Chat Page 2

  “Yeah I do. Listen, I’m going to send you a scene from her book. Since we’re keeping it to chat right now, I want to be prepared when things get hot.”

  “When?” she mused, reaching for my small, orange basketball.

  I held my hands up, and she tossed me the ball. “When. And by when, I mean soon.”

  “So, you want me to help you write a sex scene?” She arched one eyebrow, and I almost laughed at her expression. “We’ve been through some stuff, Brew. Never this.”

  “Come on,” I rolled my eyes, throwing the ball back to her. “Just words. Letters smooshed together. Jack has nothing to worry about.”

  She glanced at her dainty, silver watch, pursing her lips before twisting them thoughtfully. “Okay, send me the scene. On Facebook, not text. I can barely read my phone as it is.”

  I narrowed my eyes, leaning forward on the desk. “I’m taking you to the eye doctor this evening. Call and get an appointment.”

  “Jason-”

  “Don’t argue. You could have a brain tumor. Or diabetes.”

  She exhaled with laughter, throwing the ball at my head. I ducked, and it hit a stack of folders behind me. “Brain tumor? God! I’m sure I just need a new prescription. Why do you always think the worst?”

  “Because if you say it, it’s not so scary,” I replied, nodding toward the door. “Call. I’ll buy you dinner too.”

  She raised her eyebrows, obviously interested. “Hibachi?’

  “Whatever. Get back to work,” I replied, grinning, and she smiled before heading back into the hall. The black tights that she wore had a seam that ran up the back of her leg. I narrowed my eyes and turned away, realizing I’d been staring for an inappropriate amount of time at her backside.

  It had to be a combination of the divorce, the steamy romance novel, and the flirting with Carissa. It’d been a long, long time since I’d caught myself staring at Sandy Quinn’s perfect little ass.

  I immediately thought about our senior prom, 1998. Sitting back, I continued to toss the ball into the air.

  The theme was “All My Life” by KC and JoJo, and I remember Sandy cracking a joke about it feeling like an entire lifetime was spent within the walls of Branyon High School.

  Max Grierson had dumped her two weeks before the prom- after convincing her to sleep with him- and I’d canceled my date with Katrina Wells to take her. Katrina had been the head cheerleader, and every clichéd part of the entire scenario unfolded before us like some kind of Beverly Hills, 90210 drama. She was pissed that I’d stood her up for Sandy, and proceeded to start a rumor that I’d gotten Sandy Quinn pregnant and we were getting married right after graduation.

  When I rushed to her defense, Sandy stopped me, thoroughly enjoying Katrina’s little game. “If you play along with me, I swear to God I’ll make it up to you,” she’d promised.

  When I pulled up in the Quinn’s driveway in my 1992 Chevy Cavalier, I froze in mid-stride on their sidewalk.

  Sandy’s prom dress was ivory with an empire-waist, and she’d done everything possible to make it look like she had an actual baby bump.

  Mrs. Quinn was laughing her ass off at the door, and Mr. Quinn only rolled his eyes, joining my side from the garage.

  “I swear to God, that girl belongs on stage. Thanks for taking her, Jason. Don’t let her embarrass you too much.”

  I managed a half smile at her dad, shaking my head as I approached her with the corsage. “I can’t believe you. You’re such an asshole.”

  “Shh! Don’t swear around the B-A-B-Y,” she chided, covering her stomach as though she was covering her ears.

  “Have fun, kids,” Mrs. Quinn called, and I looked at her helplessly.

  “Really? You’re going to let her do this?” I demanded.

  “Remember, no drinking, it’s not good for early development,” she replied.

  “Molly,” Mr. Quinn growled, and then turned to me. “Yeah, have a blast.”

  We had more than a blast. We danced with our friends, and it quickly became obvious that Katrina had become the butt of the joke. After slow dancing to “You’re Still the One” by Shania Twain, we were both feeling the inevitable nostalgia of the years that had passed. The DJ had moved right into “Too Close” by Next, and for four minutes and seven fucking seconds, Sandy backed up on me and ground that perfect ass against me until I was rock hard and confused as hell.

