by Nora Flite
When I reached the doorway, I spotted Simon standing there, naked as the day he was born except for those tattoos and my favorite quirky calico apron tied neatly around his waist. I stood watching in appreciation for a moment as he scrambled eggs in a pan. Not only were his buns a beautiful sight, but it looked like he’d kept my space impeccable.
The dishwasher was already going, and it seemed like he was just finishing up those eggs. He’d already set the kitchen table for us. There was orange juice. A plate of bacon. A fresh percolator of coffee. The correct forks. I sat down, draping a paper napkin across my lap.
“What did I do to deserve all this?” I asked, even though what I was really thinking was what did I do to deserve you?
Simon only smiled and slid some fluffy scrambled eggs onto my plate. Then he sat down in the chair across from me, munching on a strip of bacon.
“I figured you must have worked up an appetite after last night,” he said, lifting his eyebrows quickly, in case there was any confusion about what he was referring to. I laughed a little.
“You could say that,” I told him, digging in. “I’m starved.”
“I’ll bet. Besides, I figured you needed something to really stick to your ribs if you’re going to blow your boss out of the water today with your presentation.”
“You remembered,” I said, surprised. Usually the guys I liked could hardly keep track of their own work lives, much less mine. Simon shrugged.
“Of course I did. It seemed pretty important.”
“It is!” I said. “After all the controversy the site attracted last year, investors have gotten a little jumpy.”
“Controversy,” Simon said. “You mean Pantygate?”
“You heard about that?”
Simon nodded, pouring himself some coffee. “I’ve followed Perfect Click for a long time. I really admire the way that Travis Barclay runs his business. That’s one of the reasons I joined.”
“Not just to bag hotties like me?” I asked, fluttering my eyelashes. He laughed, splashing some coffee into my own mug in the process.
“That too,” he admitted. “So Pantygate . . .”
“It’s funny,” I said, “Because you saw our numbers in the report. They’re up across the board. It’s Travis’s algorithm. It’s just as effective at matching couples as ever.”
“But?” Simon asked, his dark eyes burning into me. I sighed.
“But our investors have gotten gun-shy. I think they’re worried that our site is the next Ashley Madison. Great for scumbags, not so much for true love.”
“Does it matter?” Simon asked. I blew on my coffee, then took a thoughtful sip. It was true, we would make a lot of money either way. But it wasn’t what Travis wanted. Wasn’t what I wanted, either . . .
“My boss believes,” I began slowly, “that we can accomplish real good through our site. It’s not just a dating website, but a place for people to make actual connections. Before online dating, all people had was bar hopping and random chance. With his algorithm, there’s no need for anyone to risk their heart for someone they have nothing in common with.”
“The algorithm matched us,” Simon said, “and we have next to nothing in common.”
He said it matter-of-factly. And deep down, I knew he was right. In some ways, it seemed like Simon was from a different planet. When I first met him, I’d been convinced that the algorithm had made a mistake. Now I wasn’t so sure.
“We’re both in marketing,” I said. “We both love motorcycles.”
Simon pressed his lips into a tight smile. His elevator eyes looked me up and down. God knows I wasn’t wearing anything sexy, just my old nubby terrycloth robe. But he looked at me as though I were a delicious meal, fit for eating.
“We both love the way my cock feels inside of you,” he said. A wave of warmth washed over me, and it wasn’t from the coffee.
“There is that,” I told him. He rose, walking over to me. I could see how his hard on was already lifting the cloth of the apron. My rational mind told me it was a little silly. But there was another part of me, feral and uninhibited, that didn’t care. I lifted the cloth aside, revealing his long cock.
“We both love the way it feels when it’s deep down your throat,” he said. I put down my coffee cup and started to kiss his muscular thighs. His hips angled toward me, like he couldn’t wait to press his cock into my mouth. So I helped him along, covering the length in kisses. As he paused, his cock trembling at the edge of my lips, I let them form a smile.
“I can only speak for myself,” I told him, “but I love the way your cum tastes.”
