Chapter Eight
Mia
“Asshole,” I muttered after listening to the voice mail.
He knew exactly what he was doing. That voice of his was a weapon, and it needed to be holstered. I couldn’t listen to him talk like that without getting all warm and gooey in my center. Well, I used to be able to, but after having sex with the man and hearing him use that low, husky voice while he was buried deep inside me, I immediately got wet.
Brad wasn’t an idiot. He knew how powerful his voice was. It was his secret weapon. Damn him for using it on me. He knew better!
I hadn’t thought about him in a long time, but ever since I’d heard from him, I couldn’t get him out of my head. It was like being haunted only it was really happening. Waking up and hearing his sexy voice on my voice mail was cruel.
I walked to the shower, determined to put the man out of my head. I had work to do, and mooning over him made it difficult to concentrate. As I stepped under the hot spray, the water hit my breasts. It sent a tingle down my spine that radiated out and over my flesh. I closed my eyes and thought about him touching me. That night I had been buzzed, maybe a little drunk in the beginning. By the time round three rolled around, I had sobered up. I remembered every detail: the feel of his tongue on my breasts, his gentle caresses that turned more demanding when I kissed his neck.
My hands mimicked what he did to my body that night. As tension built in my body, I groaned in frustration. I couldn’t take the time to pleasure myself. I was already running late for work after listening to his message several times and daydreaming.
Despite the frustration my body felt, I was perky when I arrived at work.
“Hi. Hello.” I greeted one person after another as I walked down the hall toward my office.
Perky was a foreign feeling. I wasn’t perky by nature. It was waking up to Brad’s voice that had put me in a good mood. He could also be credited with the little tingling still going on between my legs. The man had done some crazy voodoo on me.
Once I made it to my office, I reviewed my schedule for the day. It was a repeat of yesterday and the day before that. Lunchtime was upon me before I even realized it. I usually called my mom in the mornings on the way to work, but this morning I hadn’t. I blamed Brad. My mind had been too preoccupied with him.
My mom’s business partner, who ran the shop with her, answered the phone. “Is Maria busy?” I asked her.
“Hi, Mia. Nope. Let me grab her. You should see the new line your mom secured,” the woman said with a great deal of excitement.
“Oh yeah?” I asked.
“Yes. The designer goes out of her way. Everything is hand-stitched and super cute.”
I laughed as Mattie called for my mother. She and my mom ran a small shop that sold pet clothes. Only in New York City could that type of business be as successful as it was. I didn’t quite understand the appeal, but I was happy my mom had a business she loved. She deserved every ounce of happiness she could get.
“Hi, honey,” she said, her voice coming through the phone.
“Hey, Mom. How are you doing? Mattie says you got some new stuff?”
“Yes! They are absolutely fabulous, Mia. You have to stop by and see the dog line. I am, of course, partial to the dog stuff. Cats are just too damn finicky for my tastes. They don’t appreciate a good outfit,” she said.
The woman could always make me laugh. “I agree with you.”
“What are you doing? You didn’t call this morning.”
“I was running late. I overslept,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t know I was lying.
“Oh. You don’t have to call me every morning, Mia. I’m fine. I’m healthy. I’m staying busy and I love it. I promise, you will be the first to know if something isn’t right.”
I sighed. I couldn’t help but worry about her. When I’d nearly lost her to breast cancer two years ago, I had told myself I would be a better daughter and call her every day. When she got a clean bill of health, I was ecstatic.
“I know, Mom. I just like checking up on you. I’m going to have to get over there and see these new dog clothes.”
She laughed. “I’m sure my new line of dog clothing is at the top of your list of things to do. You have real fashion to write about. You just stop by when you can.”
“I will, Mom. I love you,” I told her, ending the call.
I was smiling when I put down the phone. My mother’s love of fashion had inspired me to do what I did. I loved writing and had thought I wanted to be a journalist, but my love of fashion pushed me in another direction. When I got a job that allowed me to marry the two things I loved most in the world, I jumped at the chance.
“How is she?” Helga asked from the doorway.
I smiled. “She’s good. She’s pretty excited about a new line of doggie wear.”
Helga’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Yep. She says it’s fabulous.”
“Ooh, I have to go check it out. Little Diamond needs some new outfits,” she cooed.
“My mom would love to see you. Did you need something?” I asked. It wasn’t often my boss showed up at my office door.
