Carolina Booty

by T. Lynn Ocean

  Sheila let out a squeal of delight and her eyebrows arched so high, they almost met with her hairline.

  I frowned. “Then he confessed that he’s always been interested in me, but I had a habit of blowing him off.”

  She slapped the table. “I knew it! I told you he was hot for you. Our boring vice president, Justin Connor, and the renowned social queen, Jaxie Parker. Together. Imagine that.”

  I sighed. “Then he blew me off.”

  “What!”

  “I was up for a little fun and kissed him again,” I said, remembering. “Wanted to keep it going, you know?” She motioned for me to keep talking. “But he pushed me away. Said that I go through men too quick. He’s heard our famous motto: if you dig ‘em, do ‘em and ditch ‘em. Told me he couldn’t bear to be dumped by me.”

  Sheila sat back in her chair. “Wow.”

  I nodded.

  “That’s heavy.”

  I nodded some more.

  Our pizza came. While we ate, Sheila filled me in on her Pepsi energy drink campaign and I tried not to think too much about Justin.

  “So what are you wearing tonight?” she said, as we walked back to the office. “Might stop by, my ass. Justin will definitely come to the party, after what happened between you two in Rimtown.”

  “It’s Rumton. And nothing happened. That’s the whole problem.”

  * * *

  Thanks to Sheila’s efforts, my mood was much improved by the time the party revved up. And as she predicted, Justin did make an appearance. Sheila threw the bash at her place and everyone at the office plus all our close friends were invited. Most everyone came, except the partners, who never attended unofficial social functions even though it was customary to invite them. Although Sheila’s condo was much larger than mine, people crowded the oversized kitchen, living area, and balconies. Strung across one wall, a giant banner read, ‘Welcome Back to Hotlanta!’

  Below that hung a ‘before and after’ poster of me. The ‘before’ photograph was the same headshot used on my business cards. The ‘after’ photo was done by someone in the graphic art department. They took an old picture of actress Donna Douglass as Elly May with her Beverly Hillbillies television family, and superimposed my face on her body.

  Party favors consisted of key chains shaped like miniature wooden outhouses and individual bags of pork rinds. A giant bowl of pickled pigs’ feet replaced a flower arrangement on the living room coffee table. It was all in good fun, and reminded me how much I’d missed my friends. But it also reminded me how flawed my notion of small-town living had been. Pop led a wonderful life, and he enjoyed advantages I’d never have in the city. Seeing the stars at night or catching fresh blue crabs for dinner, for starters.

  Justin’s voice snapped me out of my reverie. “Welcome back.”

  My lower lip tingled at the sound, as though we’d just kissed. “Thank you,” I said, deciding that I needed to get a grip and forget about our late night walk in South Carolina. He was a bore, and up until that night anyway, completely predictable.

  He sipped what was probably a club soda and studied me through the thick-framed glasses. “You don’t seem as thrilled about getting out of Rumton as I thought you’d be.”

  “I’m happy to be back, but I don’t feel victorious.”

  “Why not?”

  I didn’t want anyone to overhear me giving a less-than-favorable report of the pro-bono project and led Justin out the front door. We stood on the walkway for a moment without talking and listened to the chorus of night sounds a city makes. I drank some cosmopolitan from a plastic, throwaway martini glass. “I’m competitive and like to win,” I finally said.

  Justin laughed. “That’s why you’re so good at what you do.”

  “Most projects, you meet with the client, come up with a plan, and work your ass off. Solve problems, or at the minimum, overcome challenges. And in the end, when the campaign is working and the client is happy, you feel ridiculously good. Victory is the jackpot. The payoff for all your brilliant scheming and seamless implementation.”

  He took a drink and as his head tilted back, I caught a glimpse of the amazing green eye beneath the reflection of a streetlight in his glasses. If he knew I stared at him, he didn’t let on. “This project was different?”

  I nodded. “Way different. I’m not feeling the victory. I’m not even sure there has been a victory in Rumton. To the contrary, I’ve got a sick feeling that Lester is going to do something really bad.”

