Floor Time

by Crowe, Liz

  He stared at her, confusion evident in his face.

  “What? Let’s go, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since the fruit bowl this morning.”

  “You know what, Jack; I’m going to pass on the afterglow dinner.” She reached down to adjust her shoes, gathering her Old Sara together to resist the temptation to drag out their “date.”

  “Um, okay, that’s cool.”

  Damn. Stop looking at me like that or I will let you fuck me again, I don’t care who watches.

  The words “Don’t expect more from Jack than what’s on the surface,” careened around in her head. Her heartbeat refused to slow. This was her chance. She should take it. Tell him how she really felt. Tell him… what? A familiar panic rose in her throat.

  Why can’t it be simple? Why can’t you open your mouth and speak?

  But her need for space overwhelmed her desire to go anywhere else with him.

  “You sure? I wanted to try out this new place with you, my little hot pepper lover.”

  It was her turn to grin.

  “Yep, but thanks anyway,” she grasped the tie that he now had draped around his neck, pulled his mouth to hers for a tantalizing final kiss. She broke it off, turned on her heel, and exited, not looking around to see who was watching.

  Waving at the remaining agents gathered around a computer, Sara breezed out the door, only barely resisting the extreme temptation to turn around and race back to him. While Old Sara congratulated her on her resolve, both Sara’s missed the rare look of disappointment and frustration that crossed Jack’s face as he watched her leave.

  Jack braced himself against the doorjamb and watched her sashay out, his heartbeat still ringing in his ears from that monster climax. Passing a hand over his face, he eased back inside and shut the door. The room held the essence of their lust, and he took in a deep breath of it, wanting to hold it in his memory banks. One word surged through his brain: mistake.

  Huge, colossal error in judgment. He never should have done it. She wasn’t ready. Hell, he wasn’t ready. He obviously was no fucking good at it anymore if he couldn’t even get her to stick around after they’d gotten off. He wanted to talk, to feed her dinner with his own fingers, to take her home with him.

  Damn the woman.

  He stood, stretched and relished the deep relaxation in his back and hips that only a truly gargantuan orgasm can offer. Every deal was important to Jack, and he sensed the same thing about Sara. When that piece of shit appraisal had hit his inbox, he couldn’t resist a little thrill of excitement, knowing they would have to work together to fix the potentially colossal problem.

  He had tried to tamp down his rising desire at having her in his personal space again, focusing on the task. But when he smelled her perfume the minute she walked into his building, he knew he was a goner. He wanted more than anything to see that well-fucked face again, and decided he was going to make it happen.

  He had forced himself to stay away from Sara since their little picnic. The scary sense of falling down a dark hole, of losing control, of letting go and giving in to her completely was something he couldn’t face.

  So, he dealt with it in the way he’d adopted in years past. Push it away, far away, and stay the hell away from the woman causing it. He’d spent a boring Fourth of July with a few buddies up at Torch Lake, fishing, drinking, and poker — a regular sausage fest. Usually time with his friends set him straight. Two were still married and constantly moaning about their wives, one was divorced but with a new girlfriend no one liked. Jack was their torchbearer. The guy they lived vicariously through. But the weekend did not have the desired effect on him at all.

  He had spent most of the time composing his next text to Sara, relishing their sexy contact via the phone. He loved controlling her that way, but knew it was as much for his benefit as hers. He wanted to picture her going about her business, but ready for him. Actually, it was all he did lately, which pissed him off and made him want her more. He was a walking, talking hard on the entire time, relief only coming in the shower or first thing in the morning, thanks to his good friend Lefty left hand. He took endless ribbing from his buddies, but would emerge from his room or the bathroom and flip them off before grabbing another beer.

  “Knocking the edge a bit more than usual, eh Gordon?”

  “Jesus, I gotta see this girl Jack, wanna share?” The general nature of the comment from the peanut gallery did nothing but aggravate him.

