One

Ann

Another Friday night and I was sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine in one hand and the remote in the other. This night would have been a lot more fun for me if it had more chill and less Netflix. Instead it was me, Indian takeout and some period drama with men dressed up as gladiators. The acting was half-ass at best, but the guys were hot and the fight scenes were spectacular, with all that sweat and blood and grunting. It was better than any prospects I currently had—which was a big fat fucking zero—and it didn’t require me to shave or primp.

Not that I would have anywhere to go anyway since all of my friends are fighting like we’re still in high school, and after the week I had at work, the last thing I need is more bitch fits. No thanks, my day job kept me at maximum capacity for bitch fits, thank you very much. Associate producer for Seattle in the Morning meant I dealt with cranky, overworked staff both on and off camera. They bitched and moaned about everything from the type of coffee in the kitchen to the colors they couldn’t wear on camera. They were my circus and if I kept it all running, I would get that line producer position.

In my personal life, I expected more chill than the staff at the biggest morning show in the state.

These days my expectations were not being met.

What I needed, was to get laid. It had been months. Too many damn months since I felt the thick, slick glide of a cock into my hungry body. Too long since I even enjoyed being out with a man. My last date, five weeks ago, had been a disaster from the moment Calvin showed up, late and reeking of stripper perfume and booty glitter. Not that I have anything against strip clubs or the women who shake what their mama gave them—I don’t. But it shows a lack of class to go from a strip club to a first date. Or any date. Needless to say, Calvin didn’t get a second date, didn’t get a goodnight kiss or an I hope to never see you again fuck.

Nothing.

Which meant I was also a cranky bitch. A cranky, horny bitch who had a little too much wine. Who was I kidding? There’s no such thing as too much wine. Especially on a Friday night with no weekend plans ahead. The best thing about working on a morning show—because getting up at the dark end of the ass crack of dawn wasn’t it—was weekends off. Even during sweeps, Chelsea, Hank, Amara and Rob never worked weekends, which meant I never worked weekends.

Until recently it had been a good thing. Now weekends kind of stretched out before me, long and boring. But I was determined this weekend wouldn’t be the same. I didn’t need my girls to have a good time. I’m a grown woman with a good job, I pay my own bills and I see to my sexual pleasure. I didn’t need company to have a fun night out by myself.

“Shit!” The phone vibrating and ringing on the table scared me from my thoughts and I snatched it up without looking. “Yeah?”

“Are you coming out with us tonight?”

“No, Caro, I’m staying in tonight. You girls bring too much drama for my tastes.” They hadn’t gotten the memo that we’d all graduated college a few years ago, which in my book meant no more fighting over guys. They weren’t worth it and there were too many of them to fight.

“There’s no drama tonight, I promise. Come on, Ann, it’s not the same without you.” The sound of Caro whining wasn’t one of my favorite things, so I pushed on.

“Who’s all there?”

“Molly, Trish, Tasha and Lucy, but we’re keeping Trish and Tasha apart since the whole Bradley debacle,” she whispered, referring to the fact that they’d both slept with and dated Brad, at the same time, both blaming each other when he dumped them to get engaged to the boss’ daughter.

“Nah, I’m good. You girls have fun and I’ll stay here. Bye now!” It was rude as hell to hang up, I know, but the first snow had fallen a couple weeks ago and I was far too comfortable and too warm to get dressed and deal with that crap. So, I sank deeper into the sofa, drank more wine and got more and more turned on by the hot ancient Rome sex happening on screen.

Thank goodness for Netflix or I’d have to start watching porn again.

~

“Holy shit you totally should have come with us last night!” Tasha went on and on about their night of dancing and all the hot guys they spotted, danced with and sucked face. “You’ve been MIA a lot lately, what’s up?”

What was up was that I felt at loose ends. I didn’t enjoy hanging out with my friends as much as I used to, and I didn’t know what to do about it. Did you break up friendships simply because you were bored or felt like you’ve outgrown girls you’ve known since you were a teenager? I didn’t want to sever all ties, but they were exhausting. “Not much, I’ve just been doing my own thang. Staying free of the drama.”

She scoffed. “That stuff with me and Trish is old news; get over it. We have.”

“Yeah after you spent the past three months bitching about it, about him and then each other. And let’s not forget the fighting.” The last time we’d had a real girls’ night out, they’d ended up pulling each other’s hair on the dance floor, throwing punches and fighting until a bouncer broke them up. “I seem to remember a titty popped out of your dress and you held a bunch of Trish’s new extensions in your hand.”

Tasha cackled down the line and I couldn’t help but smile at her antics. She was always so full of life, so balls-to-the-wall fun and outrageous, it was easy to get swept up in her chaos. And I loved her particular brand of chaos, just not when it involved another member of our crew. “Damn that was a fun night. I mean, fuck Bradley and all, but still. It’s been a while since I’ve kicked some ass. What are you up to tonight?”