  “But you have no proof?”

  “None,” I said and finished my drink. I immediately wanted another one. “Just a feeling.”

  “Guess you can’t help what you feel,” he said levelly.

  His words may have held a double meaning, but I played it straight. I refused to get involved with a man who wanted a commitment. “Guess not,” I said. “But what can I do? Aaron says it’s over, it’s over.”

  Justin took my hand to lead me back inside. “Let’s forget about work right now. We’ll talk about Rumton tomorrow, when you’re doing your final report. What do you say we enjoy your party?”

  Inside, I’d barely had time to get another cosmopolitan when Mark bear-hugged me. “Welcome back. Miss me?”

  I smiled. “No. But I hear the outhouse key chains were your idea. Nice touch.”

  “Thanks. So, now that you’re a small town girl, you ready to get barefoot and pregnant? Be my little missus?”

  “Do you ever give up? No!” Pregnant was the last thing I wanted to be. Barefoot was kind of nice, though. I’d gotten used to it, padding around Pop’s house and yard. My feet were already starting to complain from the Moschino high heels I wore.

  Laughing and not the least bit offended, Mark moved off to circulate.

  I made the rounds, caught up on the latest office news, flirted, gossiped, drank a lot and laughed more. At the end of the evening, I found myself face to face with Justin on the balcony. I’d been so busy talking to everybody that I’d forgotten to eat. Although my stomach growled from hunger, my entire body buzzed with a pleasant sense of levitation. I’d probably had too much to drink.

  “Those glasses you wear really suck,” I said. I’d definitely had too much to drink.

  He smiled. “Don’t beat around the bush, Jaxie. Out with it.”

  I realized it was no way to talk to a company vice president, but I felt too good to care. And the alcohol had removed the filter that normally edited my thoughts before I verbalized them. “Really, Justin. You’ve got this amazing green eye, and the brown one is pretty awesome, too.” I reached up and slid the eyeglasses off his face. “But you cover them up with these ugly things. Must you wear them all the time?”

  “Only if I want to see.”

  “Maybe you should think about contacts.”

  His mouth twitched as he tried to hold back a smile. “I hate wearing contacts. But I’m scheduled for Lasik surgery next month. So I won’t have to wear the horrendously ugly glasses anymore.”

  I moved in for a closer look at his eyes. “Oh. Excellent. Just make sure the doctor doesn’t make them match.” My words might have been slurred. “The color, I mean.”

  “I didn’t see you eating anything tonight. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  We stood close and food instantly fell to the bottom of my priority list. Through the French doors, Sheila made a kissy face and gave me a thumbs up sign. Thankfully, Justin’s back was to her.

  “We should probably go inside and eat something,” he said, taking back possession of his ugly glasses. “There’s plenty of food leftover.”

  “Okay,” I said and didn’t move.

  Sheila pointed at us and started grinding her hips to an invisible lover. Trying to ignore her, I moved in to nuzzle his neck, but watching my best friend through the glass made me laugh out loud. She froze the second Justin turned around to see what I looked at, which made me laugh even harder.

  “You do need something to eat,” he stated and led me
inside without any further discussion.

  We shared an entire plate of green olive-stuffed ham and cream cheese rolls, and I guzzled two or three glasses of water. When I realized that everyone had gone home except one of Sheila’s current boyfriends, I pulled out my phone to call a cab. Guest parking at Sheila’s building was nonexistent, so I rarely drove. Even if I had driven, I wouldn’t get behind the wheel to go home. After all the drinks, I could barely trust myself to keep my hands off a company vice president, much less keep a vehicle between the lines.

  “You’re calling a cab?” Justin said.

  I nodded.

  “I’ll give you a lift.”

  I agreed, we thanked Sheila, did the nice-to-meet-you thing with her newest boyfriend, and left. The food and water dampened my booze buzz, but did nothing to quench the desire I felt for the man sitting in the driver’s seat. The more I studied him, the more I realized how little I knew about him. When we got to my building, I invited him up. He declined, but when I took off the glasses to look into his eyes, I could tell his resistance factor was rapidly approaching zero. Mine had hit the same mark hours ago, on Sheila’s balcony.