  I remembered when she turned around, the satisfied look on her face almost pissed me off. She’d known exactly how turned on she made me, and proceeded to lay a gigantic kiss on my lips meant solely for Katrina.

  That night, we skipped the after-prom party to lie out on the dock that jutted into the lake in my backyard, sharing a six-pack of Pabst.

  After a couple of beers, I began to forgive her for the act on the dance floor.

  “You’re the purtiest knocked-up prom date ever,” I teased.

  She took a long drink before settling the can over a knot in the wood between us. “Max didn’t use anything. I was so afraid I was really pregnant. But I’m not,” she added softly.

  I pulled her into my arms, reaching for a long, curly strand of her golden-auburn hair to twist around my finger. “He’s a prick.”

  “Yeah.”

  We stared at the stars in silence, listening to the water lap against the planks beneath us.

  “San?”

  “Hmm?”

  I remembered my heart thundering so hard at that moment, I thought I’d be sick over the side of the dock.

  “What if we tried… this? Us?”

  She sat up quickly, her long hair falling over her bare shoulders.

  “What do you mean?”

  God, she was always in charge, and now she was going to make me say it.

  I forced myself to keep my gaze locked in hers.

  “Us. You and me. Dating.”

  Immediately, I felt the air cool between us.

  Her lashes batted before lowering. “What happens if it doesn’t work? I can’t lose you, Jason. I love you too much.”

  “That’s what I mean,” I sat up, lowering my voice. “You already love me. I already love you. You’re my best friend. I’d rather do nothing with you than anything with anyone else.”

  “Can’t we just leave it at that?” she cried, climbing unsteadily to her feet. “Okay, we date. And then you kiss me again, and then maybe we fuck, and then we date some more, and then-…,”

  “Stop it. Don’t say it like that,” I snapped.

  “What, fuck? That’s all it is. Just a bunch of bullshit words to get me naked, and then that’s it, there’s nothing about me worth keeping.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Max is a fucking jackass, and I have a feeling I’m being compared to that loser right now.”

  “Well, what’s different? We kissed once, it was nice, but it almost ruined us. We didn’t talk for a month. A month! That was the worst month of my life, Jason.”

  “It was nice?” I urged. Getting her to talk about that kiss- both of our first kisses- was next to impossible.

  “Of course it was! It was my sixteenth birthday. You kissed me on that little boat, under the biggest full moon I’d ever seen, right here on this lake. It was perfect. And then you didn’t talk to me anymore!”

  “We were kids, San. I was nervous. I didn’t know what to say.”

  She threw her hands in the air, shaking her head. “Fine! We’re dating. Now what?”

  I raked my hand through my hair, turning to gather the empty cans around us. “You know what? Never mind. Never fucking mind. You still want to sleep here, or should I ask my dad to drive you home?”

  “No, I’m your girlfriend, right? I sleep here. Come on, I hope your He-Man sheets are clean. I haven’t been in your bed in a long time.”

  “You think you’re the only one who ever got screwed over?” I shouted, the alcohol giving me a little more confidence than I’d expected. “That I’m just fucking my way through high school like Max Grierson? I slept with Ke
lly Mayer, did you know that? Lost my virginity to her. And we all know what happened there.”

  She paled in the moonlight, and her eyes filled with giant, crocodile tears.

  “She hooked up with Keith,” I went on. “And that was it. But it doesn’t matter, because I was only in it to see her naked.”

  She stared at me for all of five seconds before bursting into tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she wailed, and I knew this was a combination of her expressive personality and too much cheap beer. I caught her in my arms, and she sobbed, soaking my tuxedo shirt. “It hurts so much. Why are people assholes? Just fucking assholes?”

  “We’re not.” I pulled away to tip her chin up to me. “So if I kiss you now, and I call you back tomorrow, will you be my girlfriend?”

