by Ivy Carter
Something about the nasally whine in her voice is like nails down a chalkboard for me. Normally Jennifer doesn’t bug me or get on my nerves. Yeah, she’s not the love of my life or anything, but she’s a great date by my side at social events. She’s savvy on world politics, has multiple degrees, and great legs to boot.
She looks good on paper, sure. And dating her has been easy, uncomplicated.
But sitting across from her tonight at Little Swan, a swanky steakhouse in downtown Boston, I can’t help but feel…bored. Listless.
“—listening to me?” she’s saying as she waves her hand in my direction. “It’s like you’re not even here with me.”
I drag my attention back to her face. It’s pretty, but bland. Her blond hair is curled into a soft twist, and her sleeveless dress is pale pink. She’s lovely; more than one man in the place has shot glances at her since we arrived. “Hard day at work. I’m a little tired,” I say, by way of explanation.
Of course, it’s way beyond that now.
I don’t think my dick has gone back to being regular since I read Emme’s journal. Seeing her this morning, the vulnerable fear in her eyes as she bravely stood there in front of me, knowing she’d been caught…it was so fucking difficult to fight the urge to taste her mouth.
I’m proud of my restraint. But I paid for it dearly—my productivity was shit. I finally gave up and left work early, something I never do. This date with Jennifer was supposed to serve as a distraction for me.
Not working. If anything, the contrast somehow makes Emme come even more vividly to life, while Jennifer pales in comparison.
Jennifer gives me a smile that should look sympathetic but doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, you seem a bit off today, not like yourself.” She looks over my shoulder and nods, and our waitress scurries over. “Excuse me, but my steak is overdone. I’d like it prepared medium-rare, as I asked.”
The server says in an apologetic tone, “I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure the chef puts a rush order on your plate. Can I get you anything while you wait?”
Jennifer shakes her head, making a noise of annoyance, her disappointment clear on her face, and the waitress leaves. “Please, go ahead and eat,” she tells me with a wave of her hand. “No sense in your food getting cold.”
“What did you do today?” I ask Jennifer to divert myself from thoughts of what I’d rather be doing right now.
Jennifer’s smile is so polished, her teeth flashing as she recites a litany of tasks she did. Jennifer works for a major corporation’s charity branch. Her job is to seek out and interview qualified candidates for the corporation to donate to. Yet another thing that makes her look so perfect. But despite all these positive qualities, I can’t muster one ounce of aroused feelings for her. It’s like I’m eating dinner with my mother.
My mind drifts again to Emme’s curls, how badly I wanted to touch them, smell them. That makes my heart race.
“Here you go,” the waitress says, giving another remorseful smile as she presents the plate to Jennifer. “This should be much better. Sorry again about the mix-up.” She lingers while my date cuts the meat and gives her curt nod of approval, and the waitress beams, then scampers off.
“Finally.” Jennifer cuts off a delicate piece and nibbles it. I already know she’s only going to eat half the food—she never devours her meal. Never seems to savor it.
Maybe that’s part of what’s making me feel this way right now. The certainty that any physical thing that could happen between us would lack genuine chemistry. Jennifer’s too polished, too perfect; there’s nothing raw about her. Nothing that makes me ache to plunge into her—physically, emotionally.
Sure I can make her come—but it’s almost robotic…like scratching an itch at this point.
My fucking brain can’t help but compare her to what I read in Emme’s journal. I know I shouldn’t—they’re two very different people. But those intimate words are burned in my skull, tattooed on my skin in a way I can’t seem to shake off. Jennifer and all her advanced degrees and polished demeanor can’t hold a candle to that.
“Maybe after this, you can come over to my place for a nightcap?” she asks me with a coy smile, putting her fork and knife down across her plate to signal she’s done. Sure enough, half the food’s still there. She’s nothing if not predictable.
But now I know there’s more out there, and predictability doesn’t seem to satisfy me. I’ve seen real passion in the words of an innocent and vibrant young woman, and it’s blown everything else out of the water. Despite my efforts, I can’t go back to pretending all is fine in my little world. Because it isn’t.
And it hasn’t been for a long time.
How long have I been sleepwalking through my days, pretending to have feelings that I don’t have? When’s the last time I’ve felt strongly about anything other than work?
I fight give Jennifer a noncommittal sound. I’m not going to use her or drag this on when I’m not feeling it. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to end it after dinner.
I finish my food out of habit, though I’m no longer hungry, then pay the check and add a good tip to thank the waitress for fixing the meal issue. Jennifer hasn’t noticed that I’m still distracted, or if she has, she’s too polite to bring it up. She’s offering a running commentary on a news article she read earlier this week about Israel. Instead of sounding educated, as she normally does, it’s striking me as more bragging, the way she keeps pointing out what insider information she knows, due to contacts overseas.
I can’t tell if my new perspective of her is my fault or hers. Or perhaps I always knew this about her, but now I have someone real and vibrant to compare her to, and it’s making her company unbearable as a result.
We get in my car, and I drive her home. When I pull up in front of her large house, with its perfect lawn and pristine brick façade and pristine BMW parked in the driveway, she turns and gives me an expectant look.