  “Just walk me to my door. That’s all I want,” I lied. We found a parking space in the garage, stopped to speak with the nightshift doorman, Scott, who welcomed me back to town, and were in each other’s arms before the elevator doors fully shut.

  “Jaxie, this isn’t a good idea,” Justin said without much conviction. “I really am just going to walk you to your door, and head home. After all, it’s midnight and we’ve both got to be at the office early.”

  I took one of his hands and studied the fingers. They were neatly manicured, but strong. His were the hands of a man who was as comfortable behind a desk as he was on a tennis court. Or maybe a golf course. Or in a boat. I still wasn’t sure what he did with his free time.

  The elevator doors slid open and when we got to my door, I pulled his hand to my mouth and slowly kissed the tips of his fingers, one at a time. The same fingers that I’d seen for years—clutching spreadsheets as he pored through data, holding a cup of coffee during a late afternoon strategy meeting, or subconsciously rubbing his temple while he studied something on a computer screen. The same hand I’d seen, but never really noticed.

  I wasn’t sure if I heard him moan or just imagined it, but when I unlocked the door, he followed me in. Looking around to take in my furnishings, I sensed approval. But when he looked back at me, more hesitation.

  “Look Justin, if you want to go, then just go.”

  “Jaxie, how do you feel about me?”

  “Confused. You’re not my type, but I can’t quit thinking about you.”

  “But you still want to sleep with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You realize that we take our jobs seriously, and whatever happens here, stays here.”

  “Yes,” I repeated.

  “What about your no-dating-coworkers rule?”

  I went into the kitchen and poured us each a glass of water. I was still thirsty. “You know about that, too?”

  He nodded.

  “To heck with my no-dating-coworkers rule. Besides, you’re not really a coworker. More like a superior. Anyway, what about your don’t-want-to-be-dumped hang-up?”

  “I’ve decided to take my chances,” he said in a low voice that brought goose bumps to my arms.

  “So can we go to bed now?”

  “Yes.”

  We did and, in an instant, all the previous men in my life melted into a hazy, meaningless memory.

  Chapter 17

  Sheila’s head appeared in my office doorway. “What happened last night?” she demanded in a whisper. “Did you two…; you know, connect?”

  I rolled my eyes at her.

  “Well, did you?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve got a lot to do.”

  Arms folded across her chest, she copped an attitude. “Since when don’t you want to talk about something with me? Hello?”

  “Since last night.”

  She did a sharp intake of breath as realization dawned. “You had meaningful sex! That’s never happened before!”

  I had to laugh. “Sheila, hush. I don’t want him to think I’m talking about him.” I lowered my voice, face flushing just from the thought of Justin lounging in my bed. “And yes, he was fabulous. He is fabulous. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

  She did a spin and tangoed her way out of my doorway.

  Forcing myself to focus, I reviewed my new project assignment and made some phone calls. During a lunch meeting, I did a final evaluation with the interns, who had just gotten word that the grant application to build a museum in Rumton was accepted for review. Not that it mattered now, but I praised them for a job well done, and thanked them for all the research questions they’d tackled for me.

  I worked nonstop into the afternoon until the last thing I had to do was complete my pro bono project final report. Aaron was out playing golf with a client, his assistant told me, but I should leave the report on his desk. Still feeling a bit snubbed, or maybe just procrastinating, I decided to wait. I could to the report at home and it would still be in his inbox first thing in the morning.

  As I merged into traffic on I-85 North, windows rolled up tight and air conditioner blasting, I thought of Pop. Riley’s death must have hit him hard, and I hoped that Millie would offer him some comfort. They certainly seemed to be hitting it off, despite their notorious disdain toward each other. I laughed out loud at the memory of him calling her “Mad Millie” and her referring to him as “Pompous Pop” on my first day in Rumton.

