She’s just as adorable sober.

I walked into that office today with two scenarios in mind.

One, that Phoebe Pink was lightning in a bottle. That feeling I got in the pit of my stomach last week when I saw her was just a fleeting happenstance. It came, I got it out of my system that night, and now it’s gone. I was prepared to have a nice conversation with her and move on. We’d part as nothing more than friends. Acquaintances, if that’s what we are.

Or two, that the handful of sleepless nights over the last week meant something a little more.

I’ve never been attracted to a girl like Phoebe Pink before. Hell, I’ve never lied awake all night thinking about how attracted I was to any girl. Ever.

What is it about her that I find so utterly enthralling?

I have no fucking clue but I’m not one to deny or repress my natural urges, so…

Dinner at Kitano’s. Seven o’clock.

I arrive at six-forty.

Yoko Kitano stares at me from the hostess’s desk as I walk in the door. She waves me in and I continue through the large group of people eagerly awaiting a table they’ll probably never see.

“You again,” she says, crinkling her little nose. Her face barely wrinkles for a woman twice my age. “I’d hoped you’d moved on to some other place.”

“Why would I ever want to move on from a cheap dive like this one?” I tease.

She hums as she withdraws a golden pen from her front pocket. “What’s her name this time?”

“Phoebe.” I hold up a straight hand just beneath my chin. “About this tall. Red hair. She’ll be here at seven.”

She winks as she writes it down. “You sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Not the first time you’ve been stood up.”

“She’ll be here.” I lean in with a smile. “But if she doesn’t show, you’re more than welcome to join me.”

She cackles. “In your dreams, white boy.”

I laugh. Pushing Yoko’s buttons is just about my favorite thing about coming here. That, and the gyoza. “You’re looking very lovely tonight.”

“I know,” she says, motioning me away with one hand. “Your table is ready. Leave me alone.”

I step back. “Thanks, Yoko.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I walk beyond the hostess desk, nodding at the waitresses as I pass them by. They all flash me a welcoming smile and a quick hello as they rush between tables from the kitchen to the bar. Busy night — as usual — but they’re paid very well for it.

My table awaits, just as Yoko promised, in the far back corner of the restaurant in a semi-private nook separated from the rest of the place with paper-thin doors and translucent windows. Sweet jasmine teases my nose as I hover over the table. The cloth is bare with the exception of two folded, black napkins and a purple flower poking out of a thin vase in the center.

Perfect as always. That’s Kitano’s.

I sit down and take a breath.

Phoebe Pink.

For a second, I hear her moan in the back of my mind. Just one fraction of a moment, reliving the bliss on her face but it disperses just as quickly. I remember, through a drunken haze, the way her hips moved and her tits bounced. Perfect, round orbs I couldn’t help but sink my teeth into at every possible chance. How surprisingly tight her pussy was and how it trembled around my cock. So fucking sexy.

Even the way she looked me in the eyes while Thad was inside of her, begging and pleading me to kiss her. She moaned into my mouth and I tasted her tongue as she came for both of us.

And earlier today. The way she quivered in my hands.

My phone vibrates against my thigh, making me flinch. I reach into my pocket for it, my hand brushing up the erection I didn’t realize I had until now. I turn my focus to the phone call, hoping the name on the screen acts as a very effective cold shower.

Thad.

He’ll do.

I answer it and hold the phone to my ear. “Hey, what’s up?”

“What’s the name of that Japanese restaurant we went to that one time?”

I pause, glancing around. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve got a potential date tomorrow night,” he says. “Wanted to take her somewhere nice. Figured you could hook me up since you’re friends with the owners.”

“Kitano’s,” I answer.

“That’s it!”

“I can ask Yoko before I leave. Shouldn’t be a problem, I think.”

“You’re there now?”

I bite my cheek. “Yeah, I’ve got a date tonight, too.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Doubt it,” I say quickly. “Just someone from my gym.”

“Nice. Let me know when you can get us a table. After eight, preferred. I don’t fly into LAX until around six-thirty.”

“Will do. Anyone I know?”

“Nope,” he answers. “Just some new flight attendant that hasn’t gotten the memo about me yet.”

