t thinking at all.
She turns over her shoulder so we’re inches apart. “Thanks.” I nod with a stiff upper lip smile. I know she’s flirting with me and I’m a stupid motherfucker because I like it.
Once she’s inside, I close the door, running a hand over my scruff because tonight can only lead to trouble. As I round the hood, I can feel her watching me. I hate that I’m already so in tune with her actions, because it means I’m interested, and that interest will soon turn into wanting to fuck her senseless, consequences be damned.
D2 is rocking in a corner, sucking his thumb, reminding me that in roughly half an hour, I’ll be seeing the woman who sparked this sudden psychosis. But instead of manning up and telling her how I feel, I’ve instead gone and dug myself an even bigger hole.
And the award for biggest dumbass goes to…
Once I kickstart the engine, Keira looks over at me with a sparkle in her eye. She’s excited. “Thanks again for asking me out tonight. I can’t wait to meet your friends,” says the future cuddler. I’m doomed.
Nodding, I pull into traffic, wishing tonight was one of those nights where a meteor hit, or aliens invaded the planet. But the closer we get to Westchester County, I know luck isn’t on my side. All I can do is turn up the radio and set the AC to high.
The Dark Lord Just Ate My Soul
“Wow!”
Even though this is Keira’s third ‘wow,’ I don’t blame her. The white mansion in front of us is what you’d see broadcasted on an episode of MTV’s Cribs. But inside are two very humble, very non-pretentious people.
I’ve met Sebastian and Rachel, Maddy’s parents, twice, and I can see where Cherry Pie gets her good nature from. They’re incredible people; they don’t deserve the two other sacks of shit they sadly call their children.
Juliet, aka rancid vagina, is Maddy’s stepsister who deserves bad things, very bad things to happen to her. She makes evil look like a fluffy puppy wearing a pink bow. She not only made Cherry Pie’s life hell, but she took Dixon for a ride and almost ruined him. If that isn’t enough of an excuse to hang her out to dry, then she blackmailed him and made him believe the baby she was carrying was his.
Maddy’s fuckwad of a brother, Dylan, who Dixon will maim and kill if he ever sets foot in NYC again, just added to the shit pile. All in all, these are two diabolical people who deserve to rot in their own misery. From what I’ve heard, Juliet is flying under the radar, using her baby as an excuse to wedge her way back into the family. But as far as Dixon’s concerned, if she so much as looks at Madison, he will pluck out her eyeballs and feed them to her dog.
Needing an exorcism after thinking about those scum of the earth, I kill the engine and put on my big girl panties. I don’t need a crystal ball to be aware of how tonight’s proceedings will unfold. On the drive over here, Keira was sharing her life story with me—she’s from the Midwest, her daddy left her when she was seven, but her family are good, Christian people who do charity work like it’s second nature.
She also helped out at the local church doing food drives, selling lemonade, baking cookies, you name it—anything charitable, she was involved in with both hands. Me, I can’t remember the last time I did anything charitable. The most charitable thing I’ve done of late was tipping the drycleaners a twenty.
/> A blind person in Antarctica could see that Keira Celly is way too innocent and pure for the likes of me. I even felt vile when I dropped a standard ‘fuck you, dickhole’ when someone cut me off on the highway. I could be a real asshole and ignore her, but why does that feel like clubbing a baby seal to death?
When I peer over at her and she looks at me with those big, blue eyes, I know that’s probably the reason why. “Shall we?” The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can drown my sorrows in a bottle of whiskey, scrap that, scotch. She looks nervous, but nods with a small smile.
We exit, it’s surprisingly warmer out here than in my icebox of a car. As we ascend the smooth driveway, I notice Dixon’s BMW and Finch’s baby wagon parked out front. I don’t see any others, which has me assuming Mary isn’t here yet. Not that that matters, because when she does arrive, she’ll have her plus one hanging off of her like a dead skunk. My lip curls of its own accord.
We climb the marbled stairs, the two glass doors sheltered beneath a large alcove reveal a well-lit foyer and beyond. As I ring the doorbell, Keira decides it’ll be a good time to take off her coat. I do a double take, forgetting what an exceptional rack she has.
“Since when do you ring?” Dixon’s light voice carries on the breeze as he opens the door, but I can hear the exact moment his good mood sours. “Hello.” His attention dances between Keira and me, but essentially lands on me.
I know what he’s thinking: Is Keira a Ukrainian mail order I smuggled into the land of the free. “Hello, Dixon. Thanks for having us over.” It’s a rare sight to see Dixon Mathews lost for words, so I can’t help but gloat and primp my imaginary collar. “This is Keira. We work together.” See, I managed to get through a sentence without cursing. Maybe I am a changed man.
Dix’s mouth is still agape when she leans forward, stands on tippy toes because he’s a fucking titan, and kisses his cheek. He clears his throat, not appearing to appreciate her friendliness. He needs to lighten up. But when she smiles and says, “It’s so great to meet you,” I can’t help but think he’s taken an instant dislike toward her.
The Hunt - Monica James Page 4
