Wrong Number, Right Guy

by Tara Wylde

  “Slowly,” she says, taking my shaft in her hand and stroking. “We’ve got forever. We’re grown-ups now.”

  Yeah, I think. We’re grown-ups. And I’m rich. I can do anything I want. And what I want to do is fuck Sara as hard as I can.

  As if she can read my mind, she sighs and lays back, only we’re not on the storeroom cot anymore. We’re on the king-sized platform bed in my penthouse. Sara squeezes her breasts together as she spreads her legs wide apart, showing me the secret place I’ve wanted to see for so long.

  “It’s all yours, Chance,” she whispers. “After all this time, it’s all yours.”

  “I want you, Sara,” I sigh. “You’re all I ever wanted.”

  I want to stay here forever, to feel like this forever, but I can already feel it slipping away. Something is tugging at me, causing me pain. I try to hold on with everything I have, trying to get on top of Sara, to finally be inside of her, to come together finally as one, but there’s so much pain down there.

  Why? Why is there so much … pain…?

  I wake up to the painful ache of my hard cock being almost bent in half by my body weight. I’m on all fours in my bed as if someone is underneath me, but all my hard-on is running into is an unyielding mattress.

  “Fuuuck,” I groan as I roll over onto my back. My chest is heaving like I’ve just finished a full-pack hike.

  There’s a tent under the thin top sheet. I sleep in the nude, so I suppose I should be thankful I didn’t finish the job in my dream. If I had, I would have been stripping the bed before the maid gets here tomorrow.

  “Fucking scotch,” I mumble as the dizziness begins to catch hold. It does nothing to wash away the images from the dream, though. I can still see Sara’s perfect naked body, still feel her hand around my cock, still taste her cherry tongue in my mouth.

  I see the setting sun behind my bedroom curtains casting an orange glow on the window pane. The clock on the night table says 8:16 p.m.

  That’s what I get for starting into the booze right after lunch. I sigh and reach down to massage the cramp out of my rapidly deflating cock.

  This is going to be a looonnng fucking month.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  13. SARA

  Whap.

  “Again.”

  Whap.

  “Again.”

  WHAP.

  “Whoa.”

  WHAP!

  “Hey, settle down!”

  Kelsey flashes me an annoyed look that pulls my head back into the moment. I didn’t realize I was letting my mood creep into the roundhouse kicks I’ve been driving into her padded shield for the last five minutes.

  “Sorry,” I pant, propping my gloved hands on my knees to catch my breath.

  “Everything okay?” she asks. “You’ve been aggressive since your warm-up.”

  Kelsey has been my martial arts instructor and friend for six years. She’s learned how to read minds based on a student’s movements, plus she knows me really well – there’s no getting anything past her. The upside is I don’t have to pay for a therapist.

  Kelsey doesn’t charge me for the workouts either – we met when she hired me to get her sister out of a cult, and she hasn’t let me pay her a dime since.

  “Crazy day,” I puff. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Uh-huh,” she says. “Let’s take a break before you hurt yourself. Or me.”

  I grab my towel and wipe the sweat from my face as we take a seat on the bench in front of the full-length mirror on the wall of her studio. As usual, I’m a pit-stained mess in my workout clothes, while Kelsey looks like she just stepped out of the salon. Some women just seem have that natural coolness about them.

  “What happened?” she asks. “You’re only like this when you’re frustrated. Is it a case?”

  “Yeah, but not the way you think. I’m doing a corporate job this month. Huge pay.”

  She smiles. “Awesome! So why is that frustrating?”

  I shake my head. “It’s complicated.”

  “Try me.”

  The truth is I don’t know why I’m feeling like this. It’s not like I’m mad at Chance, or unhappy about the money. I should be kicking up my heels, not trying to kick Kelsey’s head off her shoulders.

  “I won’t bore you with the details,” I say. “It’s just a different kind of work. I’m nervous that I won’t be able to pull it off.”

  Kelsey’s eyes narrow. Her gaze has the same effect on me that my father’s did when I was a kid, back before he finally left us. It’s like a school principal’s.

  “I think it’s a guy,” she says. “You’re always like this after you break up with someone.”

  “I am not.”

  “Yup. I always assume it’s because you’re mad at the guy.”

  I’ve only had a handful of boyfriends, and none of them has lasted more than a few weeks. Well, except for Chance. We were together for two years.

  I sigh. “It’s not them I get upset with. It’s me.”

  “You get mad at yourself after a breakup?”

  “There’s a reason no guy ever wants to stay with me,” I say morosely.

  Kelsey takes my shoulders and turns me to look her in the eye.

  “Don’t talk like that,” she says. “You’ve got the full package, girl. If a guy can’t see that, it’s his problem, not yours.”

  Should I tell her? All these years we’ve been friends, I’ve never actually broached the subject with her. But if there’s anyone I can trust in this world, it’s Kelsey.

  “It’s not the guys,” I say. “Well, a couple of them were jerks. But the others just couldn’t get past something that’s wrong with me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s just… I’ve never…”

  “Never what?”

