Jon

I drive India home, and on the drive, I ask her more about her date with Thomas. It's not like I didn’t already know he was wrong for her – I could have told her that when he first walked into the bar.

But I wanted to find out why she’s bothering with this whole dating business. She’s told me – so many times – that she’s all about getting her millions and then moving away before she does anything serious on the boyfriend side of things. So what was up with the date? If she wanted sex, she knows she could have it, anytime and anywhere. There would always be some guy who would love to fuck her silly, but she isn't that kind of woman.

She’s either business or love.

I pull up to her house and hop out to open her door before she can gather her bag and do it herself. It's a small thing, but I'm all about chivalry, even if I feel that women and men are totally equal.

We walk to her front door, laughing about something Thomas said, and she turns to me before unlocking the door.

"He actually said he’s been told he was a great conversationalist." She rolls her eyes. "Can you believe it? He's one of the worst I've ever met. And I've met a few."

"He's a jerk," I say and lean my arm against the wall beside the door. "Be glad you know that now. No harm, no foul. But Marina better get her questionnaire fixed if she wants to be a success. She needs real results, not flops."

"She will," India says with a sigh. "Thanks for the ride."

She's smiling at me, her eyes soft, and without thinking I lean in, a smile on my face, and kiss her – like kissing her goodnight is the most natural thing in the world. She stands as still as a statue, and when I pull back, her expression is one of shock.

"What was that for?" she asks in a tiny voice.

"You deserved at least a kiss goodnight after your bad date," I say, my voice husky for some reason. "I took pity on you, I guess."

An expression of pain passes over her face. "I don't need your pity, Jon."

Oops.

She turns and enters her code on the keypad to open her door, and I can see right away that I've pissed her off.

"I didn’t mean that," I say quickly, hoping to recover. I stand up straighter, my brain working furiously to find a way to salvage things between us. "I meant, I felt affection for you after what you'd been through and it just came naturally. Not pity. Sympathy."

"Yeah, right," she replies and opens her door. Even in the low light of her front porch, I can see the blush rise on her cheeks. "I don't need your pity or your sympathy."

She's embarrassed that I felt sorry for her.

Fuck. What a dope.

"Seriously," I say, trying to make things right between us. "I don't pity you, India. You know that. I wanted to be your partner because I admire you. I don't feel sympathy for you. I felt your pain. I've been on bad dates before. Believe me."

"Keep saying it and maybe you'll convince yourself," she says and closes the door in my face.

Crap.

Not a good end to the night. Here I was, trying to make her feel better by kissing her affectionately and I ended up hurting her feelings and making her feel embarrassed. And angry at me.

We need to be simpatico on things. We need to be on the same page and cool with each other.

This was not good for our working relationship.

I exhale in frustration, leaving the front porch and returning to my car. Before I drive off, I text her.

JON: I don’t pity you. I pity the poor sonofabitch who's such a boring idiot that he didn’t know what a gem he had on a date and blew it. I care about you, India. I want to see you happy. That's all. Don't take it the wrong way.

Then I drive off, making my way down the curving highway and back to my own loft apartment in an old converted warehouse near the waterfront. I park the SUV in my spot and climb the stairs at the back of the warehouse loading dock, then take the stairs to the top floor where I live. I have the entire floor to myself and did all the work. It's a great space with huge windows on every wall and an open concept, all brick and exposed ductwork and hardwood floors. I love the open feel of the place and how it affords me a view of the San Francisco bay.

I strip my clothes off and have a quick shower, thinking while I scrub myself clean that I hope India gets over her hurt feelings.

Usually I'm good with words, and can finesse my relationships with people. I tend to get a bit defensive with India because she's so important to my life and my business and future. I want to protect her from hurt and from harm, so when I saw how disappointed she was with her bad date, I wanted to comfort her, but blew it.

The kiss – a mistake.

She doesn't want a pity kiss from me. She wants a business partner and friend.

That's what we've always been, and that's what I'm determined to ensure we stay.

I can't deny that I felt real affection for her when I kissed her, though, and for just a minute, my mind goes there – me on a real date with India, taking her home after, fucking her into mindlessness. So, there I am, standing in the shower, my hands soapy and my mind on India, and I start to stroke my rapidly hardening dick. Before I know it, I'm beating off to thoughts of India. I can't help where my mind goes when I'm in that moment of lust. Images of India in her tiny bikini when we go surfing together come to my mind unbidden. I can't help but think how delicious her curves are. She has great tits and a nice shapely ass. The kind a man wants to grab hold of and pump hard while he fucks her.

Yeah, I go there.

I shouldn't and I know it, but I'm just as red-blooded as the next guy, and India is a hot beautiful woman with curves that would drive any man wild with lust.

I stroke until my eyes roll back into my head, imagining her coming around my cock. That sends me over, my orgasm starting, pleasure spiking through me as I come. I groan, leaning one hand against the wall as the pleasure peaks and my cock pulses in my hand.