“Here,” she said, handing me a piece of paper with her chicken scratch writing on it. “This young lady nearly accosted me outside. She showed me pictures of her designs and a few pieces she made. I told her I would have you check out her little boutique.”
I took the number and nodded my head. “I’ll have it added to my schedule—maybe early next week.”
“Good. Perfect,” she said and walked away.
I loved my eccentric, sometimes strict boss. It was her dog that had essentially got me my job. Helga had been a regular in my mother’s store for years. When my mom learned who Helga was and what she did, she convinced Helga to give me an internship. Once my internship was up, she offered me a job, and I had been steadily climbing the ladder ever since.
I focused on the article I was putting together until there was another knock on my door. When I looked up, I was happy to see it was my lunch.
“Hi. Thanks,” I said, taking the sandwich and salad.
The young, geeky kid didn’t make eye contact as he mumbled something and quickly shuffled out the door. It was the same routine. The same guy had been delivering my sandwiches for at least three months. No matter how hard I tried to make conversation with him, he quickly left without saying a word. I had decided he was probably on the autism spectrum. I quit trying so hard and let him do what he was comfortable with.
“Mmm, turkey on rye,” I mumbled. It was something Brad had turned me onto almost fifteen years ago. The guy was a health nut. When he had taken off and abandoned me, I had gone on a bit of a junk food kick. It had been my way of rebelling against him, even if I was the one who suffered for it.
The past couple years, I had changed my ways and gone back to eating healthily again. Not completely healthily, though, because ice cream was not something I was prepared to live without. I thought about his message. He said he wanted to wine and dine me. If he was serious about that, it would have to better than some tofu joint. I wanted steak and lobster, the whole nine yards. He was going to have to put some effort into the wining and dining.
“Wait. What?” I mumbled around a mouthful of dry bread.
I was actually thinking about letting him take me out? Had I lost my damn mind?
After shoving the rest of the sandwich back into the plastic container, I got back to work. I had to get that man off my mind. Working was about the only thing that worked. Not entirely, but it was better than daydreaming about him all day.
By the time I was done with work, I was really hungry. I stopped and picked up some takeout before heading home to my empty condo. I poured myself a glass of red wine and settled in with my dinner to watch Real Housewives. It was my guilty pleasure, one I would never actually admit to if anyone asked.
Yawning, I realized it was close to eleven. I didn’t usually stay up so late. I went to bed early and got up early nowadays. No more late nights at the club or hanging out with friends on a work night. I was old.
I crawled into bed and immediately thought about Brad. The familiar tingling that had been with me all day sprang to life. I was home, alone, with complete privacy. I ran my hand over my stomach and straight to my throbbing pussy. I needed release. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had gone to bed with a man. As I rolled my finger over my opening, I realized it had to have been close to six months since I’d last had sex. No wonder I was so charged up after hearing his voice.
My finger probed inside, and I smiled as I felt how wet I was. My folds parted easily as I ran my finger up and down my slit, shivering with excitement at the feeling. I imagined Brad next to me, his hand in place of my own. My breath came faster as I rubbed my clit, applying more pressure and nearly squealing in sheer delight. I could feel the orgasm coming already. There was no point in denying myself. I rubbed faster, bringing the orgasm on fast and hard. I moaned in the darkness, letting the climax roll over me.
My toes curled, and my leg muscles clenched in time with the muscles inside my pussy. I pulled my hand out of my panties and sighed. That had been good, but I craved more. I wanted more. I wanted Brad.
Dammit!
It was because of him I was in an aroused and only partially-satisfied state. I rolled over, turned on my lamp, and dialed the number in my phone. I hadn’t quite brought myself to put his name in my contact list, but I knew who the number belonged to.
When the voice mail message came on, I was a little relieved. I wasn’t sure what I would have said to him had he answered.
“Tag, you’re it,” I said in a breathy voice.
I put the phone down and turned off the light, still smiling. I didn’t know what I was doing, but a little harmless flirting couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t like he would actually show up in New York. I figured he was probably in a dry spell or maybe he had recently been dumped. He was desperate for attention and had called me.
I didn’t really mind. It brought up old memories, but in a way, I felt more at peace with everything. It was as if talking to him had brought closure. I knew he was okay and doing well for himself. I could turn on the radio and hear his voice from time to time and not instantly feel that familiar hurt. It had been replaced with something else. Was it a little crush? Maybe. Whatever it was, I was okay with it.
I let myself drift off to sleep while picturing the man in my dreams.