“You mean you want someone like you?”
“No,” I muttered, looking away, “someone better than me.” Weariness suddenly dragged at me. “I think I need to lie down. Would you mind getting me a cab?”
He thought that was funny. “That’s why I came after you, remember? To see if you wanted a cab.”
“You don’t stay mad very long, do you?”
He shrugged. “I find other ways to work off my hostility. Keeps me mellow most of the time. You, on the other hand, seem kind of temperamental. Are you prone to mood swings? Or is it the rum?”
“Just get the damn cab. I want to get home before I start throwing up.”
I sent a text to Art so he wouldn’t be looking for me. Matt walked me out and flagged down a cab. Before I got in, he made me check my pockets to make sure I had enough cash for the ride. “Jesus,” I muttered, “you do want to be my daddy.”
He ignored me; made sure I got in and was coherent enough to tell the driver my address. He leaned in just before the cabbie took off. “I hope you find your dream man, Jamie.” I didn’t answer, just leaned my head against the window and stared out at the busy street.
Chapter Two
At work that Monday, I immediately went to look for the irregularity in the Tapman account I had noticed on Friday. I had done some research on it over the weekend, running it through some diagnostic accounting and statistical programs, but hadn’t found an explanation. Still concerned I had overlooked something, I kept an eye on the account most of the morning. But nothing appeared. The data seemed clean, and if it not for the information I had downloaded, I would think I had never seen an error at all.
That afternoon, the slight imbalance appeared again. I made a few phone calls to the holding company and some related businesses but with no results. I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to bring it to Eckland’s attention before it disappeared again.
“Excuse me, sir, do you have a minute?” I asked at his office door.
“Of course, James. Come on in.”
I entered and laid my printouts on his desk next to the picture of his late wife. I felt a quick pang of sympathy. I had never met her, but I knew that she had recently died after a very long battle with cancer. Eckland had spent a great deal of the last year out of the office, spending time with her and helping her fight the battle that was ultimately lost. I really hated to bother him with what I hoped was a minor error when he had just returned to work, but I couldn’t just let it go either. There had to be an explanation.
“What have you got there?” He nodded at my printouts. We discussed the error, and he asked, “I thought the Tapman account belonged to Jackson?”
“Yes, sir, but he’s been out with the flu for a couple of weeks. We divided up his accounts at the last staff meeting. I think you were on leave.”
“Well, James, you’ve got a sharp eye. It’s a small discrepancy, but you’re right. Over time it could add up to quite a bit. Why don’t you leave these printouts with me? I’ll take a look and ask around, see what some other folks think. We’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you, sir. Let me know if I can do anything else.” Relieved, I handed the problem over to him.
* * *
I was in the break room that Friday after lunch, refilling my coffee, when Keith Brooks came in. I felt tongue-tied as I always did around him. Keith had the ability to make me feel awkward just being in the same room. He was a good-looking guy with the athletic body of a tennis player and a golf-every-Sunday tan. But that was part of his job as vice president of marketing, and everyone said he was very good at it, bringing in new clients and smoothing the ruffled feathers of existing clients. He came from money and a Harvard education, and he was way out of my league. But I still couldn’t help being attracted to that tall, lean body and blond hair, just a little lighter and much finer than my own short, unruly curls. He had his uncle’s eyes, but a hint of blue tempered the cold gray.
He nodded to me politely, got his own coffee, and asked, “How was your weekend, James?”
“Just fine, sir. Not too eventful.”
“I’ve told you before; you don’t have to call me sir. It makes me feel like an old man, and I bet I’m not much older than you. Just call me Keith.” He turned his charming smile on me, but I thought it was just habit. I didn’t really have any reason to believe he was gay, much less interested in me. Any work issues went through my boss to him, so we rarely exchanged more than polite workday conversation.
“You should get out more on the weekend, get some sun. Do you play golf?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not, sir—Keith. Not a skill I ever learned.”