  But with her in his office, it had taken all he had to not sweep her up in his arms, to hold her tight, beg her to go home with him. He could not for the life of him figure out why he didn’t, but the look on her face had forced him to remain nonchalant. That look — skeptical, cynical, somehow reading him for his usual shallow prick persona — it stopped him cold. He had no one but himself to blame.

  He should never have gone there with her. That part of him — the part that got bone shattering release from being on top, from mastering a woman, body and soul — it was dead; killed in the flash of realization all those years ago, in the hard depths of one woman’s eyes, the sound of her laughter. As he made his way to his car, the smell of Sara on his skin, memory of her sweet pussy tilted up to him, of her offering body to his control, caused his cock to stir under his trousers.

  Christ, I haven’t been this constantly horny since I was senior in high school.

  All he had in his head on the drive home was the gut-deep need for Sara. He wanted her, in his life, in his bed. He was counting the days until he could get inside, truly inside, her again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The computer screen she’d been staring at for an hour blurred in front of Sara’s eyes. Rubbing one with the heel of her hand, she stood, giving up in disgust. The cute new guy, Craig, had been helping her with a presentation, using listing information straight from the computerized multi-list system employed by realtors to find and search the housing market for data. But it had hit a glitch and wouldn’t let her download for some reason, which had set her back nearly an hour on a hot Friday afternoon.

  As the agent “on floor,” Craig was called to the front to meet a potential client who’d wandered in off the street. The Stewart Realty downtown office was designed as sort of a decoy. From the street, it was set up to look like a small coffee shop, with an art gallery, occasional live music and classy, comfortable seating options scattered around the front room.

  The high ceilings were exposed to the rafters and very expensive lighting made to look haphazard and casual. The actual offices remained hidden in the back, behind the receptionist’s desk. Up front, flat screen TV’s stayed tuned to either news or sports, but smaller screens, visible from the sidewalk on a very busy downtown street, displayed professional listing videos. People were curious at first, but now that they understood it, the office got all sorts of foot traffic, as people were encouraged to bring in their sack lunches and to open laptops in the space. The carefully selected realtors who populated the office were consummate, yet understated, sales people, knowing when to sit and chat, or leave people alone.

  It was a groundbreaking concept in an age when more and more real estate offices were “virtual.” Aside from actually showing houses, most of the work could be done on a laptop creating reports, or on a smartphone setting appointments. At a time when most buyers found their realtor at a random open house or by sending an inquiry email from a listing on Realtor.com, finding ways to connect personally remained tough. So why not create a space that the Stewarts knew would be a loss leader at first. A space potential clients started to associate with ultra-professional sales people. A relaxed and inviting atmosphere they could even rent out for private parties; not designed to generate a profit for about six or seven years and by that time the place would be a well-established Ann Arbor entity.

  The very attractive receptionist was also a licensed realtor who knew when to hit the buzzer under her desk to summon the agent on call, or when to let the people wander, sit, drink the free coffee or f
iltered water, and leave them alone. It worked. After four and a half years, it had become one the top-producing offices in the formidable Stewart Realty Empire. An inordinate amount of luxury and super-luxury homes got listed and sold by the agents within it and Sara was no exception. The report she had been trying to generate would garner a listing the potential sellers had valued at two-point-five million, but thanks to the software, Sara was struggling to justify at just over half of that amount.

  As she rounded the corner and ran her hand down the wall where Jack had taken her that first night, Sara’s scalp prickled. She frowned, angry at the constricted feeling in her chest when she pictured his compelling face, inky black hair and deep blue eyes. Shaking her head to stop his image from rattling around inside her skull she turned the corner as Chris, the receptionist, headed the other way. The two women laughed when they nearly collided and Sara couldn’t help but notice the admiring eyes of the young girl as she looked at Sara. Everybody must know about her and Jack. There was no way to keep secrets in their small community. And Jack had a big goddamned mouth, Sara knew, so likely had bragged far and wide about fucking her in the hallway, at the open house, and in his office.