  She nodded quickly, her dark eyes swimming with moonlight.

  “Okay, Boss. Here we go.”

  I’d kissed her then, and just remembering how her lips tasted against mine gave me a hard-on in the middle of my office.

  Blinking, I cleared my throat, tossing the basketball into the hoop near the door. It landed in the trash can with a thunk. “Jesus,” I murmured, adjusting myself and pressing my fingertips to my temples. I hadn’t thought about Sandy like that in so long, and I guessed it was all the chatting with Carissa that was stoking all those new-relationship feelings.

  I copied a section of the book from my iPhone app and pasted it into my Facebook chat with Sandy. It was a spanking scene, and I was interested to hear what she had to say.

  By the time I packed up my laptop, it was after five. Sandy met me at the door to my office, her own laptop bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Hey, you didn’t make an eye appointment, did you?” I demanded.

  She pushed her black glasses up the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “No, they closed at four. Come on, you can still take me to dinner. And I read that scene. And… I have bad news for you.”

  I stiffened, taking her bag. “And what is that?”

  She dropped her hand to her hip, tilting her head to smirk up at me. “You’re way out of your league.”

  “Way? Ouch.” I gave her a relieved sigh. “What, you think I can’t get freaky?”

  “Freaky? I think your idea of freaky is sprinkling rose petals over the bed and drawing her a hot bath. You’re a romantic, Jason. And there’s nothing wrong with that, except that girl writes about an alpha male. Which you are not. And I don’t want sushi.”

  Her rapid sentences clicked along with her high heels, and I admired her fast-paced stride as we walked to the parking lot. “I can be freaky,” I argued again as she stopped, lifting her phone from her purse.

  “Oh! Jack’s on his way home! I’m sorry.” She turned to give me her pouty face, and I shrugged, waiting for her to unlock her car before opening the door for her.

  “No biggie. Tell Numbers I said hi. Text me later, if you get a chance,” I called.

  “I will! I promise. And Brew,” she called.

  “Yeah?”

  She slipped her reading glasses off and replaced them with oversized, brown sunglasses. “I’ll help. I’ll make this girl see you. And once she does, she won’t be able to see anything else.”

  I smiled, sliding my aviators down from my head. “I love the way you talk. Now write it.”

  She smirked, throwing her Jeep into reverse.

  My house was small, nestled in a suburb just outside of Cleveland, and was the best thing that I’d gotten out of my marriage. Elaina had fought me on our dog, Joplin, but I’d threatened to leak naked pictures of her onto the internet if she tried to take our German shepherd away from me. Joplin was only a year old, and she and Sandy were probably the only reasons I hadn’t drank myself to death after the divorce.

  “Daddy’s baby!” I cried. She came barreling at me, woofing in short, excited pants as I petted and scratched her back. As she galloped toward the back door, I cracked open a bottle of Stella, tossing my keys and iPhone into the bowl near the front door.

  As I let Joplin out the back door, I moved to my laptop.

  Carissa was off-line, so I settled on the couch and flicked on the TV.

  I was well aware that I’d gone from meticulous work-outs to couch and beer marathons after the divorce, but lately I’d been getting back to the gym and was being a little more careful about what I ate. I knew that I had a chicken breast in the fridge, but after the Hibachi talk, I almost considered going by myself.

  Almost two hours later, Joplin was barking at the back door. I realized I’d fallen asleep on the couch, and the April evening was quickly growing dark. The ding from my laptop indicating a Facebook message drew my attention, and I hurriedly let the dog back in before moving to the computer.

  It was Sandy.

  Alexandra Quinn: You there?

  Jason Brewer: Here. How was dinner?

  Alexandra Quinn: We didn’t go. Jack had to go into the office for a while.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  Jason Brewer: Everything okay?

  Alexandra Quinn: It’s fine. Okay, so she wants you in the driver seat. Like I said, alpha male. Lots of short directives. Understand?

  I typed my response, frowning.