  I was about ten minutes from my building when my mobile phone rang. “Don’t forget about the final report,” Justin said when I answered. “The partners are going to want it tomorrow.”

  “Hello to you, too.”

  “Just wanted to remind you, since I didn’t get a chance to see you before you left this afternoon.”

  A succession of brake lights lit up in front of me, and I automatically slowed down. “Thanks, and I didn’t forget. I was ready to get out of the office and decided to tackle it at home. I may need your help with the feasibility study results. Heck, I may need your help with all of it. Can I give you a call later?”

  “Of course. Better yet, why don’t I just come over and we’ll do it together. No fooling around. Just work. And, maybe some food. You buying any groceries on the way to your condo?” In search of something to drink, Justin had looked in my refrigerator the night before. He was rewarded with bottled water, a carton of clumpy milk and one beer. The shelves were devoid of food, but then again, I had been out of town. Usually there were a few cartons of leftover Chinese and a pack of deli meat.

  “I wasn’t planning to. But I will if you’re cooking.”

  His laugh, long and slow, rolled into my ear. “Pop says you really can’t cook worth a damn. You weren’t pretending.”

  “Don’t beat around the bush, Justin,” I said, mimicking his words to me when I’d criticized his glasses. “Out with it.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll pick up some groceries and meet you at your place. You can work on the report while I cook dinner, and if you have questions, just fire away.”

  “How long?” Five lanes of northbound traffic had slowed to a near dead stop and I was parked in the center lane. I couldn’t see any flashing lights, but from the look of things, there was probably a wreck ahead. Like many big city hubs, a bump-up could mean a ten-minute delay or an hour delay.

  “Half hour, maybe forty-five minutes,” Justin said.

  I turned on my navigation system to get the current traffic updates. “I should beat you there. If not, the doorman will let you in. He takes care of my plants when I’m gone and he has a key. I’ll give him a call to let him know.”

  “Same fellow who was there last night? Scott?”

  “Good memory. I’ve fallen for a walking encyclopedia who is a sucker for lists and also remembers people’s names.” I
grinned and felt insanely happy, despite the fact that my car was crawling along I-85 North in the middle of thousands of other impatient people in barely moving vehicles.

  “I never forget anything. Like I told you before, it’s a curse. But not necessarily a bad one.”

  “So then, you’ll remember last night forever?” I chided, smiling despite the fact that I had to pee.

  “Longer.”

  * * *

  There was an accident and it was a bad one, involving several cars and a semi. The mess and the responding emergency vehicles blocked four lanes of traffic, which created a nasty bottleneck. An hour passed before I rushed into my building, my bladder seriously ready to burst.

  “Your personal chef is here,” the doorman said with a wink as I practically ran by him.

  “Thanks, Scotty!”

  He followed me into the lobby. “I like this one.”

  “You never like any of them,” I countered. Waiting on the elevator, I shifted my weight from side to side to keep my mind off the fact that I was about to pee my panties.

  He shrugged as the elevator doors blessedly opened. “Always a first time.”

  My mouth watered from the cooking smells when I opened my front door. Literally, my mouth got wet from saliva and my tongue sprang to attention. Looking completely at ease, Justin stood at the stove stirring something in a skillet. I detected garlic, lime and a spice that might have been oregano. When I got past the delicious aroma, I devoted my attention to the chef. Faded black jeans, leather belt, ribbed white cotton shirt and Nike sport sandals. I’d have never figured him for a sandals type of guy.

  “You look like a different person out of your office duds,” I said and ran past him to the bathroom. I kicked off my heels on the way and had my skirt hiked up before the bath door was shut. After sitting on the toilet for what seemed like five minutes, I smeared on some lip gloss and ran a brush through my hair.

  When I returned, Justin was still in the kitchen, doing the cooking thing with knives and produce and plates and stuff. “Thanks for the walking encyclopedia comment, if that was a compliment,” he said. “This oven and range is like brand new. Do you ever cook?”