“Hell, Tamara, what the fuck are you doing to me,’ he growls, his eyes shimmering with a bright supernatural hue like a wolf’s.

The last time he said those words, he walked away from me, but now he grabs my face in his hands and swoops down on my mouth. My heart stops beating. The kiss is rough and possessive, like a man claiming his woman. My whole body starts humming as dormant desires wake up and an insistent throbbing begins between my legs.

My fingers slip into the waistband of his jeans. His skin is like warm silk. I feel the round metal button cool against my thumb. Deftly, I slip the button out of its eye.

I use both hands to drag his jeans down and I feel his shaft, so hard and ready for me.

“Oh, Lars,” I whisper, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

He grasps my button up shirt at the front opening and rips it in two. Buttons fly and ping against the wall. My shirt hangs open as his hungry eyes devour my body. He reaches behind and works the fastening of my bra. He flips the straps and it falls to the ground with a soft whisper.

“Jesus, you’re exactly how I dreamed you would be,’ he says, his big manly hands cupping my breasts.

Then we both hear this odd buzzing sound.

“Just ignore it,” I groan.

“What is it, though?” he asks, his voice curious.

The noise gets louder and louder, and I suddenly wake up. It was only a dream. Disorientated, I look in the direction of the noise. My phone is vibrating against the nightstand. For a second, I do nothing. Remnants of the dream still cling to me. It felt so real. I take a deep breath, hit the light switch, and press the green circle on my phone. Tamara’s tanned face flickers onto my screen.

“Hi,” she says brightly. She is sitting on a black leather chair wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe with a towel tied like a turban around her head. A dark-skinned woman seems to be doing something to her. I can see her head and a bit of her face bobbing at the bottom of the screen. She is obviously getting a pedicure or a foot massage.

“Hello, Tamara,” I say, rubbing my eyes.

“You look sleepy. What time is it over there?”

“It’s 1:30 in the morning here.” I keep my voice neutral and completely devoid of the intense irritation I feel.

“Have you learned to ride yet?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh good. Has everybody there seen you riding?” she asks eagerly.

“Uh...not yet. Only Butch.”

“Butch? I thought your trainer was someone else.”

“Ah…well. Lars didn’t have the time.”

She frowns. “A mere trainer didn’t have the time for me?”

For crying out loud. She is insulted because someone didn’t drop everything to put her needs first. “It’s not that he didn’t have the time. We kind of fell out and I decided to practice on my own with just Butch to watch over me.”

“You fell out?”

“It’s a long story.”

She rocks her butt as if she is settling in for a good story. “You better tell me everything then. Because I don’t want to trip up and say the wrong thing to the wrong person when I get there.”

Me and my big mouth. God, why did I ever mention Lars? “It’s actually nothing. I wanted to ride a particular horse, but he thought the horse was too wild.”

Her eyes become saucers.

“It all worked out in the end,” I say quickly. “He was wrong because the horse was fine with me.”

“Oh, my fucking God. He’s on your To Bang list, isn’t he?”

Every vestige of sleep deserts me, and I feel a shaft of unease go right through me. “What?”

“Don’t worry, you can tell me everything. I’m no prude. I love sex,” she says in an overly saccharine tone.

“No, no. You’re completely wrong. I don’t think of him like that at all.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve gone all red,” she cries triumphantly.

“Tamara, it’s not what you think. We’re just friends who—”

“—Have fallen out,” she interrupts slyly.

“I—”

“—Send me a photo of him,” she orders bossily.

I clear my throat. “You want me to take a photo of him and send it to you?”

“Exactly.”

I swing my legs to the floor. “Why?”

It seemed like a reasonable thing to ask, but it sends her into a frenzy. I mean, she totally loses it. She goes ballistic. It’s the most incredible thing how she can go from normal to this ranting and raving monster. Her hands fly out and smack that poor woman crouched at her feet. The woman screams and I hear a clatter as if she has fallen to the floor. Frozen with horror, I stare open-mouthed as she curses me for daring to question her order.

“Okay, okay. I’ll take a photo,” I cry, recovering from the shock of seeing her incredible transformation.

“You better,” she screams furiously, and breaks the connection.

I stare at the blank screen. Wow! That was unbelievable. No wonder her staff is terrified of her. I put the phone down and lie back down, but I’m wide awake now. My sleep is completely ruined.

Why would she want a photo of Lars? It can’t be just curiosity. Just because she thinks I want him? The more I think about it the more I realize that she could be one of those women who will take their friends’ boyfriends simply to show that they can. I stand up and pace the floor uneasily.

I don’t want to send a photo of Lars to her.

She’ll take one look at Lars and want him for herself. I know it in my bones. I toy with the idea of sending a photo of Butch, but then I know that if anything at all goes wrong, she will try to find some way to punish me financially.

Anyway, it’s not like Lars belongs to me.

I suddenly remember my dream and goosebumps scatter across my skin. I stand at the window and stare out into the night, wishing I had never mentioned Lars to her. At traumatic times like this, the only thing that can make me feel better is ice cream.