The Stand-In

 

 

I’ve hit the gym, gone for a run, and showered, and it’s only 9 a.m. After my revelation, I came home and pulled out my trusty black book. I have the names and numbers of many women who as ashamed as I am to admit it, I don’t really remember who most of them are.

After my song and dance last night, I’ll be damned if I rock up to this dinner without a date on my arm. I know this is completely petty, not to mention childish, but if I’m to get over whatever this Mary spell is, then I need to move on.

I’m sitting in my office on the 47th floor, staring out the glass window, wondering who the fuck I can call. My black book sits in my lap as I restlessly rock backward and forward in my leather seat. The names may as well be random numbers in a phone book.

There was this one girl, Siobhan, who I saw on and off for three months. She was a real stunner and smart, too. It was probably around nine months ago that we “broke” it off. It was amicable, which is why I spin around and pick up the phone. I call from my office private line, just in case this turns a little pear-shaped.

We ended things pleasantly, or at least I think we did, because when I turn the page, I see another Siobhan, but with the initial L scribbled after her name. This was obviously done to distinguish between the two. Too bad I have no idea which Siobhan is the one I want. I have no clue what either girl’s surnames are.

It’s too late to hang up because a bubbly voice sounds over the receiver. “Hello.”

Wading through all the voices in my head, I attempt to match a face to the name. Shit. I’ve drawn a blank. This serves me right for not paying closer attention.

“Hello? Is anybody there?” Her high-pitched voice suddenly punches me in the solar plexus and I remember her screeching out my name as I ate her out in this exact chair. Bingo.

“Hello, Siobhan. It’s Hunter.”

Silence.

I don’t know if that silence is due to the fact she’s in shock, about to hang up on me, or if she has no idea who I am. I decide to clarify. “Hunter O’Shea. We met at Starbucks on Broadway.” More silence. “We both wanted the last lemon tart,” I add. As far as reunions go, this is veering toward a crash and burn.

“Holy shit,” she finally says, the surprise clear in her tone.

“Holy shit indeed. How are you?” Even I cringe at the stupidity of that question.

“Me? I’m good, thanks. How about you?”

“Fine.”

And it appears the third wheel to our conversation has joined us once again. Silence.

Clearing my throat, I man up and pull out the big guns. “I’m calling because I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink with me. Tonight.”

“Tonight?”

Rocking back in my seat and peering up at the ceiling, I shoot myself with an imaginary gun. But I persevere. “Yes, tonight. I have this thing…and thought it’d be nice to catch up.” I mouth a ‘what the fuck’ and roll my eyes. This is more than a little pear-shaped, it’s a fucking debacle.

“I…um, Hunter, I’m really surprised you called me.”

Here’s hoping that surprise is of the good kind. “I know, sweet cheeks, but I’ve been thinking about you. Have you been thinking about me?” I drop my voice purposely low, turning on the charm. I could make this woman come in one minute flat when I knelt at her altar. Sex was a little harder, she made me work for it, but I knew the buttons to push to turn her on.

“Honestly…” Her pause and shallow breathing has me fist pumping, but it’s premature. “No.”

I pull the receiver from my ear and bang the ear piece on the corner of my desk. There must be something wrong with the phone. However, when I press it back to my ear, I will happily give Satan my soul if he erases the past thirty seconds of my life.

Her brutal honesty is accentuated when the unmistakable sound of a baby wailing pierces my ear over the line. From the sounds of it, the infant is young. My stomach drops and I assume the worst. “You have a baby?”

“Ah…yes, I do.” Her pause also adds to the assumption. One plus one equals fuck me.

I catalogue over everything I can remember. We broke it off because she wanted a family and I didn’t. We went our separate ways after she fucked the living shit out of me. I thought she wanted to go out with a bang, but now I think that bang was a wham bam thank you ma’am for putting a bun in the oven.

I suddenly feel so violated. “Oh.” How do you ask someone in a roundabout way if they were sleeping around and got knocked up by somebody other than you? There really isn’t a nice way, it all amounts to holy fuck balls.

My silence speaks volumes, and Siobhan suddenly bursts into laughter. I have no idea how Dix went through this and stayed sane. “I’m sorry, Hunter,” she finally says around a mouthful of giggles. “Don’t worry, I know what you’re thinking. The baby isn’t yours.”

“Thank fuck for that!” I express a little louder than intended.

“But I do have you to thank for little Fiona coming into this world.” God dammit! If I’ve counted my chickens before they’ve hatched, I’m going to be fucking pissed.

I have no idea what she’s talking about, so I allow her to explain. “After we ended things, I met someone. Believe it or not, this person knows you too. Small world, right?”

This can’t be good, but I humor her anyway. “Crazy.”