  I lean in and whisper, even though we’re the only people in the room.

  “Kelsey, I’m a virgin. Every time a guy and I get to the point where most people have sex, I just… don’t.”

  Her eyes widen. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I’m more screwed up than I let on.”

  “Honey, believe me, I know how screwed up you are,” she says with a grin. “But there’s nothing wrong with waiting for the right guy. I kind of admire you for it.”

  I grimace. Should I keep going? The only other person I’ve ever talked to about this is Grace, and that’s because she lived through it with me.

  “I wish that was the reason,” I say. “But if I’m being honest, it’s not. I have… hang-ups.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My mom was a bit of a religious fanatic.”

  That’s the understatement of the century. She was a bipolar addict who had a lot of ideas about purity and chastity being the only paths to heaven. It got worse as Grace and I entered puberty. She made us ashamed of our own bodies, and we were scared to death of boys.

  Even when I rebelled and started dating Chance, I wasn’t able to go all the way with him. He never complained, though. He always said my beautiful face was all he needed.

  “That’s too bad,” says Kelsey. “Maybe your break-ups are some sort of trigger for your anger with her? You blame her for not being able to seal the deal with a man.”

  Whoa. That’s kind of a revelation.

  “I never thought of that,” I say. “But you’re probably right.”

  “That doesn’t explain today, though,” she says. “You didn’t break up with a guy today, did you?”

  “Well, therein lies a tale.”

  I tell her about the crazy coincidence of meeting up with Chance again after all these years.

  “Wow,” she says. “That is crazy.”

  “Right?”

  “So how did you feel about it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You run into the only guy you were ever really close to, and he’s hotter than ever – that’s gotta spark a few thoughts, girl.”

  I frown. “Are you trying to tell me
I’ve been beating up on you because I’m horny?”

  Kelsey shrugs. “You tell me.”

  I’d really like to tell her she’s out to lunch, that there’s obviously another explanation. But do I even believe that?

  “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter,” I say. “Chance made it abundantly clear that his boat sailed a long time ago.”

  “Oh, come on,” she says. “You’re hot, sweetie. How do you know he wasn’t just playing hard to get? Ex-flame doesn’t want to let on he’s still interested – it’s a tale as old as time.”

  “I doubt that very much.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  In for a penny, in for a pound. Might as well tell her all of it.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  14. SARA

  “Chance is a lot more than an old flame,” I say. “He and I had been best friends for years before we finally realized we loved each other in senior year. We both grew up in shitty circumstances – he was in and out of foster care and got into a lot of trouble as a kid. My dad used to beat on me and my sister before he finally left us alone with my mom.”

  Kelsey nods, but says nothing.

  “Chance and I were sort of each other’s soft place to land, if you know what I mean. He held me through so many nights where I thought the only way I could stop the pain was to jump off a bridge. He literally saved my life when we were fourteen. He happened to stop by one night when my dad had been drinking. Dad came after me with the poker from the fireplace and Chance stepped in and beat the hell out of him. Imagine, a fourteen-year-old taking out a full-grown man.”

  “Jesus, Sara,” Kelsey breathes. “I had no idea.”

  “Chance was my hero,” I say simply. “We were inseparable, or at least as inseparable as we could be with parents like mine. Things got a little easier for a while after Dad finally walked out, but it didn’t last long.”

  “What happened?”

  “I finally decided right before our prom that I wanted to go all the way with Chance. So I planned for a special night at a friend’s place who was out of town for the weekend. I bought candles and made a mixed tape of love songs and everything. It was supposed to be perfect.”

  “So what went wrong?”

  I sigh. “Grace found the stuff in my room right before I was going to leave. She told my mom, who promptly lost her shit and interrogated me about it. I ended up confessing what I had planned, and she told me never to see Chance again.”

  Kelsey’s eyes are soft as she reaches out to take my hand.

  “That must have been so hard for you.”

  “It was,” I say. “Part of me wanted to just slap her face and storm out of our house. I’d pick up Chance and we’d head out into the world together, come what may.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No. I mean, she was my mother, and I knew she had a mental illness, even if it was never officially diagnosed. It didn’t help that she self-medicated with alcohol and painkillers. I couldn’t just abandon her, especially now that Dad was gone.”

  “You gotta keep going, girl,” Kelsey says. “I’m on pins and needles here.”

  I feel the familiar ache in my throat that signals the tears are about to start. I’ve kept this all bottled up inside me for such a long time.

  “I called Chance and made up a lame excuse,” I say. “He told me it was okay, but I could tell by his voice that he was disappointed. I didn’t see him for a few days after that because I was dealing with Mom.

  “Meanwhile, Chance was having his own problems with the foster parents he was supposed to be living with. They told him he needed to show up for visits with child services or they wouldn’t get their money. Otherwise, they didn’t give a shit where he was. He told them to go fuck themselves.