“So, Dane…about that nightcap…” There’s almost a purr in her voice, one I haven’t heard before. She offers me a toothy grin. “I have a twenty-year-old bottle of scotch that I haven’t opened yet. I know how much you love it.” She says this like she’s noticed something intimately personal about me.
I reach over and take her hand. The touch doesn’t stir anything in my body. “I’ve enjoyed our dinners together, and your company.”
“Me too.” Her voice is soft, and her grin gets bigger.
“I’m going to have to decline your invitation. I’m afraid I’m not the best company right now. Thank you for spending this evening with me though.”
She blinks twice, staring at me, and her body stiffens. “Wait, what? So…you’re not coming in?”
“No.”
Suddenly, my words register with her. “Are you dumping me?” she asks, like it’s the most absurd thing she could possibly imagine.
I fight back the irritation that bleeds into my voice. “No, I’m not dumping you. We’re not in a committed relationship.”
Her eyes narrow. “I thought we were moving in that direction. It sure seemed that way.” She doesn’t sound hurt though. Merely irritated, a little put out and confused. It makes me wonder if I’m the first guy who’s ever not wanted to pursue more with her. She removes her hand from mine and squares her shoulders, her face smoothing into a polite mask once more.
“I understand you’re frustrated,” I say smoothly. “But it’s better to make things clear between us now, I’m sure you’d agree.”
She tightens her coat, grabs her purse from between her feet, and glides out of the car. Before she closes the door, she leans down and says in a fake chipper tone, “Well. I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”
“I hope so,” I reply, even though nothing could be further from the truth. Our families do run in similar circles, however. Plus the habit of politeness is a hard one to break.
I wait until she gets inside before pulling away. The drive to my condo is filled with silence—I leave th
e radio off and let my thoughts run wherever they want, not trying to rein them in anymore.
And they want to run to Emme.
Two days ago, I never would have guessed that my personal assistant would be stuck in my head this much. But two days ago, I also never would have guessed that beneath that quiet persona of hers, existed a volcano of emotions. I feel like a veil has been ripped from my eyes, and I see everything around me so much clearer now.
It’s harder for me to maintain my indifference toward her now. Especially when this primal, hungry part of me has been tapped in such a shocking way. For the first time in my life, I wonder if I could possibly lose control and actually indulge my fantasies about this woman.
I should be pissed. My life has been good, and that’s in no small part due to the role I’ve been playing for so many years. I should be pissed that one errant diary has made me question it all.
I should be, but I’m not.
No, what I am is fucking horny. Horny and craving Emme in a way that has thrown everything out of joint. I just broke up with a lovely woman because I wanted to be free.
Free to do what, though?
All I know is that I want to know more of her amazingly sharp and sexy mind, to understand her, to hear her speak her thoughts aloud to me, the same way she writes them in that damn book of hers.
And even though I sure as fuck don’t want to admit it to myself, I need to feel her skin, to know what she smells and tastes like, to hear her scream in ecstasy as I fuck her the way she wrote about being fucked.
I pull into my driveway and sit there with the car idling. And I know I can’t deny myself what I really crave. In that moment, I don’t care if it’s a damn cliché to want her, to want the woman who’s working for me, but I do.
And there’s no way I can keep walking into that office every day and not think about what she wrote. No way I’m going to be able to resist tasting her. I know myself; she’s stoked something long dormant and now there’s no turning back.
She woke the beast.
If she didn’t want this, she should have kept that journal out of the office, out of my sight, as far away from me as humanly possible.
I get out of the car and feel the biting wind that whips alongside the vehicle. Hustling to the door, I rip off my scarf and coat and hang them in the hallway.
This condo is so damn quiet. Quiet and perfect, like everything else in my life. The silence, the emptiness, echo.
I know what I want now, what’s had me so aroused and unsatisfied for the last two nights. It’s Emme, spread out in front of me, wet and hungry. She and I can help each other—I want…no, I need to unlock that dark sexuality that lies beneath her surface. I need to be the one to do that—I may in fact be the only man alive who could do it the way she needs it to be done.
My hands will make her come. My mouth. My words. I will show her how blissful it is to satisfy those needs of hers.
I’m raging hard again.
Now the question is, can Emme handle the reality of what she’s been writing about for so long? Those words are pretty telling in her journal, but it’s one thing to write something and fantasize about it. Another thing to take real action to make it come true.
I guess there’s only one way to find out.
Emme
“I’m so nervous about this quiz,” Sidney, the student on my right, confesses. “I studied all night but I’m not sure it sank in.”
I offer her a smile. “You’re gonna do fine. You already know this material inside and out. Every time the prof calls on you, you have an answer.”
Sidney is thirty, returning to college after more than a decade-long break. She got pregnant as a freshman at eighteen and then married shortly thereafter, but now that her son’s in middle school and she’s freshly divorced, she’s finally able to pursue her dreams.
I’m a bit surprised she and I have clicked the way we have, given the vast differences in our lives, but she’s so open and sweet that it’s hard not to like her. From the first day of class, she’s been someone I enjoy seeing on campus. Always has a friendly wave when she spots me out and about.