“I was talking to this person about you, and well, anyway, it appears we both dated you.”

My mouth moves in wordless animation because one, I never thought we were officially dating, and two, if this person helped bring Fiona into this world, then I’m assuming that person is a man, and I sure as shit know I have never dated a dude.

There was this one time in Reno, but it was dark, and I could have sworn he said his name was Peta, not Peter.

Focusing on the task at hand, I swallow and suck it up, now looking at that phrasing in an entirely different light. “I’m really happy for you, but I don’t swing that way. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. My best friend is one sexy stud muffin, and if I batted for the same team, I’d be all over that man beast like a rash, but I like the ladies…”

“So do I,” Siobhan says, which has me screeching to a sudden stop.

“What?”

“The person I met was Molly.” When I remain silent, she shows me mercy and sheds light on what the hell is going on. “Molly was the girl who served us at Starbucks. She was the one who gave you the last tart.” It appears she means that in every literal sense of the word. “I went back to the Starbucks, call me a romantic fool, and we bonded over the fact we both knew you.”

“You’re gay?” I need her to draw me a diagram because I’m so fucking confused.

“Yes, Molly is my partner, and as you know, I was desperate for a family. So was she, so we got a donor, and nine months later, our little Fiona was born. So we have you to thank.”

I don’t even know what to say. “You’re welcome…I guess. I’m happy for you two. Congratulations.”

She’s gay? She liked head, but I would never pick her for being a lesbian. But regardless, this is a new kind of awesome. “I was a beard then? For two chicks! That’s kind of cool.”

When that stagnant quiet falls over us once again, I know I need a fucking handbook, ’cause I’m in a state of constant confusion it appears. “Well, not really, when we were with you…we weren’t gay.”

“I…what now? I beg your pardon?” I blink once, shaking my head, because now I’m surely hearing things.

“Sorry, Hunter, but…”

“But what? I turned you gay?” I tease, but eat my words soon after.

“Well…I suppose so.”

Oh my fucking lord. I need a minute to think. “I love women, and I love women who love women, but really, you’re off the one-eyed monster because of me?”

“When you say disgusting things like that, then yes, I guess your demoralizing and appalling treatment of women have turned us into muff divers!” Her comment is completely laced with sarcasm, as I know she used that phrase to stoop to my level.

I cringe. I know I’m no Shakespeare, but I didn’t think my mouth was that offensive. It appears I was wrong. It was enough to turn Siobhan into a lesbian, apparently.

“Don’t pretend this was something it wasn’t. We both know you were a stand-in before the real deal. And I was the same thing for you. Please don’t call me again.” Well, if that wasn’t a blunt fuck you, then I don’t know what it was.

The line goes dead and I hang up, scratching my head and wondering what the hell just happened. I was a stand-in. Like a substitute to serve in someone else’s place? Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?

Well, that entire conversation did nothing for my ego and has me questioning my manhood. Groaning, I thump my head on my desk, in hopes of rendering myself unconscious. “Mr. O’Shea?”

“Unless you have scotch, beat it,” I mumble, my cheek pressed to the woodgrain. I have no idea who is outside my door, but they have three seconds to scram before I throw my Yankees paperweight at their head.

“I can run down to the store and get you some liquor?”

Now that I’ve wrapped my brain around the fact I’ve turned two women gay, am a stand-in, and can’t seem to find a willing woman to take to tonight’s celebrations, I lift my head to uncover who this soft voice belongs to.

The sun streaming in from the window illuminates a young woman standing in my doorway. Her hair is long, golden, and her glossy lips full. A pair of large, black rimmed glasses sit prettily on her small face. She’s in a tight black skirt and white silk blouse, which doesn’t leave much to the imagination. She is the perfect stereotype of geeky, but kinky secretary.

I have no idea who she is and believe me, I’d remember a face and body like that. “Hello, do I know you?” Not the smoothest of lines, but I’m done with the small talk.

Her pale cheeks turn a rose pink. Everything below the belt is electrocuted. “I’m Keira Celly. I’m Mr. Gail’s assistant. I just started a week ago.”

“Well hello, Keira Celly. I’m Hunter O’Shea, but you seem to know that already.”

Fuck me, her blush swoops down the column of her slender neck. “Yes, I know who you are. Your reputation is notorious.”

I don’t like to brag, but she’s right. However, I suddenly don’t know which she speaks of—business or personal. At this stage, I’ll take anything she wants to give. “So, what did you do in your past life to get stuck working for that asshole, Aaron Gail?” Leaning back in my seat, I gesture she’s to enter.

She does.

There is no love lost between Aaron and I. His efforts will always pale in comparison to mine because he can only wish to be me. I earned this glass office fair and square, and it gives me great pleasure knowing Aaron is stuck in a corner, windowless office, one day hoping to play with the big boys.