I laugh. “Need a place to hang afterward?”

“Assuming it goes well… no.”

“Well, if it doesn’t, let me know if you need my couch again.”

“Thanks, man. Have fun.”

Something moves in my peripheral vision and I glance to the doorway as Yoko steps inside, quickly followed by Phoebe Pink and…

Whoa.

My eyes fall down her body. I thought she looked amazing in that red dress but I hadn’t pictured her in black. This dress hugs her curves, gliding up and down the natural hourglass of her body. Thin, spaghetti-like straps. Knee-high boots…

“Oh, I will,” I tell Thad. “Bye.”

I hang up and drop the phone into my pocket, nearly letting it slip from my grasp as Yoko leads her closer.

“Your table, Ms. Phoebe,” Yoko says, gesturing at the seat across from me.

“Thank you,” she answers, her voice cracking in that adorably awkward way.

I stand up, forgetting about that hard problem below my belt but a quick glance downward shows that it’s not too obvious. For now.

Yoko smiles. “Would you two like some drinks?”

I clear my throat. “Yes, the usual, if you don’t mind,” I tell her.

“I’ll send it right out.”

Her grin is kinder and warmer than usual. I guess she approves of my choice of date for the evening. She usually dons a smirk with hidden, rolling eyes. Typical LA girl wrapped in plastic for the stuck-up rich boy. But not tonight.

Phoebe turns and watches Yoko leave, her stare holding on the doorway for several moments before pivoting back to me.

“Hey,” she says, her breath held tightly.

She’s nervous. Practically terrified. I should try and relax her.

“Hi.” I twist to her chair and pull it out for her. “You look really nice,” I say, stealing another glance at that dress.

“Thank you. So do you,” she says. She sits slowly and I subtlety admire the bend of her body before heading back to my own chair. “What’s the usual?” she asks.

“Saké,” I answer.

“Oh, good. Alcohol.” Her eyes widen. “Not that I need to be drunk to sit at a table with you. That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant,” I say, chuckling.

“I don’t want you to think I don’t want to be here because I do. I really, really…” her throat clears, “should just stop talking.”

I open my mouth to say something witty or clever to lighten the mood but a server walks in. She carries a small tray with two cups and a bottle in its center. I nod at her, recognizing her face.

“Mr. Monahan,” she says, as she sets it down.

“Thank you,” I tell her.

She sets down two menus as well. “Wave me down when you’re ready to order.”

“We will.”

Phoebe squints. “They really know you here,” she says.

I nod as I fill her cup. “I know the family. They’re good people.”

“Jackie told me this place was pretty exclusive,” she says. “Hard to get into.”

“For most, yeah, but I have an arrangement with Yoko.”

She raises the cup her her mouth, pausing to take a quick whiff of it first. “What gave you the golden ticket?”

“About a year back, there was a stabbing in the alleyway behind this place,” I recall.

“Wow,” she says, mid-swig.

I pour my own cup to the brim. “Yoko’s brother was on the receiving end and wound up in the hospital. He nearly died.”

“And you represented the family in court?”

“No.” I laugh. “Actually, it was the other way around.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“Our client — the accused — plead not guilty. There was no real evidence to place him there and he alibied out… until the LAPD got an anonymous tip that proved he lied and they tracked him down about a hundred miles from the Mexican border.”

“Damn.” She curls a knowing smile. “And just where did this anonymous tip come from?”

I shrug behind my cup. “No one knows.”

“And ever since then, you just so happen to have a seat at the VIP table?”

“Weird, huh?”

“Well,” she takes another drink, “whoever did that must be a really nice guy.”

“He wasn’t always,” I say. “But he certainly tries to be now.”

It’s working. As she exhales, her shoulders dip a little further down into a more relaxed pose. Her smile is soft and natural. Her spine is still a little stiff but that’s just good posture. Can’t fault her that.

I let my eyes wander down to her chest and back up to those bright eyes. “Tell me about you.”

Her face flexes with hesitation. “There’s not much to say,” she sputters out.

I lean forward silently, letting my unblinking, interested gaze speak for itself.