  “Hey, Sara, can you come help Craig,” the young woman asked. “He’s about to sustain claw marks out here.”

  “Sure, but what can I do?” She peeked around the corner. Spying the young blond man who had every female in the office swooning seated next to an attractive older woman on one of the couches, she started to turn back and tell Chris that Craig could handle himself and needed to learn how to use his amazing good looks to his advantage. When she saw the woman place a hand on Craig’s navy blue clad thigh. She saw him flinch and look straight at her, his eyes pleading for help.

  She stifled a giggle as Chris pushed her into the room. Craig stood, his knees hitting the table in front of him as the woman in the dark designer jeans and tight polo shirt that highlighted her ultra-toned form kept her eyes glued to his ass.

  “Darling,” he declared, holding out a hand for Sara and motioning with his head for her to come closer. She smiled and played along, taking his hand, letting him pull her close to his body, tucking her under his arm.

  “Carolyn, may I introduce you to my partner,” he leaned down and planted a kiss on Sara’s lips. “In real estate and now,” he kissed her again. “In life.”

  Sara glared into his deep brown eyes, but went along with the show. She turned to Carolyn, and put both arms around Craig’s slim hips, resting her head on his shoulder before releasing him and shaking the woman’s hand.

  “So pleased to meet you Carolyn,” she purred. “How can we help you?”

  *

  The two of them giggled like a couple of middle school kids after waving at the woman’s retreating back. She’d signed a listing agreement with them for her million-dollar marital home in order to downsize into a three-quarters of a million dollar downtown condo. Craig pulled Sara in close, holding her, murmuring into her hair.

  “You are amazing.”

  Sara remained in the circle of his arms a minute longer before pulling away.

  “Yeah, gee, darling,” she held his arms and stared at him. “Nice one.”

  He shrugged and brushed his too-long blonde hair from his forehead.

  “Well, it was either get engaged to you, or let her rape me in the broom closet,” he admitted. Sara loved that he actually colored a little at that.

  Damn he was adorable.

  “I like my choice,” he said, his voice soft, still looking into her eyes.

  “So,” Sara broke the moment before she let herself get caught up. “Now that you have put “plan a wedding” on my to-do list, can we please get back to my presentation dilemma,” she gestured to the back of the building. Craig opened the door for her leading to their work area. “You should know,” he said following her back. “I have seven nieces and they will all want to be flower girls.” Craig leaned on her cubicle entrance as she sat, trying to calm her breathing. She had work to do, and noticed she’d missed two calls and three texts. Mr. Office Popularity needed to let her get back to it. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs while giving him a pained look.

  “Well you should know I have to figure out a way to have my brother be maid of honor,” she stated. “And he hates kids so keep them away from him.”

  She spun back around and faced her computer screen, loving the sound of his laughter and the friendly hand he placed on her shoulder. When he rolled his chair closer so he could study the screen with her, she caught a whiff of something on him, underneath the subtle scene of cologne. Unable to place it she flinched as he leaned in to punch a few keys, bringing up exactly the information she needed. His arm brushed her breasts, but she let it go.

  “Wow.” She stared at the screen now populated with the data and charts she had been struggling for an hour to create. Craig leaned back, his long arms behind his head. Sara drank in the sight of his wrinkled button down, navy blue trousers, blonde hair falling over one eye. Her heart sped back up.

  “Yeah, I rock,” he said, never taking his eyes from hers. Sara knew at that moment if he had reached out for her, she would have kissed him. An odd feeling. Not like the raw chemical response that Jack’s presence elicited. More like a comfortable moment when you suddenly decide an old friend would make a great lover. Craig merely sat, observing her, not coming any closer. Sara broke the connection when something occurred to her that she’d been meaning to ask him.

  “How does an adorable Southern boy like you end up in our little Midwestern paradise anyways?”