He’s tried on numerous occasions to sabotage me, steal my clients, and pawn off my work as his own. Luckily, I can smell a rat, because if undetected, Gail would fly under the radar and steal what is rightfully mine.

Smiling, Keira very ladylike, holds down her skirt and sits. “Well, you weren’t hiring,” she offers, while I almost choke. “So I thought I’d try second best.”

“Second?” I scoff, intertwining my hands behind my nape. “He’s so far out of my league, I’m pretty sure he’s sitting in a parking lot in Detroit sucking his thumb.”

She bursts into laughter before slapping a hand guiltily over her plump, pink mouth. Sadly, she’s an employee and completely off limits. I learned the hard way from Dixon—don’t mix business with pleasure, regardless of the fact if I lean a little to the left, I can see the innocent, white triangle of treasure between her legs.

“That was really inappropriate. Please don’t tell him.” She interlaces her hands, on the cusp of begging. “I really need this job.”

As much as I want to slip in a lewd remark, I bite my tongue. “Don’t worry, I don’t talk to the nimrod, so your secret is safe with me.”

Her relief is clear. “If I can make it up to you, off the record, please let me know.”

The delicate flutter at the side of her neck betrays her nerves, and for some reason, the sight has my mouth watering and wanting to cherish this sweet, innocent dove. I can’t remember the last time I encountered such innocence, and it stirs something in me. Insanity maybe, because what I do next can only be classified as that.

Sitting upright, I steeple my fingers in front of me. “Well, there is this thing tonight.”

“What thing?” she asks, eagerly shuffling forward to sit on the edge of her seat.

“I have this dinner and I need a plus one. I don’t suppose you’re free?” When she hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip, I know I’ve probably just overstepped a line. “I promise I’m not some creep, and you’d be doing me a real solid. It’s purely platonic, but I completely understand if it’s weird or…”

“What time is it?” she says, cutting me off.

I don’t hide my surprise. “You want to come?”

“Sure. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” I wave her off because I don’t want her thinking that. “If you wanted to come, of your own free will, then I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”

Her pretty lips curve, and although I said I wasn’t a creep, I can’t stop staring at them. A blush creeps over her once again, as I’m not exactly being subtle. “Six-thirty it is then.”

Whoever this woman is, I’m completely hooked. She is gorgeous and I don’t get a bunny boiler vibe from her. Win, win. With a slow, measured pace, I reach for a business card and pass it to her between two fingers. She looks at it, then back at me, as if weighing the wrongdoings of the situation.

Her deep blue eyes hold me captive, and I actually am worried she might change her mind. But she shyly leans forward and accepts my offering. “Text me your address.” She nods, brushing a piece of long golden hair behind her ear.

Flicking the edge of my business card with her pointer as if in thought, she has me guessing what she’s thinking. “See you tonight, Mr. O’Shea.”

There is a certain time and place to be called Mr., and tonight isn’t one of them. Although, I have depraved images of bending her over this desk and spanking her as she calls me Sir. “Please, call me Hunter.”

She looks as if she just won the lottery, because she nods quickly, holding back her grin. “Okay, Hunter.” She squeaks when trying it on for size, but quickly composes herself a moment later. The action has me smiling.

Breaking eye contact, she smooths out the wrinkles in her skirt and brushes over invisible lint on her top as she stands. Sadly, the movement highlights the fact I can see her budding nipples very clearly through her white blouse.

I have no idea how old she is. At a guess, I’d say twenty-two. Way too young for the likes of me, and I suddenly feel like a perverted old man. But holy shit, her tits, curvy body, her angelic face, they are leaving me with serious wood.

Crossing my legs, I roll the chair forward to hide my looming hard on. “See you tonight.” I know it sounds like a brush off, but it’s either that, or she sees me pitch a tent, which really goes against my whole purely platonic speech.

She nods, tugging at a silver locket around her neck. “See you then.”

I pretend to busy myself, reaching for a pen and notebook from my desk drawer. She gets the hint and turns to leave, rewarding me with a spectacular view of her ass. I’m now busying myself with attempting not to drool as I ogle her lush derriere. I can’t look away, her heart shaped behind hypnotizing me with each step she takes.

The looming hard on becomes full wood, straining against my fly. When she turns over her shoulder, I bite back my internal pain. “What should I wear?”

The mere mention of clothes has me daydreaming about stripping off every shred of her current attire…with my teeth. But I stay composed. “I’m sure you’ll look smoking in whatever you wear.” Or not.

Shit.

It’s too late to backtrack. All I can do is apologize for my crude behavior. She’ll have to excuse me because all the blood has drained to my dick, but I can’t exactly tell her that now, can I?

“Keira…”

But she surprises me when she purses her lips. “I better make sure I don’t disappoint, then.”