She inhales slowly. “Well... I’m... an only child.” She chuckles. “Mom’s an artist. Dad’s a truck driver.”

I notice the quivering tone, almost like she’s ashamed of it. “It’s honest work,” I say.

“It was enough to get us by, for the most part.”

“They must have been thrilled when you got a chance to go to Belle.”

“Oh, yeah. Honestly never seen them happier than the day they got that phone call.”

“But you weren’t?”

“I was… conflicted.”

I nod with understanding. “You didn’t fit in,” I say.

She fiddles with her cup. “Tends to happen when you take up the space of two people,” she quips.

I pause. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Put yourself down like that.”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes fall to the table. “I guess I always figured if I said it first then it wouldn’t hurt as much when someone else said it later.”

“Have you ever told yourself you’re beautiful?” I ask.

“No,” she says.

“You’re beautiful.”

She looks down and shifts on her chair. “How much saké have you had already tonight?” she jokes.

I don’t answer. Instead, I lean forward a little. “Tell me more,” I say.

“Well…” she clears her throat, “after working my ass off at Belle, I went to USC on scholarship.”

“What’d you major in?”

“Creative Writing.” Her eyes roll. “Turns out, you can’t do much with that.”

“You seem to be doing just fine.”

“Yeah, but…” She shrugs. “I mean, my job is related to my degree, which I guess is more than others of our generation can say. So yeah, one could say I’m doing just fine.”

“You’d just rather be writing instead of reading?”

“Exactly.” She smiles softly. “I already know, but I might as well ask, what have you been up to since Belle Academy?”

I grin. “I went to Stanford. Majored in Political Science, then went to Stanford Law.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It was. But it’s the map I was given.”

Her head tilts. “You don’t want to be a lawyer?”

“No, I do. Just rather be a different kind.”

She nods. “The kind that doesn’t have to rely on anonymous tips to make sure the guilty man goes to jail?”

“Exactly,” I say.

We stare at each other for a few silent seconds. Our eyes glide over our features, along cheeks and lips. I watch her chest move up and down for a few quick breaths. If we were any closer, we’d probably kiss. Hell, I might get up, walk over, and do just that…

Her face scrunches up and she shakes her head with clenched eyes, breaking the moment to pieces.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. It’s just…” She lays her hands on the table. “This is weird.”

I laugh. “In a good way, though.”

“Max freakin’ Monahan is sitting across from me, asking me about my life, looking genuinely interested in what I have to say, and flirting with me, and staring at my tits. It’s just weird.”

I wince. “You caught me, huh?”

Her cheeks flush even more. “I spent four years walking around that school with the biggest crush on you,” she spits out.

“Yeah, I knew.”

“You knew?”

“Well, most girls did, so…”

She drops her face into her hands. “Oh, god…”

I pick up the saké bottle to refill her empty cup. “Phoebe, calm down. It’s okay. Just relax.”

She raises her head and snatches her cup off the table once it’s full. “This stuff is really strong.”

“That’s the point,” I say, picking up my own cup. “Not that I need to be drunk to sit at a table with you, Phoebe.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t want you to think I don’t want to be here because I do,” I say, repeating her words back to her. “I really, really do.”

I take a drink, relishing in the head rush as the saké snakes down my throat and right back up to my brain. When I look up again, she’s staring back, her eyes hard and unblinking.

“You had sex with me,” she says.

I nod. “I did.”

“You kissed me in my office today.”

“I did.”

“And now you’re staring at my tits.”

I raise a finger. “I actually haven’t since you first mentioned it but… yeah. I did that, too.”

She looks up at the ceiling, craning her neck hard to glance around into every dark corner.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

“A bucket of pig’s blood,” she says.

“Phoebe.” I laugh. “Relax. I’m here with you because I want to be here with you. You’re here with me because you want to be here with me, right?”

She drops her head back down. “Yeah.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem… per se…”

“Then, what?”

“You’re the Prom King and I’m…” Her smile falls. “Peepee Pinkeye.”

I exhale at the old, pathetic slur. “Well, if you don’t mind me saying, Peepee Pinkeye got really fucking hot.”