And in one gasping breath, I sucked him down. Simon tangled his hands through my disheveled hair, moaning as I deep throated him. My heart was pounding wildly. His hands reached down and found my nipples past the opening in my robe. I angled my chest out, helping him. Electricity ran through me as I sucked him, using my hands and my lips to touch every inch of that gorgeous cock.
He was groaning with desire. I fingered myself, already teetering on the brink of losing control. I could have gone on all morning like that, if Simon’s phone hadn’t started vibrating on the counter.
“Shit,” he hissed. I opened my eyes, glancing up at him. Then I eased his cock out of my mouth.
“Ignore it?” I said. He sighed, leaning down to kiss me, not even minding if my mouth tasted like his precum.
“I can’t. It might be work. You understand, right?”
I did. My job mattered to me, and I would have been wrong to hold that against Simon. Hell, I like that he cared about work—that he was passionate about something. That he was good at doing something besides doing me.
“Go for it,” I said, smiling gently at him. He smiled just a little back as he grabbed his phone and scrolled through his texts. As he read, his forehead went deep with lines. He went from looking comfortable in my cozy little kitchen to annoyed and finally flat-out angry. But not at me. When he glanced up, his expression was still kind.
“I’m sorry, Tazzy,” he said. “I need to go in early, put out a fire at the office.”
I shrugged, smoothing my hair back. “That’s fine,” I told him. “I understand. I have to get ready for work, too. I’m a mess.”
He leaned down to kiss me again. “If only your co-workers could see you now,” he said. “You’re gorgeous.”
I leaned into his kiss, lingering there for a moment longer. He tasted like coffee, and his mouth was soft, and the morning was so perfect that I almost couldn’t believe my luck. When I pulled away, I was dazed.
“You better hit the road before that fire turns into a natural disaster,” I said. I got up to clear the plates. Simon had gone back to frowning at his phone for a minute. I looked him up and down.
“Buuuut,” I said slowly. He glanced at me.
“What?” he demanded.
“You might want to change out of that frilly apron first.”
Simon’s only reaction was to slap me in the ass. Then he headed for the bedroom to get changed.
I stayed in the kitchen as he got dressed, washing the dishes, wrapping up the leftovers. Normally, I couldn’t wait to get to work in the morning but today I didn’t want to leave. Simon stopped by one last time to tuck his phone in his pocket and give me a longer, tender kiss.
“Goodbye,” he said. “I’ll call you later. I think we have a lot to talk about.”
In the moment, I was oblivious, so high on domestic bliss that I almost didn’t notice his parting words. It would only be later that I wondered what Simon meant by that.
12
That morning at work, I sat at my desk, a little tired, but happy, too. My love life was going great—better than I could have possibly imagined, actually. My work life, too. I’d given my presentation to Travis the night before. When I went to see him that morning, he looked beyond thrilled.
“The investors will love this,” he said, then buried me in the world’s most awkward hug. Then he pulled away, coughing. “That is to s
ay, thank you, Tamsin.”
“Don’t mention it, Travis,” I assured him. “I’m just doing my job.”
It was just my job. But it was more than that, too. Simon and I had worked together on that project. In a way, it felt like we were exemplifying the true values of Perfect Click. We were a new partnership, born online and blossoming rapidly. And even though Travis knew nothing about Simon, apparently he could see the change in me. His eyes shining, he sat down behind his desk.
“Well, it’s a fine job,” he said. “And I’ve been looking over our payroll. You’ve been due for a raise for a long time.”
I couldn’t believe it. I stared at him, blinked. I’d been scraping the bottom of the barrel for months to scrimp and save enough to cover my rent and then have just a little left over.
“How much?” I asked timidly.
“I think 2% would be sufficient.”
I would have settled for that. I would have settled for nothing, not long ago. But I felt bold. I was doing amazing work for my company, and amazing things were happening for me, too. I could be better—and I could ask for more.
