Don't Forget About Me: A Second Chance Amnesia Romance

by Eva Luxe

  At that point, I could resist no more. Just ask my cock. It was tired of resisting. It was ready to stand up, quite literally, and take what was being offered to it. So, I did. When Selinda got to my computer chair and began unzipping my fly, that was the moment I stopped resisting.

  She gave really good blowjobs, so I still don't regret giving into Selinda, even if it did get me stuck with the likes of Jeff and the other useless male assistant before him. But don't get me wrong, I only got physically involved with Selinda—not emotionally. Just because I put my cock down an eager woman's throat and then show her the time of her life by putting it in her pussy and fucking her silly, it doesn't mean anything more to me than another day at the office.

  But that's not how Selinda took it, and that's where our problems started. Once she started wanting more, I realized I was in trouble. As much as I wished I could give her something more than at least five orgasms a day, I simply wasn’t capable of an emotional commitment.

  God knows, I did try to convince myself that I could, for the sake of my happiness at work. But I failed.

  I'd never been able to form emotional attachments to women. I guess I’m what they called damaged goods. Except, of course, for my cock. They’ve always said that worked just fine.

  And my brain works half decently, as much as it needs to anyway. My father has always been rich as fuck and made it so that I didn't have to do much to get by.

  People at my firm talk about me as if I'm lazy, but they should be glad I even bother showing up. My name on the letterhead helps keep the money coming in, and I don’t have to do anything in life except eat, sleep, pay a shitload of taxes, and fuck a lot.

  I’m a man with an insatiable sexual appetite and a short attention span. No one should have been surprised that Selinda and I didn't work out, but for some reason, she was. And so were my partners at the firm. In fact, for some reason, they were surprised that she and I had even gotten together, after I had promised them I would refrain from getting handsy at work.

  But I'd like to see them turn down a piece of ass as fine as Selinda’s if she was offering herself up to them. Of course, they won’t ever get that chance. Asher and Ron are married and Jim is always known to be super secretive about his relationships but the way he blushed in the conference room when the other men were talking about their conquests let me know that he has something of their own going on.

  So, it’s easy for them to be judgmental about me but if they were single guys in my position, they’d do the same thing. Hell, at least two of them already did, and I wouldn’t put it past Jim to have done or currently be doing the same thing, either.

  By the time I’m done adding my red pen corrections to Jeff's draft and stewing about the circumstances that lead me here, the whole damn pleading is covered in red. I could have saved a lot of time and ink by just writing "start over."

  It dawns on me that it’s time to take my own advice. I’ll start over and find a new assistant on my own, no matter what my partners think. I doubt they’ll get rid of me— and my money and my lucrative cases— over such a minor infraction.

  Since I can’t ask Jeff or my partners to perform a search for a new legal assistant, I decide to conduct one of my own. I get on my computer and go to monster.com, intending to advertise a job opening.

  But soon I notice there are so many applicants who have posted resumes that I can just look through those instead of wasting time posting my own. See? I’m not lazy, I’m just industrious. The way I see it, there’s nothing wrong with shortcuts that save time and get the job done.

  My mouse arrow swims in a sea of applicants, none of which look like the right fit for me. And then I come across one who does: Carolina Abbott. Hers is the first resume that’s worth looking more closely at. Mostly because she’s fucking gorgeous. I’ve been Googling the applicants' names to see if they’re attractive enough to work for me. I need to be happy at work, and what better way to be happy than to treat myself to a little eye candy each day?

  And speaking of eye candy, Carolina is some of the sweetest I'd seen. I find photos of her on Facebook, with her dark brown hair and green eyes, hourglass figure, and plump ass.

  I know I can’t fuck her. My new partners wouldn't have it. But there’s no harm in thinking about taking her up against my desk and claiming her as not only my legal assistant but also my lover. Although, come to think of it, someone in HR has probably added a "no fantasizing" rule to the workplace handbook without consulting me, because they're killjoys like that.

  Still. Nothing permanent could result just by thinking about something, right?

  From the moment I lay eyes on Carolina’s photo, I know I have to have her near me— just to think about fucking her, but not to actually fuck her. Also, it seems she would make a much better legal assistant than Jeff Who Dreams Big About Creative Yet Irrelevant Discovery Requests. Sure, anyone would be better than him, I tell myself, but let's not get sidetracked.

  She doesn’t seem to have any legal experience. But that doesn’t matter. I can train her. In more ways than one.

  Her resume was posted over two months ago and not retracted— usually a telltale sign that someone has gotten a job somewhere else. She’s probably anxious to start working for someone, so why shouldn’t that someone be me?

  I call Carolina and offer her the job on the spot. What can I say? Patience has never been my strong suit. Finding a girl's G-spot and hitting it until I make her come has always been my strong suit, and that normally doesn’t take much time, since I knew my way around a woman’s body.

  Carolina says yes, of course. They always do, for me.

  Her voice trembles a little bit when she says it, and I imagine her pussy quivering. That's another effect I have on women. I’m sure this Carolina from some small town I've never heard of, according to her resume (how cute, she lives in South Carolina and her name is Carolina), would love for me to carry her over to my desk and lay her on top of it and eat her wet-for-me little pussy until she comes. That much is obvious.

