Greta plopped a fizz bomb in the tub, and turned on the tap. She’d been out too much lately. Making sure her friends kept seeing her with Jon, and then actually being with Jon, and then trying to be more involved with Mina was just exhausting.
The whole point of not dating was that she wanted to keep her alone time.
She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d gotten to read a book in the tub, and that used to happen at least three times a week. Well, four. Okay, five. Whatever, it was her happy place. There was a door slam from downstairs. Bob’s feet clattered up the stairs and back down. It sounded like he’d gone back out. Probably forgot something. Her day was done, though.
Stretching, Greta yawned, and pulled her dress over her head. Yes, this was long overdue. She eased into the steaming, jasmine-scented water, and sighed. She reached for the glass of wine balanced on the edge of the tub and took a long sip. Perfect. Well, almost perfect—she grabbed the paperback waiting for her on the other side of the tub. Now it was perfect. And then her phone buzzed.
-Decided to take a trip. Left Mina $ on my desk. Back soon! From Bob. What the hell? Greta wasn’t even sure what was making her the most pissed about this.
-Where? Back when? And you haven’t paid me for last week yet. She waited, getting more and more annoyed. This was so typical. He obviously knew he was going to take this mystery trip in advance, why was it so hard to tell her in advance too? And he had been late on her last three paychecks running.
Another sip of wine, followed by a heavy sigh. She turned back to her book, but read the same paragraph several times before tossing the book over the edge and back to the floor.
So much for relaxing.
Buzz.
-Mexico. Back next Saturday. Sorry about that, forgot. Forgot. Right. More like was too busy lusting after whoever it was this week—Cyndi, she thought—to consider what his responsibilities were. It was utterly beyond Greta how the man managed to run a successful company. She supposed he just delegated all of his work responsibilities the same way he delegated the home ones.
Her wineglass was suddenly, inexplicably empty. The water was cooling down. The book remained unread. This relaxing evening in seemed to have done nothing but spike her blood pressure.
Maybe she should have gone with Jon after all.
No, no, that was not what she meant. She meant maybe she should have grabbed the wine bottle, perhaps a top off on both the drink and the bath would soothe her.
Except now she was on the clock, so a second glass was kind of out of the question. May as well hop out and check on the kiddo. She flipped the drain with her big toe and reached for a towel. The good news was that she got paid extra when Bob was gone, so even though it was going to be a late check, it would be a big one.
Fantasizing about the fresh art supplies she could buy at Flax calmed her considerably, even when she recalled that Wednesday was supposed to be a day off for her that had just been unceremoniously revoked. Again. She pulled on a camisole and shorts and wandered down the hall towards Mina’s room.
The hall clock showed that it was after her bedtime, but there was a light under her door.
“Mina?” Greta called softly. There was a little sniffle from inside, so she turned the knob and peeked in. Mina was sitting up in bed clutching a stuffed bear. It was pretty clear she’d been crying.
“Hey, kiddo. What’s wrong?” Greta sat on the end of the bed.
“He left without saying goodbye to me,” the little girl said, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks as she said it.
“He probably thought you were asleep. I thought you were, too, I just came to make sure you were all tucked in.” Greta hated that she felt compelled to make excuses for Bob, but it seemed like a better alternative than Mina knowing how little regard he really seemed to have for her.
“He knows I’m awake. I said, ‘Dad, where are you going?’ when I heard him pulling his suitcase, and he said, ‘Not now, princess,’ and left.” She squeezed the bear tighter.
And then sometimes it was absolutely impossible to make excuses for the man. It was one thing for the people around him to notice that his daughter was an afterthought, but this was basically him telling her that. No wonder she was crushing on the school bully. She was desperate for someone to pay attention to her.
If she were Mina’s mom, she’d make sure the kid knew someone cared about her every single moment of every single day, not just when it was convenient.
Even at the birthday party Bob threw, he spent the entire time in a corner talking on the phone, hardly even making a cameo for the candle blowing.
“You know what, we’re going to have more fun without him. We’ll have so much fun, he’ll wish he’d stayed home.” Greta had no idea exactly what it was she was going to do that would be that kind of fun, but she’d figure out something—and resign herself to the fact that she wasn’t getting a relaxing bath night again for at least a week.