She laughs. “Just never thought in a million years you’d notice.”

“I did.”

Phoebe blinks twice, her eyes lingering on mine. She tries to look away but they come right back. Another urge to kiss her passes through me and settles in my gut, steadily vibrating as blood pounds in my ears. I want her. It’s a certainty now. I don’t think I’ve ever been more certain of anything.

“Come home with me tonight,” I say.

Her lips part slightly. “Why?”

“Because I want you to,” I answer. “Because you want to.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Instinct.”

“You sure you’re not just cocky?” she quips.

“Oh, I am.” I smile at her pink cheeks. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been blushing since the moment you stepped into the room or that there’s a thin layer of sweat breaking on your brow.”

She holds up her cup. “I blame the saké.”

“Or the way your pupils are dilated.”

“It’s dim in here.”

“Your arms have goosebumps.”

“It’s kinda chilly, too.”

“How wet are you right now?” I ask.

Her jaw drops in that adorable way. “Excuse me?”

“If I were to crawl beneath this table,” I say slowly, “reach my hand up your thighs and stick my finger inside of you, how wet would you feel?”

She swallows. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not? Would it help if I told you that I was hard as a fucking rock right now?”

Her eyes crash down to the tablecloth between us, growing wider. “Is that true?”

I sit back, saying nothing, daring her to find out for herself.

Phoebe bites her lip as she casually glances over her shoulder. There’s no one in sight, no one within distance to see it. We’re alone here.

She reaches down and I hear the slight buzz of a zipper followed by a soft thud of her boot sliding off her ankle. As she rights herself, her bare toe connects with my pant leg, traveling up toward my lap. I pause with my fingers digging into my palm, anxiously waiting until I feel her foot graze my erection. She pushes between my thighs, inching far too slowly.

I grab her ankle with one hand, startling her as I guide her toes to rest on my throbbing shaft. She gasps, feeling up and down my length and counting the inches for herself. Sure, she’s seen it before. Felt it before. But not like this.

Phoebe runs her toes up and down, petting and stroking me. I keep a hand on her ankle, putting pressure as I see fit. Pleasure clenches my throat as she stares back at me with wide-open eyes.

“Touch yourself,” I say.

She flinches. “No, I can’t…”

“Please.” I tighten my hold on her ankle, begging her. “I want to see it.”

Her eyes roam the room again but there’s nothing to see. The sounds of distant voices and clanking glasses fade away. It’s just the two of us here.

She reaches beneath the table and my cock twitches against her toes. My ears tune to the sound of her dress gliding up her thighs. I can just barely see over the edge of the table on her side. Her fingers move over milky, white skin, shaking with nerves as she feels her panties.

“Do it…” I say, putting pressure on her foot to rub my cock a little harder.

Phoebe’s lips part as she inhales. Her pink tongue twitches behind her teeth. Her chest rises and falls. There’s a rhythm to it, led by the slight grind of her hand.

“That’s good,” I say, leaning forward to see better. “Don’t stop.”

She bites her lip and closes her eyes, hiding from my prying stare.

“Phoebe, open your eyes for me.”

A few moments pass before she finally does. Her entire body quivers with aching need. She moves her hand faster and the enthusiasm reaches her foot as well. I let out a quiet groan. I can’t say a woman has ever jerked me off with her foot before but I’m just a few good strokes away from ruining these pants.

Sweet Jesus. Phoebe Pink just might be my new favorite fetish.

“Are you ready to order?”

Phoebe rips her ankle from my grasp and slams it the floor.

The waitress stands in the doorway with a bright smile, hopefully unaware of what we were just doing.

I sit up taller and clear my throat. “Another minute, please. Thank you.”

She nods and walks back out.

Phoebe stares at the table, her face bright red and shell-shocked. She subtly adjusts her dress beneath the tablecloth and slips her heel back into her boot.

I catch my breath. “What do you want?” I ask her.

She laughs. “I haven’t even touched the menu yet.”

“No,” I say, drawing her eyes upward. “What do you want?”

She hesitates, softly biting the edge of her mouth.

“You,” she finally says.