  Craig crossed his legs knee to ankle. Sara tried very hard not to observe how it stretched the fabric of his wrinkled trousers over his crotch.

  “Oh, you know, the usual, father takes a promotion with large automotive company, moves family consisting of one angry seventeen year old boy because all of the other sons are in college,” he looked up at the ceiling. Sara stayed quiet.

  “After I graduated he had a massive heart attack. Dead before he hit the floor, apparently,” Sara put a hand over her mouth but Craig sat up, the look in his eyes somehow precluding any sympathetic commentary.

  “So, I came back here to help my mom, because all my brothers had lives involving other people. I found a band to play in, sold motorcycles a while, got my real estate license, enrolled in some classes at the U and hopefully next year can get back to school full time…maybe…haven’t decided yet really,” he grinned, reminding Sara how very adorable he was. Her brain did a quick calculation.

  “How old are you anyway?”

  Craig raised one eyebrow. “Old enough to drink.”

  “Well, thank God for that. Wouldn’t want anyone to take me for a cougar. Now, about this wedding…”

  A clatter of activity in the main hallway broke the moment. Several of their male colleagues walked by.

  “Hey Sara, Craig,” Rick called out. Sara winced. She’d actually gone out with him once. He’d been all over her from the beginning of their date like a damn octopus.

  “Yo, Taylor,” a voice called out. “You win that golf outing last night?”

  “Nah,” Rick stopped to the left of her cubicle opening. “That bastard Gordon swooped in at the last minute and snagged it.”

  Sara looked up at the mention of Jack’s name, aware of Craig’s intense stare.

  The two men stood sipping their coffee beyond where Sara and Craig sat.

  “Jesus, did you see that chick on his arm?”

  “Yeah, what else is new? Gordon has the best tux, gets the best prices on the auction shit and has a frigging super model for a date.” She shut her eyes. The other man laughed. Both were successful, as was required of this highly visible office and neither a slouch in the looks department. But, Jack Gordon operated on a completely different plane. Having spent a few years building a successful law practice, he’d seemingly pitched it all in to go “where the money was” selling real estate. Proficient in all aspects,
including high-end commercial and with a builder’s license to boot, he had been their top seller for nearly ten years, and sold almost five-hundred-million dollars’ worth of land, houses, offices and retail space last year alone.

  “Yeah, that fucker,” the other man said, clapping his colleague on the back. “He was pretty lit by the end though, she was sort of holding him up, didn’t look too happy about it either.”

  “Well the guy never turns it off, you know?”

  “Yep, the phone was never out of his hand. I saw him at one point in the hallway back towards the head, leaning on the wall, and told him his date was looking for him. He shushed me up, like he was hiding from her.”

  Sara gritted her teeth remembering the series of explicit sex texts she’d exchanged with the man in question last night. She laced her fingers together and held them tight. As if sensing her distress in some cosmic universe, Jack sent her a text then, causing her phone to rattle across her desk. She looked at it, then for some reason up at Craig, who shrugged his shoulders and walked out of her cubicle. Sara watched as her phone buzzed its way onto the floor.

  By the end of the day, she had worked herself into a frenzy of anxiety and distress. The man was nearly as good at making himself scarce as he was at showing up at inopportune moments. While New Sara yearned for his eyes, lips and hands, she kept rallying her inner Old Sara to remind herself that he was an egocentric, womanizing asshole and her brother was right. She owed it to herself to get as far as possible from him, stop all this nonsense; it was messing with her head. He could not be the answer. No matter the tiny voice that kept insisting that he could be, if she’d let him.

  He had certainly proven to be a valuable advisor lately with her more difficult transactions. She’d find herself faced with some dilemma and would automatically text or call Jack to get his perspective. The fact that she hadn’t given him any indication she wanted anything from him beyond his body and so had no place to complain drifted through her thoughts. He would offer advice, a laugh, top it with a pornographic suggestion or two then sign off.