He looked at me for a long moment, appearing thoughtful, then smiled again and said, “Well, I bet you’ve got other skills.” Having once again succeeded in making me feel incredibly self-conscious and confused, he added, “Have a great day, James,” and left.
I stood there while my coffee got cold and wondered what the hell that had meant. Did it mean anything at all? Was I misinterpreting the way he had stared at me just a little too long? I put the cup in the microwave to warm it up. Did it really matter if he had meant the comment as a come-on? It’s not like I had the self-confidence to pursue it and find out.
* * *
Art picked me up, and we headed out into a light drizzle. I wanted to go to someplace different as we had been hitting Sparklers a lot lately. But he said Jen and a couple of other friends from the restaurant were already there.
“Besides,” said Art, “maybe we’ll run into your Mister Tall, Dark, and Handsome again. You two looked pretty good together on the dance floor last week.”
“He is hot,” I admitted. “But he doesn’t even have a job.”
“He does work, even if it’s just part-time right now. He teaches karate at a dojo. He’s a black belt.”
That explained the hard body that he’d pressed so close to mine, that tight, firm ass, flexing and thrusting…
Puzzled I asked, “How do you know?”
“We talked for a few minutes after you left last Friday. He thought he recognized Jen and came over to say hello. Turns out he goes to the same dojo as her brother.”
I looked out the window at the lights flickering by on the wet pavement. As big as the city was, sometimes it seemed surprisingly small; everyone knew someone who knew someone else.
Art went on, “He seems like a good guy, Jamie. He asked if you would be coming back to the club on Saturday, but I told him you only go out on Friday nights. You have your schedule, and you stick to it.”
“Jesus, Art, what did you tell him that for? That means he’ll probably be there tonight.” Although maybe not. He already thought I was prone to manic-depressive mood swings. Now he’d think I was obsessive-compulsive too.
“Are you pissed at me, man?”
“Of course not. He does seem like a nice guy. But you know he’s not what I’m looking for in a boyfriend.”
“I’m afraid your ideal doesn’t exist, Jamie boy. But let me know if you ever find him.”
When we got to the club, I headed for the bar, feeling the need for some liquid fortitude if I planned to say no to the dark-eyed man. But I didn’t see him right away and thought I should be relieved instead of feeling a slight disappointment. Maybe Art had scared him off with talk of my “schedule.” Probably for the best, anyway.
We found Jen at the bar and had just gotten a couple of drinks when a guy came up, introduced himself, and asked me to dance. Tall and blond, he kind of reminded me of Keith, if Keith had long hair tied up in beads and doused himself with patchouli. Despite a warning whiff of the strong fragrance, he looked enough like Keith that I let him pull me away from the bar and then out to the dance floor.
He drew me in closer, and I started to have some difficulty catching my breath. Usually a good thing, but not this time. Between the too-tight embrace and the strong scent, I felt like I was drowning.
I determined to stick out the song�
�following proper clubbing protocol; it seemed the polite thing to do—but when the song ended and I tried to move away, he pulled me closer, hands definitely wandering where they had not been invited.
I looked around a little desperately, searching for Art. I spotted him standing with Jen and a few other people, talking and laughing at one of the tall pub tables near the dance floor.
Art and I had been going clubbing together long enough to have developed our own set of signals. He had rescued me on more than one occasion, and I had done the same for him.
Maneuvering Hippie Guy closer to the edge of the floor, I finally caught Art’s eye. He raised his eyebrows at me, and I nodded vigorously.
But instead of coming over, he turned to someone else and said something, laughing. The man he had spoken to turned around and grinned at me. Matt—of course Art was sending Matt over to “rescue” me.
I glared at Art with a look that clearly said, You just wait until the next time you need a favor, but he only grinned and took another swig.
Matt approached Hippie Guy and politely tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, I haven’t seen my buddy here in a while. Do you mind if I have a dance with him?”
Hippie Guy responded with a growl, his attitude taking me by surprise. “Fuck off. We’re busy.”
Very unhippie-like.