“Don’t even think about it, Tash. I’m not getting up to any shit with you tonight.”

“Party pooper. What are you doing that’s so great?”

I gave myself a onceover in the mirror, smiling at the way my long dark hair hung in sexy, touchable waves. My hair was the one thing I could always count on to come through for me, which is why other than a few trims, I never cut it. “Not much, grabbing some dinner,” I told her, as I examined the blue eyeliner that made my blue eyes pop, blinking my thick black lashes to make sure they could make a man come hither all on their own.

“So why not grab it with us, your friends? Or I could meet you out?”

My gaze went to the little black lace dress hugging my—on the wrong side of ample—curves. I wasn’t one of those women obsessed with being thin, but I was well aware that I had exactly twelve extra pounds on my body, most of it in my tits, ass and hips, because my doctor never failed to remind me. Mostly, I liked the way I looked and I ate what I wanted and worked out just enough to stay healthy. But this dress? This dress made me look like I’d been fucking airbrushed. “Sure Tasha, come on. But come alone because I’m looking for some action.”

“Oh, thank the Lord above, girl, because I am too! We’re all supposed to be on a man hiatus after the whole Bradley drama but life is too short and I have to use this body while it still looks this hot.”

I gave her the address of a little tapas place a few blocks from my house. Another reason I’d never live anywhere but Seattle, we had food from all over the world just a few blocks away.

“See you soon,” I said and tossed my phone on the bed because I needed all my focus for the next choice. Shoes. I could go for basic black since I had plenty to choose from, but tonight I felt bold. Sexy. Hungry. So I chose the only color I could. Red. Bright red velvet ankle booties with thick cuff straps. The kind of straps that make men think about tying a girl up and doing dirty, dirty things to her.

This city was full of energy—and blistering cold—as I cat-walked four and half blocks over to Rizo. I stood tall, as tall as my five-foot-four stature would allow, feeling confident and sexy.

“Damn girl, you said get some action, not cause a riot!” Tasha whistled loudly, drawing the attention of people on the street and diners inside.

“Whatever works. You look damn good, too.” Red leather pants and a sheer white blouse with tons of silver and black jewelry completed her rock chic look.

“I have to step up my game with you. Come on. I reserve the right to bounce the fuck up out of here if I find some man meat to take home.”

“Duly noted,” I told her, because that was how we rolled when it was just the two of us. We first met as assigned roommates at Cornell, two midwestern girls completely out of our depth. But with her mouth and my confidence, we made our way through and graduated. With honors.

The restaurant was packed with an hour wait for a table, so we went to get a drink, a martini for me and a Cosmo for Tasha. “Damn, the meat is ripe in here.”

Damn straight it was. There were businessmen in all cuts and colors of suits, a few artists sporting face and hair overgrowth. There were a few blue-collar hotties with muscles for days. And nights. Then there were frat boys and b-boys. All on the hunt.

“Indeed.” I scanned the bar, noticing a table in the back, men in black. Not G-man black, but evening wear black, though I couldn’t see their faces and there were too many people between us. I’d have to circle back later.

The restaurant was packed, but it was Friday and the city was just waking up. “Oh my. If I’m not back in ten, I’m not coming back.”

I laughed as Tasha sauntered off, so much swing in her hips she had damn near every male eye in the place glued to her ass. I knew she wouldn’t be back. The woman had better aim than the boys trained by Uncle Sam.

When fifteen minutes passed, I turned to order another drink. “I’m going to take that table there,” I told the big hunk of muscles behind the bar, pointing at the small table that had just opened up. He handed me a menu when he brought my drink, and I browsed while hungry, something no woman should ever do while on the prowl. It all sounded delicious, but I settled on albondigas, mushrooms, olives and a tasty looking cheese dish I hoped didn’t make me bloat. At least not until tomorrow.

A funky Latin beat mixed with hip hop played from the speakers and I felt my mouth curve into a grin. For the first time in weeks I was relaxed. Happy. And I leaned back in my chair, legs crossed to hide what I could in the little black dress, and tapped my foot to the beat. It felt so nice to be out in the world again, not scouting locations or soothing fragile egos, but just out. Having a good time and eating good food.

Still alone, but not for much longer I hoped.

Another drink appeared at my table and I looked up at the cute, honey-skinned waitress. “I didn’t order this.”

She grinned. “The guy in the tux sent it over.” When she moved aside I finally had a clear shot to the table of men in black, and one man in particular made me smile.

Jasper Reaves. He was six feet of delicious blond goodness, wrapped up in a three-piece suit. Big green eyes the color of jade were the centerpiece of his face, but a strong jaw, Roman nose, full lips and—sweet wet panties—dimples! The man was the whole package and I’d only gotten two hot, thigh-trembling nights with him. Last year in Los Angeles we’d both attended a leadership conference, flirted, fucked and went our separate ways. “Great. Can you send a drink back, but only tell him what it’s called if he asks?”

We had gone our separate ways.

Until tonight.