  She looks like the type who will be too shy to say it, unlike the last little temptress who got me into trouble. She looks like the type I can admire, and even tease, who will blush and daydream but not take the bait because she values her job and her reputation.

  She is exactly the type of legal assistant I need. She ticks all the boxes, and I’d like to tickle her box. I have no choice but to hire her. I know the partners will have to see it my way, at least once they get over seeing red at how I have made the decision to hire her myself because I am too sick of seeing red, both literally and figuratively, due to the crappy male assistants they keep giving me.

  Chapter 4 – Carolina

  I can’t believe I’m getting ready to move not only from one place to another but from one plan to another entirely. Despite all my previous best-made plans, in two days I, as a newly divorced woman, will be starting work as a secretary at a prestigious law firm in a city completely foreign to me.

  My new boss, Garrett Mack, is one of the firm’s named partners: a billionaire and one of the most prominent men in Albuquerque. It’s a good thing I’d applied to jobs far and wide, because he was one of the few people who had called me.

  Other than that, there hadn’t been many good leads. A perfume company had wanted me to come attend an orientation where they would train me in the art of making lots of money by going door to door hawking their Britney Spears rip-off perfume for commission only— no thanks. A couple guys called, wanting to film me doing nude photography—pretty sure those jobs were code for prostitution.

  And I had had one promising call about doing administrative work for a local cooling and heating company, but it had fallen through when they called me to let me know they’d hired the owner’s niece instead. Good ole nepotism was alive and well in America. And apparently, so was the unemployment rate, because it seemed impossible to find a job.

  When Garrett Mack called me, I was increasingly desperate, not only hiding out un
der my covers but beginning to sneak ice cream and vodka and O.J. under there with me as well, to make the time pass faster. Of course I jumped at the chance to work for him, even if it does mean moving more than half way across the country to a place I’ve never been.

  It’s still mind-blowing to me that all of this will soon be my reality. I sit with my coffee at my favorite coffee shop for the last time. The movers are at my home getting ready to transport all my worldly belongings to another dimension— or at least that’s what it feels like. It’s all too overwhelming, and I don’t know if I’m ready for it. Of course, I’m not about to admit that out loud.

  As I drink my homemade cappuccino, I lock eyes with Martha Grecco, the owner of Grecco’s Coffee House. She has known me since I was a little girl. She isn’t just a barista, although she does make the most incredible bottomless cappuccinos anywhere in the world, but she is also my second mom. I smile at her as I wipe a smear of whipped cream off my nose, which had accidentally landed there as I sipped from the giant mug.

  Martha had been the one to introduce me to Jake. She truly was a godsend. And now, as if I needed another reminder, her eyes confirm for me that this is really a final moment, the end of a chapter in my life. Because I’m moving so far away from this town and from her, I suppose it’s an end of a chapter in her life, too.

  My coffee is almost empty when I receive a text from the movers telling me it’s just about time for them to hit the road. The tears begin to well up as I imagine the long journey before me and all that I’m about to leave behind.

  There hadn't been a day in my life that I ever pictured myself leaving this beautiful place I called home. After all, Stone, South Carolina may be small, but it’s a tight knit community, with beautiful rolling green hills, close to the Atlantic Ocean and not far from the Appalachian Mountains.

  Plus, this is where Jake Wharton and I first met. This is where I cheered on the varsity team at every one of his football games. This is where we planned to raise our children someday.

  We’d had it all, and then some. Our lives had been so carefully planned. We would have a boy and then a girl. The first would be Jackson, and his sibling we’d name Lucy. It was all so beautiful… naïve, but beautiful. So many of the firsts in life had happened right in this town.

  Gazing through the glass for a moment, the place seems suddenly magical— my town, my home. But no longer. The day is a bit cloudy and overcast, yet somehow the sun is still peeking through, providing a bit of optimistic light. It looks like a Norman Rockwell picture, a comparison that isn’t lost on me. My life was supposed to turn out like that— a slice of hometown Americana, a dream come true.

  As I look out from Grecco’s front window from my favorite table in the corner, I can see the Kennedy High School football field where Jake had played, and the Burlington Heights Hotel, the site of our senior prom. Just around the corner from the hotel is the skate shop where Jake worked all through high school.

  I can see just a smidgen of the bleachers jutting out from behind the school. The first time Jake kissed me was on those bleachers. Mrs. Mullen told us to tone it down, although I think she was a little late with her request, since he already had his fingers in my shorts.

  Further down the road is the dry cleaners where we snuck my prom dress in for cleaning, desperately hoping to get the red wine stain out before my dad saw it. I thought for sure he would know that I had drank that night, gotten sloshed, and spilled the cheap Merlot all over myself.

  I wonder now as I reminisce: will all these memories fade away once they aren’t so ever present in my day to day life? I half hope they will, since fewer thoughts of this town will also mean fewer thoughts of Jake and the future we were supposed to have but now never would.

  Martha comes over to take my mug. I place a ten dollar bill on the table, and she smiles.