“Five,” I shot back. I tried to channel Simon when I said it, making my voice flat and commanding. Travis looked rattled. But then, after a moment, a smile warmed the corner of his mouth.
“Fine. Five. Now, get back to work,” he said. But it sounded more like a parody of a tough boss when he said it. Still, I wasn’t going to argue. I turned and sped from that office, feeling like I was floating on a cloud as I went.
I saw the whole office building in a new light. The drop ceilings, and buzzing wires—none of that seemed to matter anymore. Simon had made every corner of my life shine, even in my dusty old cube.
Was this what it was like to have a true partner? Not only did Simon bring in good money, but he had enough ambition and energy left over to share some of that drive with me. It was a new feeling, to be truly matched with a guy, and such a handsome one, too. Thrilling, really.
I brought up his profile, gazing at the Labrador, the bike—and those killer abs. I smothered a giggle at the sight. He hadn’t messaged me yet today, but I was sure I’d hear from him later. After our date, it felt like things had really turned around between the two of us. Sure, he was occasionally infuriating, pushier than what I was used to, but maybe different wasn’t so bad. Maybe different was good.
And the way he looked at me . . . I was starting to think he was as crazy for me as I was for him. Maybe he was really falling for me. Maybe I’d win his heart. Maybe I’d win the bet . . .
Ugh, the bet. I cringed to think about it. Because it didn’t feel right, not anymore, to treat Simon like he was some tool that would get me a grand and a motorcycle. And okay, maybe he was a tool. But he was starting to feel like my tool, and I wanted to protect him.
I couldn’t have him finding out about it and feeling used. Biting my lip, I thought one last time about that motorcycle. I’d fantasized about it for years, how it would feel to drive off the lot and ride the motorcycle to my dad’s place. The look of pride and surprise on his face when I’d ask him if he wanted to take it for a spin. As happy as my dad would be when I bought a Triumph to share and ride with him, I think he’d be happier to know that I’d found love.
Love. What a ridiculous idea. I almost wanted to hide my head in my hands. But I couldn’t, not now. I had a bet to break off. Squaring my shoulders, I rose from my desk and headed across the cube farm.
“Riley?” I said, when I’d reached her cubicle door over at the other side of the office, where the programmers worked. Her monitor was on, and her stuff was at her desk, but she wasn’t there. I glanced around for a second, but she was nowhere in sight. The only person I saw was one of her programmer cube mates, scarfing down a Greek yogurt at his desk.
“Hey, is Riley around?”
He shrugged. He had a massive smear of yogurt on his tie, but he hadn’t seemed to notice. “She had to leave the office to run an errand. She’ll be back soon. Take a seat.”
He gestured to her desk chair. I fell into it with a flop, exhaling hard. I knew that waiting for Riley was going to make some of that resolve I built crumble a little. I reminded myself that this mattered—that Simon mattered—way more than any motorcycle.
But then I heard a little bloop. A notification noise. I glanced at Riley’s cube mate, who was wearing headphones and seemed to be inhaling his yogurt with noisy relish. Hmm. I glanced at the screen.
Keep in mind that I’m not a snoop, not normally. Once when I was a kid, I found my mom’s diary in her closet when I was looking for my winter boots. It was just a marble notebook, but there was a sticker on the front page that said “Keep out--private.” As much as I wanted to know whatever secrets my mom felt fit to write down, especially about her break-up with Dad, I was a good kid. I’d put it right back where I found it, respecting her privacy. So I figured I’d just glance at Riley’s computer and then look away, like any decent person would do.
But then my eyes fell on the name at the top of the blinking IM.
Peacock87.
What. The. Fuck?
My heart dropped into my stomach. I was going to be sick. How did Riley even know Simon? They’d only met that once at the mall. I’d never even told her his screen name. But somehow, she’d gotten it. I leaned forward in Riley’s office chair, trying to look inconspicuous as I did, even though my heart was pounding hard.
Peacock87
I need to talk to you about the bet.