Finally spent, I wash off, and leave, wishing I had someone real with me at that moment instead of visions of India. I imagine what we'd do if she was my lover in addition to my partner. We'd probably dry each other off and go to the kitchen to get something to drink before hitting the sack together, falling asleep in minutes because we were both spent.

I kick myself mentally. Our partnership will only work if we keep it clean and professional.

Like an idiot, I broke that wall down tonight by kissing her.

It won't happen again.

The next day, it's a bit awkward when I show up in the boardroom at the office and she's there alone, waiting for me so we can go through the presentation and do any last-minute changes as needed before our trip tomorrow.

"Hey," I say and take my place at the head of the table. She's sitting beside my chair and has the computer fired up and the projector running. I'm not ‘first among equals’ – we really are partners – but I tend to be the business face of Pacifica and she tends to be the communications face. She does the presentations, and I talk hard numbers. It's just the way we work together.

"Hey back at you," she says and forces a smile. Is she feeling that freaked out over the kiss and my stupid comment about pity? I hope she gets over it, and fast.

I lean back in my chair, putting on my glasses so I can see the screen at the end of the room. "Be my guest," I say, and motion to the projector.

She starts the slideshow, and runs through the presentation, talking about the company and how it was founded and grew to be the multimillion-dollar company that it is today, competing with the biggest corporations for contracts. She's good, has it down pat, and I have no quibbles with it. But she's a perfectionist and rearranges a few slides so she can spend some time focusing on the history of our latest product – the Heads-Up Display system we developed for the Army. She's really proud and I can see she loves to talk about it and the integrated coms system we developed to augment it.

While I listen to her describing the new communications satellite, I catch myself staring at her. Damn, she's so smart and attractive… If I were to marry some day, it would be someone like India. Someone with brains and looks and who knew how to have fun. I'm sure she's also good in bed. Just looking at her suggests she'd be fucking hot.

The presentation's great, but of course, I think about how the military types in the meeting will respond to having a woman give the presentation. I know what they'll be thinking: They'll be thinking they'd like to fuck her brains out. They'll be wondering what's under her dark blue suit and beneath her knee-length skirt. They’ll imagine stripping off her clothes and warming her up with their tongues and fingers before filling her up with their hard cocks.

Or maybe that's just me.

Damn.

I breached the wall that separates us and now I can't stop going there.

When she's done with the presentation, I'm still imagining her with her hair down, her body naked and spread out beneath me, her legs spread wide, my dick sliding in and out of her hot wet pussy.

"What do you think?"

I blink and try to focus. What do I think? I think I want to fuck her so badly that I'm going to have to go into the executive washroom and beat off before I'll be able to get any work done.

"Great," I say, nodding, a pencil in my hand, my glasses practically fogging up from the steam coming out of my ears. "I think we're good to go. Now all we have to do is get on our plane to Washington and deliver this sucker."

"What time's our flight?"

"Eleven thirty-five a.m. Two first-class seats on Virgin."

She makes a face, raising her eyebrows. "Not business class?"

"I got the seats upgraded. Perks of being an executive member."

She nods. "Will we be staying at the Hilton? I forgot to check with Cyndi."

"The usual."

She packs up her laptop and turns off the projector. "Well, I better get to it – finalizing the presentation." She checks her cell and must have a message. "Marina wants to know whether you're going to her party on Saturday."

"I wouldn’t miss it."

"Good. I'll let her know." She texts something back and then stands. "I’ll probably work all day today and the presentation should be in the can by supper. Should I meet you at the airport tomorrow or will we drive there together?"

"We can drive together. I have a car picking me up."

She smiles and leaves me alone in the boardroom, which is a good thing because I still have an erection despite the talk about flights and hotel rooms. I want it to die down to at least half-staff before I head to the washroom to relieve myself.

Before I can, I get a text from Marina.

MARINA: I want you to redo the questionnaire for me before the party on Saturday. I'll match you with someone.

I frown. I don't need an app to find sex partners. I find them on my own quite well.

JON: I don't need a date, Marina. Seriously. I have my fill of women when I want them.

MARINA: I know, I know. But I made some tweaks to the questionnaire and want to test if I can match you up with someone perfect for you. You're the hardest nut to crack, Jon. Seriously. If I can find someone for you, I’ll know the app will be a success. Pretty please with probably a great fuck out of the deal?

I sigh.

JON: Your app didn't do a very good job with India. In fact, I have it on good authority that it was a total flop.

MARINA: I know. That's why I need your help. You did promise to help me revise the questionnaire.

Even though I know she won't stop pestering me, I can't stop myself from arguing.

JON: I don't do relationships. I'm too busy to get mixed up with anyone at the moment. I don't have time for anything more than sex. We've gone over this before.

MARINA: Jon, just because you got one 'Dear Jon' letter when you were in the Army doesn’t mean all women are unfaithful. Some women are totally faithful. You have to learn to trust again.

JON: Okay. I'll redo your damn questionnaire. But I don't promise anything about going on an actual date.