Matt got closer. The same height as Hippie Guy and not much heavier, somehow he seemed much more intimidating. In a low voice he said, “I think he’s done dancing with you. But why don’t we ask him?”
I pulled away. “Why don’t I catch you later…um…?” I couldn’t think of his name. “Thanks for the dance.”
I turned to Matt, and he moved closer, resting his hands on my hips. My former dance partner cursed and headed for the bar.
I leaned into Matt. “I’m a big boy, you know. I don’t really need rescuing. I could have kneed him in the groin, and he would have gotten the message. I was just trying to be polite.”
“Apparently he didn’t appreciate that. Anyway, don’t blame me. Art sent me over. I was having a perfectly good time with Susie and Mark—that’s Jen’s brother. He wanted to meet up with her. I’m just along as the designated driver.”
“So you didn’t come here hoping to see me?”
“Not at all.”
I raised my eyebrows.
He grinned. “Well, maybe a little.”
“Hmm. Granted I was a bit drunk last Friday, but I’m pretty sure I said I wasn’t going to go out with you.”
“And yet, here we are, dancing a nice slow dance together.”
Well, I couldn’t argue with that.
The slow, steady beat reminded me of last week, and I relaxed a little, my annoyance forgotten as I leaned against that hard, fine body and breathed in his unique sweet/musky scent. The warmth of his hands penetrated through my jeans to my skin, and I rested my head against his shoulder, moving in time to the music. His arms wrapped around my waist, and we swayed, not talking.
The song changed again, and he said, “I want to take you home with me, but I have a feeling you would say no.”
“Now why would you think that?” I couldn’t help my sarcastic tone.
He ignored me. “And it seems you don’t take men you meet in bars home to your own place.”
“Damn straight.”
“Very sensible of you. Even a hotel would be risky with a stranger. So that only leaves the back alley, which is why you end up there most Friday nights, I’m guessing.”
I winced. He made it sound so desperate. “Well, a man has needs,” I murmured, looking away.
“And I’m not enthusiastic about doing you in an alley again. So unless you have a better idea, I say we just find a quiet corner and make out for a while.”
I gave in, letting him lead me off the dance floor. I can’t say I minded all that much. We found a back booth that another couple had just vacated. Settling in, I relaxed as his arms went around me again.
“Art says you teach karate? That explains this.” I ran my hand up under his shirt and stroked his firm chest. “You must work out a lot.”
“Yes, I teach at the Wise Warrior dojo sometimes, filling in for other instructors once in a while. Nothing regular. Mostly I just practice and hang out. I’ve been going there for years.”
He stroked his hand up under my shirt, rubbing his thumb against the gold ring, and nipped his way up my neck to my ear. “And you’re a CPA. Brains, beauty, and a smart-ass mouth. Very hot, babe.”
“Not everyone thinks so.” I thought of Keith, the comment in the break room, and the way he had looked at me.
He frowned. “Do you have someone? I got the impression you weren’t seeing anyone.”
“No, I’m not.”
“But there is someone you wish you were dating? Who is it?”
It was none of his business, but I told him anyway. I found him easy to talk to, comfortable and calm. “Just a guy at work. His name is Keith. He’s in management, though, so I doubt he even knows I exist, much less that I’m interested.”
“Let me guess. This guy is tall, good-looking, successful, charming? Is he even gay?”
I hesitated, wondering if he would laugh at me. Finally I said, “I’m not sure.”
Well, at least he didn’t laugh or call me an idiot for wanting the unobtainable. He just said, “Still looking for your dream man.”
He put both arms around me and pulled me close. His lips met mine for a long, slow kiss that I felt all the way down to my toes, speeding my heart and sending heat through my belly. When we broke apart, I told him, “You’re a very persistent guy. I just told you I have a crush on someone else, and you still want to make out?”
He started to say something and then hesitated.
I took a deep breath. “What is it? Go ahead, say it.”
“I know it’s none of my business, and I don’t even know this Keith, so I shouldn’t say anything. But I do know one thing, Jamie. If the man were gay and unattached, there is no way he could keep his hands off you.”