The bet. Simon knew about the bet? I’d been careful not to spill a word to him. Even back when I thought he was a douchenozzle, I didn’t want him to know that he was just part of some scheme. No matter how jerky, I’m no heartbreaker. I hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings.
And of course, I’d wanted to win. But I’d been careful. I wanted to be kind to Peacock87, bike or no bike. We would have just parted ways after some fun... that was fine. Fair.
But Riley hadn’t cared about his feelings. She must have told him. But why? My mind swam in confusion. My hand was shaking as I reached for the mouse, giving one last glance over my shoulder to make sure that her office mate was oblivious. He was headbanging to whatever music he had on his headphones, loud enough that I could hear the bass pounding through. He’d never notice if I read through Riley’s IMs with Simon. I went way back to the beginning.
Peacock87
I got your email. So my cut would be 50%.
His . . . cut? My eyes opened wider.
WryGirl79
Yup. But you have to make this really believable. Tazzy’s not an idiot. She’ll know if you half-ass it.
Peacock87
No problem. I can break anyone's heart. Trust me. I’m not exactly a true believer in love myself.
WryGirl79
I don’t care what you believe. You just need to make Tazzy feel like she’s been really fucked over.
Peacock87
All while I’m fucking her?
WryGirl79
Snort. That part’ll be easy. I mean, she’s easy. Girl’s a total slut.
I was in a tailspin. My throat constricted; I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to burst into tears or puke all over Riley’s desk. What the hell was happening here? Simon was in on the bet—with Riley? My first, my closest, my best work friend. The one who had listened through all of my dating exploits, who had high-fived me when a guy bought me a drink. Had she really been thinking I was a slut the whole time?
This cut deep, straight down to my bones. I’d opened myself up. Not just to Simon, but to Riley, too. And I’d been so on guard about the guy that I hadn’t even noticed how vulnerable I’d let myself be to her. Riley. I’d never even given it a second thought. She seemed so sweet, so kind, so . . . harmless.
I sat back in the chair, hazy with disbelief as all the pieces fell into place. It made so much sense—that would explain why Simon had been running so hot and cold with me from the very beginning. I thought I’d been the only one who was acting, all
for the sake of the bet. Turns out, Simon was acting, too, fucking me over with Riley by his side, all for a measly four hundred and fifty bucks.
Good god, ten minutes earlier I’d been ready to throw the bet away because I thought Simon loved me. Because I thought I loved him. But it was an act, all of it. I felt like grabbing Riley’s garbage can from under her desk and dumping my insides into it. But before I could barf out my feelings, I heard a voice at the cube door.
“Hey, Tazzy, what’s up, girl?”
Riley. There she was, looking cheerful and oblivious. But I knew better now. I wanted to wipe that expression right off her face. I wanted to punch her, to slap her, to scream. But I held myself back, shaking in her desk chair. A thousand thoughts were flying through my mind. I wondered what she knew about my nights with Simon. How he’d made me cream my panties. The way he talked to me and touched me and made me feel dirty and good, all at once.
“Uh, nothing!” I said cheerfully, bile rising in my throat. “I wanted to talk to you about, uh, the presentation, but on second thought, I think I got it.”
I stood up in a hurry, stuffing my hands in my pockets to hide how they shook. Riley stood there, looking puzzled, trading glances with her cube mate like I was some kind of psycho. Anger and shame flashed inside me. I wanted to throttle her; she was clearly the sociopath. What other kind of person would do something like this to someone?
“See you later,” I said firmly. It was suddenly apparent that I couldn’t be here anymore. Time for a mental health break. Time for some space. Time to forget about Riley, Simon, Perfect Click, all of this. My heart pounding in my throat, I practically raced across the office, grabbed my bag and coat, and hightailed it out of there like I was on fire.
13
I was losing it, slamming my foot on the gas and peeling through the city. I couldn’t go home, not with the remnants of my evening with Simon everywhere, his smell in my sheets and the last scraps of his breakfast still littering my kitchen table. But I didn’t want to stay at work, either, and risk running into Riley.