MARINA: Thanks so much! I'll send the link to the online form right over. I promise you can back out of any date I arrange for you if you don't feel it.

JON: That's my price. If I don't like the woman, I won't go on a date.

MARINA: Agreed. Fill it out and submit it. I'll run it through the system and we'll arrange a meeting with the lucky winner. How does that sound?

JON: Fine. But I'm only doing it because you're India's best friend. You understand that, right?

MARINA: I do. Trust me on this. I'm sure I can find you the perfect match.

JON: There is no such thing, Marina. That's for fairy tales.

MARINA: Okay, old man. Shake your cane at me. I still believe in love.

JON: Later.

I read over our texts and smile to myself. The woman is a born romantic.

The perfect woman for me doesn't exist. I thought I’d had one. Dee. When I went away to enlist, she promised to wait for me to return. It wasn’t even six months before I got the Dear Jon letter and learned she'd hooked up with an old friend of mine who stayed behind.

I go to the executive washroom, locking the door behind me, and beat off, thinking about India the entire time.

That's twice in the space of twenty-four hours.

I need a vacation.

Before I leave the office, I open the link and fill out the online questionnaire. It asks dozens of questions about interests and preferences – nothing I haven't seen before on the kind of interest inventories they do in business school.

If it wasn't the fact that Marina is India's best friend, I'd never even think about doing the questionnaire.

It's all bullshit.

As to perfect matches, there's no such thing as perfection. If you hold out hope of meeting the perfect woman, you'll be sadly disappointed. People settle. That's it. They fuck around until they get lonely or bored and decide they want to play house. They look around at what's available and pick one.

That's all.

People who use the dating apps?

They're at that stage of wanting to settle. The app merely finds them someone at the time. In a decade, maybe even in five years, they'll be different people, and they’ll stick with their partner out of guilt or because it's easier than getting a divorce.

That's not the future I want for myself.

I submit the questionnaire and put it out of my mind.

The trip goes well. We fly on Virgin Atlantic, first class to Washington. We both keep to ourselves the entire flight. I'm busy reading financial reports. Beside me, India goes over the presentation. By the time the plane lands, it's after eight and we've barely said a dozen words to each other, each of us lost in our own preparations for the morning meeting.

On the drive to the hotel, we’re both on our cells, reading messages and responding to texts. We arrive at the hotel and I check in for the both of us, handing India her key before we take the elevator up to the floor.

Since we ate on the plane, I say goodnight to her after I help her with her suitcase, closing the door behind me and flicking on the light to my room. I lie on the bed, knowing that India's in the room directly beside me.

I flick on the television and watch the sports network for a while, but after about an hour, I think of India and what Marina said, about her being so lonely and lying in her bed all alone and feel like talking to her all of a sudden.

JON: Are you still awake? I can't sleep. I'm always hyped up before a big presentation.

After a moment, she replies.

INDIA: I always have trouble sleeping the night before, too.

JON: It's late but do you feel like going for a walk?

There's a pause.

INDIA: No. I really need to just shut off the light and go to sleep. I'll probably just be tired. If I went for a walk now, I'd really be awake. But thanks anyway.

JON: Okay. I think I'll go for a quick run. I need to exhaust myself physically if I'm going to sleep. See you in the morning.

INDIA: Good night.

I put my cell away and do exactly what I said – I go for a run down the street where the hotel is located, needing to burn off some excess energy before I'll be able to sleep. The night before a big meeting is often stressful, even though I'm sure India will do a magnificent job. I need to completely exhaust myself, and my little bout of self-abuse earlier in the day wouldn't be enough.

So I run. I run in the dark, the only sounds accompanying me the distant sound of the freeway and the noise of my breathing and my feet beating the pavement. After about twenty minutes, I stop near a bus shelter and sit on the bench, catching my breath while I adjust my running shoe laces, which have come undone. I check my watch and decide I've done enough for the night, so I run back to the hotel, taking the same route.

I glance up at the hotel and run my eyes up the side, mentally counting off the floors so I can find our floor and our rooms. I figure out which room is mine and which is India's and am surprised to see her curtains open and her figure silhouetted in the window. The drapes have been opened and she appears to be staring out at the city around the hotel.

She looks lonely.

My watch reads fifteen past eleven and she can't sleep either. Why she refused to go on a walk with me, I don't understand. We used to run together back in the day. She said it helped her sleep, so I can't figure out why she wouldn't come with me.

That kiss must have really freaked her out.

That's not a good thing. The last thing I need is for there to be any tension between us. I'll have to clear things up as soon as possible if I want our partnership to flourish.

I return to my room and after sitting in front of my television while my sweat dries, I have another quick shower and go to bed. My last thoughts as I lie in the darkness are not about the presentation in the morning, but of India and what Marina told me about her being lonely.

I'm too busy to be lonely, surrounded all day and most of the evening with my team, working on Pacifica. I'm never alone, and neither is India. In fact, she and I are almost always together, working away side by side in meetings and on various parts of the Defense Department project.

How can India be lonely?