Sidney shrugs, but I can tell my compliments warm her. The tiny crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes crinkle. “Oh, you. Thanks for the ego boost.”
Our economics prof strolls in, his salt-and-pepper hair coiffed to perfection, his shirt freshly pressed and gray dress pants creased down the fronts. Professor McDoogle is nothing if not dapper, and I’ve seen the way Sidney checks him out when she thinks I’m not looking. Can’t blame her—he’s a good-looking older gentleman. “Who’s ready for the quiz?” There are a few quiet groans scattered in the room, and he laughs at us. “Come on, get it done early so you can enjoy the rest of your Friday.”
“Easy for him to say,” I mutter, earning a soft chuckle from Sidney. “He already finished all his schooling, and his job is to torture us now.” It’s actually not that bad of a class though. And after each class session, I head right to work, where I’ll sit at my desk and try not to think about Dane all day.
The quiz isn’t terrible; at least, I don’t feel like I’ve bombed it. I’m glad I spent last night studying—having this to focus on helped me not dissect yesterday’s scandals, gave me a reason to shake off my emotions and crawl outside of my own head. Hard to believe that school is working as a distraction from my pathetic life.
We finish the quiz, and McDoogle dismisses us, telling us we’ll have them back on Monday. Sidney and I slip out of the building and step onto the frozen crunchy grass, sunshine pouring through thin smudges of gray clouds. The business administration department is located on the fringe of campus, just a mile or so from the water.
“Want to grab a coffee?” Sidney says. “We can go over our answers.”
Tempting.
“I would, but I need to hustle to work,” I tell her with a regretful smile. “Maybe we can try to get together some evening, when we have enough free time to really hang out.”
“I’d like that a lot,” she says softly. “I don’t really socialize much.”
“Me either,” I admit.
Her eyes narrow, and her breath comes out in little puffs. “I find that odd, actually—you’re still really young. Too young to be so serious.”
I tighten my scarf around my neck as a blast of wind pulls at my hair. “Sometimes life makes you that way, no matter how old you are.”
“I understand that. Getting pregnant when I was barely an adult changed me. Your whole life ends up slipping away as you dwell in Mom mode.” She sighs and shrugs, giving a small smile. “But I wouldn’t undo it. My life has gone the way it’s supposed to, and that’s okay.”
I shift my book on my hip, and we continue walking toward the middle of campus. “So how do you balance everything? Your needs versus your responsibilities?” I kind of long to be more specific, about my brother and how the burden of being responsible for him is starting to weigh on me far heavier than I’d like, but I’m a bit nervous to give away such personal details. I don’t want to alienate my new friend by looking too needy, or make her pity me.
Or even worse, possibly judge me for not being everything I need to be.
“You’re not always going to find balance. Sometimes, things take precedence in your life,” she admits, casting a sideways glance at me. Her dark brown hair shines in the sunlight escaping the thin cloud cover. “You just have to prioritize. And you need to nurture yourself. There would be days where I didn’t shower because I was too caught up in my son’s life, in cleaning the house, in making dinner and finishing all those tasks on my list. Don’t let those things consume you though. Make time to pamper yourself. The people who truly care about you want you to be happy, too, not just absorbed in them.” Her lips thin for a brief moment, and I get the feeling she’s thinking about her ex. “My son grew older and realized that Mom’s a better person to be around when I get space to be myself. I’m always more well-rounded and more caring toward him, paradoxically, wh
en I take time to do things that make me happy.”
Her words make me think. Is me focusing so hard on Robert’s needs making me not be the best person I can be, to him and to myself? I hadn’t thought about that before. Maybe it isn’t selfish to want more personal time, even just a little bit. I can’t do it all, and I need to be less hard on myself.
A fraction of the weight on my chest eases. “That’s true. I can do that. Thank you for your thoughts.”
She nudges me with her shoulder. “Anytime. Okay, going to grab a coffee so I can stay awake for my next class. Have a good weekend!”
I beam. “I will. You too!”
We part ways; I head to the parking lot, while she trots to the massive, glass-walled student center, teeming with people. By the time I get into my car, my cheeks are frozen and my fingers are blocks of ice, but my spirit feels better. Less guilty.
Robert doesn’t want me to be unhappy. I know that much about him, despite the changes in his personality. Yes, he’s caught up in his pain and emotions right now as he heals, but deep down he cares about me and wants the best for me. We’ve always been close, even before everything happened to put our lives on this track.
Physical rehab and therapy have been good for him. He’s making progress, and he hasn’t had one drink since the car accident. Losing part of his arm, his independence, has been difficult on him, but it was a good wakeup call.
I dealt with Mom’s death by burying myself in school. Robert dealt with it by drinking. But he’s working hard on finding himself again.
Perhaps I can stop bearing the burden of his physical and emotional healing a little bit. Focus more on my own. Reach out to people and have a social life outside of work and school, start a study group.
The possibilities have me happy, really happy. Maybe networking with new people will also help me find a new job and get over Dane. Because God knows I can’t keep putting myself through all of this, can’t hang on to these feelings for my boss. I won’t be that girl who longs forever for someone she can never have. How can I respect myself if I don’t even try to get over him?