  Jason Brewer: I think so. Like, take off your fucking clothes. Now.

  Alexandra Quinn: LOL. Right. But you may want to wait until you’ve at least exchanged pleasantries. You know, so you don’t come off as psycho rapist boy.

  I grinned.

  Jason Brewer: lol, you’re the boss.

  Alexandra Quinn: Okay. So, start with something neutral. Ask a sexy question.

  Jason Brewer: Hmm. Okay. What color is your thong?

  I waited for her response, chuckling at the screen.

  Alexandra Quinn: SMH

  Jason Brewer: Okay, can you take off your thong?

  Alexandra Quinn: I’m not wearing a thong.

  Jason Brewer: Commando, huh? Hot.

  Alexandra Quinn: Dead end. Keep asking questions until I give you an answer. Then, start telling me what to do.

  I took a long swig of my warm beer, smirking.

  Jason Brewer: I’m in charge here. One more order from you, and I’ll show you who’s the boss.

  I waited, tapping my finger against the space bar.

  Alexandra Quinn: Who’s the boss? That you, Tony Danza?

  I laughed, cringing before attacking the keyboard.

  Jason Brewer: I warned you. You have a smart little mouth. Tug your skirt up to your hips. I’m going to teach you a lesson.

  The blinking cursor ticked in cadence with my heartbeat.

  Finally, her message appeared.

  Alexandra Quinn: Okay.

  Okay? Was she saying that was okay, what I had just said, or did she really just do what I told her to do?

  Jason Brewer: Tell me what you see.

  I waited.

  I’d never waited so hard for something in my life. My dick twitched, aching for release, and I tugged at my zipper.

  Alexandra Quinn: My thighs.

  Jason Brewer: Are you still wearing those tights?

  Alexandra Quinn: No.

  I thought of the backs of her legs as she walked out of my office.

  Swallowing hard, my fingers skidded over the keyboard.

  Jason Brewer: Run your hand over your leg. From your knee up.

  Alexandra Quinn: Fast or slow?

  Jason Brewer: Slow. Tell me how it feels.

  Alexandra Quinn: Warm. Soft.

  Fuck. I typed faster.

  Jason Brewer: I like that. Open your legs.

  Alexandra Quinn: Okay.

  Like a man possessed, I hit enter before I could stop the next sentence from reaching her.

  Jason Brewer: Touch yourself.

  Alexandra Quinn: How?

  Jason Brewer: Open your pussy. Push one finger in.

  I waited.

  Alexandra Quinn: Oh God Jason I did

  Jason Brewer: Are you wet?

  Alexandra Quinn: Y
es so wet... I slid right in…

  I pumped my left hand over my cock, typing with my right.

  Jason Brewer: Two fingers. Now.

  Alexandra Quinn: Jason

  Jason Brewer: Harder. Don’t come yet.

  Alexandra Quinn: what

  Jason Brewer: Fuck. San. I want to know what you taste like.

  The cursor blinked.

  I stilled.

  Fuck.

  Fuck, I went too far, I knew I did.

  Cursing, I closed the browser window and slammed the laptop closed, heading for the shower.

  It took less than four thrusts of my hand before I was coming. I groaned, picturing Sandy’s legs, spread at her desk, those fucking sexy reading glasses perched on her nose, and that tight little pencil skirt…

  Goddamn it. I soaped up quickly before rinsing in the coldest water I could stand.

  Joplin whined near the bed, and I tucked a towel around my waist, moving to the kitchen. My iPhone buzzed in the bowl with my keys.

  I reached for the device, scanning the text.

  Boss. I’m sorry. You okay?

  I sighed, thinking back to the eighteen-year-old girl on the dock of my parent’s lake. After I’d kissed her that night, we’d gathered sleeping bags and spent the night under the stars. After a series of three formal dates that were horribly awkward and, in hindsight, utterly scripted, I had her pinned beneath me on my parent’s couch while they spent the weekend in Las Vegas.