  “Cari, it’s on me, baby girl,” she says, using her special nickname for me. “It’s your going away coffee present. I’m gonna miss you, sweetheart.”

  I choke back tears and whisper, “I know Martha. I’ll miss you too. But we’ll chat by phone and email.”

  We hug. She takes my coffee cup, and I decide to sit for a just a little bit longer. The movers can wait. God knows I’m paying them enough. I’m not quite ready to let go the pangs of nostalgia washing over me. I always was a glutton for punishment, and today— my last day in Stone, my last day in the only life I’d ever known— is no exception.

  Chapter 5 – Carolina

  I think of all the what-ifs that had plagued me over the last year. What if Jake hadn’t left me? What could I have done differently? Would I be leaving still to take this job at the law firm in Albuquerque? Is life a pre-destined event? Do certain decisions and events change the course of things?

  I don’t have any answers. I guess I’m just afraid.

  Jake Wharton was my high school sweetheart. Our families knew each other even though he was clearly from a different part of town, the bad part, though that isn’t something I’d ever say out loud.

  My mom and dad are prominent in our small community. My dad had been on the Mayor’s Council when I was growing up, and he’s a professor of political science at the community college. My mom is a nurse in the newborn nursery at the local hospital.

  Jake’s family is a little more homegrown. His mom is a single parent, and she works as a lunch lady at the junior high cafeteria. Jake's mom has always been nice enough— Geraldine is her name. She used to sneak the tough girls single cigarettes and watch as they went out to the loading dock to share a Marlboro Red. But I was way too proper in junior high to get caught up in that.

  Jake is the youngest of three kids. His two brothers were in jail for drugs or something. It was always a sore subject that no one talked about. But he was different, so sweet and cute, although he was very much a nerd in junior high. It didn’t matter though, since I wasn’t even considering boys at that time.

  Something happened just as he got to high school. Something changed. His freshman year, he started to get taller. I did notice that, and I saw that he had started to fill out. He kind of looked like a cross between Harry Potter and Harry Styles, but cuter— and probably taller— and he was still sort of on the skinny side.

  Then one day, when I was celebrating my birthday with ice cream and cake at Grecco’s, Martha walked up to me when I was picking a flavor at the counter— I think it was butter praline— and she turned to Jake who was also there and said, “Carolina, have you met this fine young man, Jake Wharton? He works at the skate shop across the street, and he is such a sweet kid. He sweeps up for me at night.”

  Jake turned eight shades of red. We each mumbled “hi,” and he walked away. And that was our infamous introduction.

  Still, throughout the years, he would always say “hi” to me and hold doors for me, which I thought was so adorable. The truth is, I was kind of full of myself. By that time, I had become pretty popular, and the guys were lining up. I probably wouldn’t have noticed Jake if he had laid down in front of me.

  I liked the bad boys, and one in particular— Taylor Hecht. He was dark, like super dark. He looked like an extremely mean but sexier version of James Dean. Funny enough, I’d had a poster of James Dean on my wall in fifth grade, and I’d swear on a Bible they were related in some way.

  Taylor smoked filter-less cigarettes and drank Jack Daniels right out of a flask on the front steps of school, and not one teacher said a word. One of the reasons, I always assumed, was that his dad was the most respected judge in the county. Looking back, he was probably having sex with every teacher in school, including the male ones.

  Still, I was so in love with him. I could not care less where his dick had been, as long as I was his main girl. And I was, for a while. The girls on the water polo team absolutely hated me for it.

  Why water polo? Well, those girls were the only jocks who were not only pretty— like cheerleader pretty— but they had the added element of being considered bad girls. All of them
were stoners, and every one of them was blonde. They were creepily similar, but the guys didn’t seem to mind. They knew they could get laid easily if they attended a water polo party.

  Jessie Smith almost took me out once during cheer practice on the track field. I was coordinating a pyramid when she stormed over. Apparently, she had realized I was dating Taylor. She was big too— like a foot taller than me. Suddenly, I was looking at her nose as she confronted me, right up in my face. My teammates jumped back in a panic.

  “Hey, Carolina, why are you such a slut? Taylor and I have been dating for a year. You freaking know that. Is it too hard for you to keep your legs closed? Yeah, that must be it. I hear your dad is thinking about sending you out of the country before you bring home an STD and shame the Abbott family name.”

  Suddenly, as if a guardian angel had coordinated the timing, Taylor walked up in the middle of the scuffle, pulled me in close to his body, and started making out with me. Then he said to her while leaving me breathless, “Hey, Jessie, is there a problem?”

  She stormed away, and I was so wet I thought for sure everyone on the cheer team could tell.

  Jake happened to be coming out of the locker room and saw the embrace. He looked sad. All of a sudden, I started to see him differently, but I wasn’t quite over Taylor yet, even though I knew Jessie had been telling the truth— Taylor had been playing the field and dating both of us at the same time.

  I wasn’t ready to grow up yet. I still wanted to be with the bad boy even though I knew we were going nowhere, fast.

  Chapter 6 – Carolina

  At that point in my history, I was still notorious at school for being the good girl cheerleader with the bad, bad boy. It was a truly great feeling. It was like being a badass, but without the juvenile detention record.