  “Anyway, he called me the night of his eighteenth birthday and told me he was coming over. He showed up at my door carrying a duffel bag with everything he owned, which wasn’t much. He begged me to come with him, said he was going to join the Marines and we could get married and start our own family, to hell with everyone. It was everything I’d ever wished for.”

  Kelsey nods. “And yet you didn’t go.”

  The tears that have been threatening to fall finally spill down my cheeks.

  “While Chance was standing outside the door, telling me that he didn’t want to live without me, my mom was standing on the other side with the tip of a butcher knife against her throat.”

  Kelsey gasps and covers her mouth with her hand. Suddenly I feel sorry for burdening her with all this. But I’ve come this far, I might as well finish.

  “She was blasted out of her mind on gin and OxyContin,” I say. “If I had left with Chance, she would have driven that blade right through her jugular and left Grace on her own. What choice did I have?”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I told Chance to go without me.”

  The memory runs over me like a steamroller. His gray eyes – they turned to pure lead as he realized what I was saying. I was abandoning him. The one person he thought he could always count on.

  Kelsey lets out a low whistle. “So your mom didn’t kill herself?”

  “Not that night,” I say with a bitter chuckle. “It took another four years for her to drive her car into the Delaware, drunk off her ass. She drowned. By then, I’d already graduated from the all-girl college she’d shipped me off to.”

  Kelsey leans against the mirror on the wall behind us and lets out a deep breath as I wipe my eyes with my palms.

  “That is one hell of a story, Sara,” she says, pulling me into her strong arms. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

  “Yeah,” I sniff. “Me too.”

  “It definitely explains a lot.”

  “I guess it does. I avoid thinking about it consciously as much as I can, just so that I don’t have to go through moments like this very often.”

  She cups my cheek in her palm and smiles. “That’s a smart strategy.”

  “Never really thought of it that way,” I say, taking a deep breath of my own. “It’s probably more instinct than strategy.”

  “Whatever, as long as it works.”

  “So,” I say, managing a smile. “Still think I’m just horny?”

  Kelsey’s eyes pop out as she snorts a giggle, and in a few seconds we're both doubled over with laughter. I think it’s more catharsis than actual humor, but boy does it ever feel good.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  15. SARA

  Back in my apartment, I lie awake on the coverlet of my bed, thinking about everything this crazy day. An empty wine glass sits on the night table beside me next to my cracked iPhone.

  Talking with Kelsey tonight really helped me get a handle on my feelings. The initial shock was natural, but I didn’t realize how much anger and frustration I still had tied up in those teen years. Nothing ever seemed to go right back then – except, of course, when I was with Chance.

  Seeing him again today was a reminder of all the things I could have had in my life, and it brought back all the shame and bitter resentment I felt at being forced to let him go.

  And, despite all of our joking about it, I have to admit that Kelsey was also right about something else: it made me horny as hell.

  Chance strides into my mind’s eye without permission. I see those lines under the shiny material of his golf shirt, the angles that define his torso, the long, steely muscles that line his arms. The Marines definitely honed him, as Tre said, but not just his will. It turned his body into something you’d see on the cover of a fitness magazine.

  I imagine Chance shirtless, in army fatigue pants, climbing through a muddy obstacle course. Sweating and panting, climbing over walls and crawling through muck that drenches his pants and makes them stick to his legs.

  My mind wanders along with my hand as it creeps down the front of my nightgown. Images of a younger Chance mingle with these new ones, combined with memories of our nights together, holding each other, feeling
each other’s heartbeat, tasting each other’s mouths.

  In no time at all, the heat between my legs becomes a furnace, then a raging fire. It’s been a while, but I learned how to take care of myself a long time ago, in every sense of the word. I imagine what he would look like naked – his manhood full and ready to go, him climbing on top of me to finally finish what we should have done so long ago.

  I last less than thirty seconds once my fingers go to work down there, pressing hard against my button. This is a release I desperately needed, even though I didn’t realize it. I swear I can feel the heat of Chance’s bare skin against me as the wave emanates outwards from the junction of my thighs like an earthquake.

  A few more muffled groans and it starts to subside. Finally it stops, leaving me lying there, panting, staring at the ceiling. It may not have resolved anything, but at least I feel better. Like I can actually walk back into Atlas tomorrow morning and take care of business.

  Business that just so happens to be hunting down the dirty secrets of the only man I ever loved.

  It’s going to be a looonngg month.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  16. CHANCE

  My phone buzzes on the polished surface of my desk right at 8:30 a.m., almost twelve hours to the minute after I woke up last night and realized I needed to take a whole different approach to the situation if I want to hold onto Atlas.

  The text is what I expected: She’s here.

  I take a quick glance in the mirror on the wall as I head for my office door: Not too shabby. Satin shirt with an extra button open and my favorite slacks, the ones a woman once said made my ass look like two golf balls wrapped in a handkerchief.

  Get ready, Sara Bishop. You’re about to meet the all-new Chance.

  I turn left in the hallway, toward the lobby. As planned, I almost walk right into Sara.

  Oh!” she says, obviously startled. “Sorry. I almost ran into you again. I need to stop doing that.”