I bit my lip, not happy. It was nice that someone thought that about me, but I feared he might be right about Keith.
“Don’t frown, babe,” he said. “It puts a little line right between those pretty green eyes. You’ll get a headache.” He trailed one hand up my cheek and ran a finger between my eyebrows, gently stroking. His thumb moved over to rub my temple. It felt soothing. I let out a long sigh, and my eyes drifted closed.
“Christ,” he breathed. “All I have to do is look at you, and I get hard.”
“Is that right?” I moved my hand down to rest lightly between his legs to see if he was exaggerating. He wasn’t. I stroked the bulge, moving my thumb up the zipper, and heard him suck in his breath. Moving closer, I nuzzled his neck, kissing my way up to his earlobe. He responded with a shiver. I kept my lips against his neck and slowly unzipped his pants to pull out that thick, hard cock. Moving my face close to his, I looked straight at him and slowly licked my hand, running my tongue over my palm and sucking on my fingers, one by one. His eyes widened, and his mouth parted a little. Using my wet fingers and his precum for lubrication, I began a slow, tight stroking motion down his shaft.
His breathing increased, and his arms tensed around me. “Jamie,” he murmured, burying his face in my hair. “Oh God, that feels…”
I picked up the pace. His mouth was open and panting, and I tangled the fingers of my other hand into his long, thick hair and pulled his face around so I could catch his lips with mine. I wanted to be kissing him when he came, to feel him crying out with pleasure into my mouth. His breathing came faster, and I kissed him harder, my tongue thrusting and sliding against his tongue in rhythm with my strokes as he moaned quietly into my mouth. His body stiffened, and I felt the warm fluid spilling over my hand. I ate up his cry of ecstasy, swallowed it down into silence.
We rocked together for a moment, breathing hard. He reached for me, wanting to reciprocate, but I stopped him without an explanation. I felt t
hat if he touched me again, I would no longer be able to say no to him, and the future would become unpredictable. Very risky.
I reached for the little cocktail napkins on the table to clean up. You would think a place like this would have bigger napkins readily available for the convenience of its drunk, libidinous clientele. Maybe even some wet naps.
Matt tucked himself back in, then put his arms around me again and rested his head quietly against mine. We stayed like that for a long time, until my phone buzzed with a text from Art, saying he wanted to leave.
“Bye, Matthew,” I whispered into his ear and left him.
Chapter Three
I continued to monitor the account that week, but there were no more errors. I didn’t hear from Eckland until Wednesday, when he called me into his office. To my surprise, I could see Ethan Brooks through the office window.
I stood outside the door, my stomach clenched into a knot. How badly had I screwed up? If I got fired, I would lose my apartment, my friends, everything. I could never get another decent job without a recommendation. I would end up on the street, looking for a vacant house to crash in, just as we had often done during my childhood. At least I knew how to live on the streets, I thought bitterly. My parents had taught me that much.
I took a deep breath and walked in. Polite greetings all around before getting down to business.
Brooks said, “So, Morgan, I hear you have been doing a great job lately. The error you spotted could have been very significant for us. It turned out to be a minor computer glitch, but it might have become quite a problem.”
Not what I was expecting to hear. “Uh, thank you, sir.”
“You’ve heard that we’ve gotten several new accounts lately, haven’t you? Some very important ones.”
I nodded.
“I’d like you to handle the Lawrence Industries account. It’s a big account, son, but we think you’re ready for it. What do you think?”
Now that was definitely not what I had expected to hear. “I…um…I don’t know what to say, sir. I’m a bit surprised. I thought someone more senior than me would get that account.” Then I added hastily, “But certainly, I feel that I’m ready for it. I’ve had some great experience in the last couple of years and some great mentoring from Mr. Eckland.” Didn’t hurt to flatter the boss a little, did it? Besides, it was true; Eckland had treated me very kindly from my first day.
Friday Night Jamie Page 3