I choke on air, very uncoolly wheezing like an emphysemic old man. She doesn’t give me a chance to reply. She instead flutters her long, golden lashes, before leaving me with a view that will be stored in my spank bank and revisited more than once today.

 

 

It’s 6:25 p.m., and I’m pacing the sidewalk outside of Keira’s apartment complex in Brooklyn. I’m early because I’m talking myself out of going through with this.

This is wrong on all counts. I was vulnerable—she caught me questioning whether I deserved a dick or not. There is no better time to enforce my rule of not shitting where you eat. I have no intention of things advancing with Keira, not because I don’t find her attractive, but because I know what will happen soon enough.

The sex will be mind-blowing and things will start out great. She won’t have an issue with my wanting to play things cool, and I won’t mind if she stays over a day or two. But then as days turns into weeks, my detachment will piss her off and she’ll demand more. More time. More sex. More me.

More. More. More.

I will back off, her need for more scaring the living bejesus out of me because I’ve seen what happens when this stage hits. Women get crazy. They get suspicious and think you’re screwing around. Chances are I probably am, because we never agreed to be exclusive and she was fine with us playing it cool. But when an attachment forms, it’s all downhill from here on in.

It’s scientifically proven that a key hormone is released during sex—oxytocin, also known as the cuddle hormone. It’s fundamental to bonding, and women produce more of this hormone, meaning they are more likely to let their guard down and dum dee dum…fall in love with a man after sex. Men, on the other hand, instead of getting a surge of the bonding hormone, we’re smacked in the cock with the pleasure hormone, dopamine, which means…all we want to do is fuck.

So, my dilemma here is, once Keira’s oxytocin wants to strangle me to death, I will have to see her every…single…day. There will be no escaping her, and before I know it, she’s shit in my coffee and glued my balls to the chair.

Office romances can be dangerous. Note to self: abort!

Just as I turn on my heel, making a beeline for my Jeep, I hear my name being called. The oxytocins of the world are flipping me off and high fiving their sistas in crime.

Closing my eyes, I curse the day I found out what my dick could do, because lately, all it seems to do is get me into trouble. “Hey, Keira. Look…” I spin back around, prepared to give her a speech worthy of an Oscar, but I hardly remember my name when I see her standing feet away.

She is a fucking vision. Her long blonde hair is curled around her slender face. Her incredibly blue eyes are emphasized beneath her large glasses. Her lips are stained a plush peach. I can’t help but stare, but the first thing I notice in that tight black dress are her supple tits. The neckline plunges so low, it stops inches from her belly button. I have no idea how she’ll move without flashing the room.

If that isn’t bad enough, the dress is short, stopping mid-thigh, and although she’s wearing stockings, if she bends over, Holy Mother of God…my dick stirs once again—the gluttonous bastard. I’ve jerked off twice already, but clearly, that’s not enough.

“It’s too much?” she says, tugging at the hemline and shuffling her stiletto-clad feet.

It’s not enough, I internally groan because I have no idea how I’m going to keep it in my pants. Pulling it together, I smile. “You look great.”

I can see her disappointment, but visions of being cuddled to death spur me on. “Shall we?”

She toys with the strap of her handbag, possibly having second thoughts, before nodding. I’m thankful she has a coat draped over her arm, because I’ll turn up the AC if I have to, anything to put me out of my misery.

Walking to the door, I open it for her, because the sooner we get this over with, the faster I can jerk her out of my system. I have no idea what I was thinking. When she brushes past me, her floral perfume engulfing my senses, I know the answer is I wasn’t thinking at all.

She turns over her shoulder so we’re inches apart. “Thanks.” I nod with a stiff upper lip smile. I know she’s flirting with me and I’m a stupid motherfucker because I like it.

Once she’s inside, I close the door, running a hand over my scruff because tonight can only lead to trouble. As I round the hood, I can feel her watching me. I hate that I’m already so in tune with her actions, because it means I’m interested, and that interest will soon turn into wanting to fuck her senseless, consequences be damned.

D2 is rocking in a corner, sucking his thumb, reminding me that in roughly half an hour, I’ll be seeing the woman who sparked this sudden psychosis. But instead of manning up and telling her how I feel, I’ve instead gone and dug myself an even bigger hole.

And the award for biggest dumbass goes to…

Once I kickstart the engine, Keira looks over at me with a sparkle in her eye. She’s excited. “Thanks again for asking me out tonight. I can’t wait to meet your friends,” says the future cuddler. I’m doomed.

Nodding, I pull into traffic, wishing tonight was one of those nights where a meteor hit, or aliens invaded the planet. But the closer we get to Westchester County, I know luck isn’t on my side. All I can do is turn up the radio and set the AC to high.