When we first dated in college, Luke was fine in bed, but during our years apart he became downright delightful. I ran into him unexpectedly when I was visiting Minneapolis, and I took him home for old times’ sake. That gamble really paid off.
Since then our time together has amped up his kinkiness. He was a pretty vanilla guy, but a little time with a horny monster like me can inspire a man to live out his secret fantasies. Anal? Yes. Spanking? Yes. Rough role play? Heck yes, miss, I’ll try anything.
But they’ll all try anything. I can find someone else.
I’m scowling into my delicious cheese dish, and that won’t do. I get the bartender’s attention with a lingering glance, then I order a gin drink made with blood orange essence and pink peppercorn, of course. When I hear Mr. Low Expectations trying to talk the drunk girl into a third shot, I tap him gently on the shoulder. He turns and raises his eyebrows in friendly question.
“Don’t you work at Sebastian and Fields?” I ask, naming the big accounting firm whose logo I see on a key card clipped to his coat pocket.
He brightens a little. “Yeah!”
“Hi, I’m Jane.” I offer my hand.
“Kyle,” he says as he shakes. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you on the elevator recently. I work in Human Resources.”
“Oh, nice to meet you,” he says, just as a little twinge of uncertainty dances over his face. His eyes dart toward the four empty shot glasses and the pretty woman who’s trying to wait patiently. She likely doesn’t realize she’s frowning over his diverted attention, and that makes her eyes look small and slightly crossed.
“Long week already, huh?” I offer Kyle with a hint of kind amusement in my voice.
“Ha. I guess.”
“I get it. You’re not on the clock or anything, so please don’t worry. Have fun!”
“Right. Sure. Thanks.”
I hold up my hands in assurance. “I’ll close my eyes and ears, Kyle, I promise! Do your worst.”
His uncertainty is blooming into fear now. I watch as the fear twitches momentarily into panic. And then, finally, the delicious slow slide of his face into the sad-dog curves of disappointment. He can’t take a drunk woman home for sex with a witness from the HR department looking on. He’s an upstanding young man on the rise at Sebastian and Fields, and people in a corporate environment suddenly care about harassment and sexism. Damn it.
“This manchego is amazing,” I gush. “You two should try it.” I grin past him to the woman, whose pinched scowl has gotten a little blearier since I last looked.
“Right. Yeah.” Kyle smiles tightly and nods. “Good idea. Can I get one of these?” he calls to the bartender, pointing at my half-eaten cheese. “And then I’ll wrap up that tab.”
People have never called me a hero, but ten minutes later the drunk brunette is happily eating her crock of manchego cheese and Kyle is heading out to catch an Uber. The woman has totally lost her irritation with me, and if she registered my conversation with Kyle about work, she’s forgotten it now.
She’s regaling me with the story of Kyle and High-Maintenance Girl’s abrupt end. I order some bacon-wrapped shrimp and dig for all the deepest secrets as if I’m part of this woman’s world.
“Let me ask you something serious,” I say.
“Okay!” She claps her hands onto her thighs and sits up straight as if she’s ready for a quiz.
“Is your friend really high-maintenance, or is Kyle just a fuckboy?”
The brunette—Laura, I think—squints hard, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t know. Genevieve is kind of demanding. She gets very touchy when you don’t return her texts.”
“But Kyle is also clearly a fuckboy.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess he is.”
“So it won’t be worth it if Genevieve decides to slash your tires and shit-talk you to all your mutual friends. There are a sea of fuckboys here tonight. Choose one that didn’t date in your friend group. It’s just smarter.”
Her eyes widen. She pops some toast into her mouth and nods. “Oh my God, you’re so right. What am I doing? Oh my God, you’re my new best friend!”
I’m finally having fun, and when I accidentally catch the eye of the guy in the too-tight shirt at the end of the bar, I realize he’s still watching for another signal from me. Before I can shake my head, he vanishes, then reappears next to me and begins to slide into the seat I vacated when I moved closer to my new friend, Laura.
“No,” I say, and turn my back to him. You have to be cruel or they won’t believe you. Even then it’s pretty dodgy. I can feel him hovering, the possibility of sex too buoyant a lifesaver to let go of easily. But a few minutes of staring at my back finally begins to sink him. “Fucking bitch,” he mutters.
“Good food is one hundred times better than random dick,” I say as I pop my last toast point into my mouth and chew. “Every time.” My new friend collapses with laughter. A nice evening, all in all. By the time I finally head home to feed my cat, I’m not worrying about Luke at all.
CHAPTER 3
Good times always come to an end, and I’m restless now that I’m clean, well rested, and back at work. Rob’s door is closed when I get in. It stays closed all day, though I can hear him furiously typing away, likely producing the best work he’s ever done for the firm in an attempt to claw his way back into the partners’ good graces.
All I have to work on is boring prep stuff and contract research, so when my phone rings, I snatch it up quickly out of desperation.
“I have another call about your niece,” I hear in mournful tones. What the hell? My family is pure trouble, and I cut contact with my parents a year ago. They’re the only family that would ever get in touch. My grandma is long dead, and my brother and I haven’t spoken since I left Oklahoma ten years ago. Truth be told, he wouldn’t bother reaching out even if Mom and Dad were struck dead in an entertaining freak accident. So what’s up?
I open my mouth to tell the receptionist to put the call through to voice mail again, but I hesitate. My parents are overstepping by tracking me down at my new place of employment, but I’m also really bored, and my family is great for providing eye-rolling stories. I always feel superior after our interactions, and that’s an additional plus.
“I’ll take it,” I finally answer, and the line clicks open. “Yes, this is Jane,” I say, a warning in the words.
“Jane? Jane, oh my gosh!” Not Mom or Dad. So maybe they are both dead. The unfamiliar female voice keeps gushing. “I’m so glad I got through to you! This is Joylene. Did you get my message?”
“No.”
“Oh.” She takes a breath and blows it out for long seconds. “Okay, I’d better start from the top, then. I found your name and office number online, so I thought I’d reach out. I hope that’s okay.”
“I don’t know you.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m your brother’s ex. Joylene?”
I roll my eyes and wait to hear how much money she wants and for what. Does this woman really think I give a shit what happens to my shiftless, asshole big brother? I care exactly as much about his well-being as he cared about mine when we were growing up: not one good goddamn tiny little bit. And I care even less about his exes and children.