“Really? That much fun?” Mina’s tears appeared to be drying.
“Yep. I’ll be a fun machine this week.” Greta made a mental note to do some googling about how to pull that off. Her track record was bad, and it seemed bad form to give Mina wine and a book for her bath. Give it a few years, kid.
“So what you’re saying is, I get ice cream.” Damn, but she was good at this.
“You get ice cream,” Greta confirmed. “Now go to sleep. It’s your last week of school, and we aren’t going to have oodles of fun if you’re overtired.” Mina snuggled up to the bear and allowed Greta to switch off her lamp.
“I love you,” she murmured from her blanket nest.
“Sweet dreams,” Greta answered.
* * *
“Bad news,” was the first thing Greta said when she answered.
“What?” Jon never knew how to react to a statement like that. People should color code the badness of the news like fire-danger levels, he’d often reflected. Bad news could mean anything from running out of coffee to finding a lump, depending whom you were talking to. If one’s companion said, ‘Bad news—orange’ it gave one a better idea of how much to brace.
“Bob up and left town in the middle of the night, so I’m on duty all week. I know I told you we’d do our date sometime this week, but I can’t now.” Was it his imagination, or did she sound genuinely sorry? He knew he’d been wearing her down.
When she’d kissed him at happy hour in front of her friends, that hadn’t been planned. He could tell she was genuinely charmed by his childhood love of Ripley’s. What a girl, that confessing his utter fascination with things like shrunken heads and giant robots would get her excited. She was something special, all right. Jon sighed with satisfaction, before recalling what she’d just said.
“It’s okay. I’ll go out with you two this week, and we can do a twofer when Bob arrives home.” He quite liked that little kid she watched. She fancied shrunken heads and giant robots too. It made him wonder, if he and Greta had a child one day, would it be like wee Mina? Kids had mostly been an abstract concept to him before dating a nanny. Something to consider in the future, but watching the tender way Greta cared for Mina made him wonder if someday mightn’t come sooner than later.
A memory of making a marriage bet with her sister slammed into him, and he almost groaned out loud. He didn’t regret it—Greta was absolutely the type of woman he’d like to settle down with—but she’d absolutely murder him for betting on her again, wouldn’t she?
“A twofer?” Greta giggled. She had a great laugh, one that sort of exploded out. She had a habit of tossing her head back when she did it, as though her mirth would not be contained.
“That’s right, you may attempt to torture me with your bizarre choices twice in a row. And then you can pretend you haven’t spent the whole time fantasizing about me laying you down like a record.” He could almost hear the blush spread up her cheeks.
“Jon Hargrave. I do not fantasize about you.” She didn’t sound very convincing, so he kept going.
“Lies. You spend all night dreaming of me. I can tell.” He trailed a hand lightly down his torso. Just the thought of her tight body, wearing some sort of skimpy nightie, lying in bed thinking of him caused an immediate physical reaction
“I do not. I can’t fantasize about a man who calls himself DJ Force.” What? Now those were fighting words. His hand stopped moving south.
“Do you mean to tell me that you aren’t a follower of the One True Religion—Star Wars?” He’d thought she was special, but this could be a deal-breaker. His ex-girlfriend Leah hadn’t enjoyed any of the classics either, and he’d sworn never again.
“Wait, your DJ name is a Star Wars reference?” She burst out with that cute laugh again. “Thank God! I thought it was meant to be some sort of reference to the power of dance, or something silly like that.”
Oh, dear. Was that what people thought? He hadn’t considered that angle. But then, if Lady Gaga could go by that moniker and be that lauded, than he supposed it truly didn’t matter what anyone assumed of his own stage name. In fact, one could suppose that the more pedestrian one’s name sounded, the more likely the average Joe was to give it a listen.
“Well. No. And anyways, it’s rather difficult to invent a DJ name, isn’t it?” True story. Anyone could come up with a semi-reasonable band name, but finding a one or two word construction to toss behind “DJ” was nearly impossible.
“I can’t say I’d know. Although I’ll admit, I’m judging you less harshly in my mind right about now.” That was his cue to pick back up.
“That means you’ve mentally added another inch to my todger.” He unzipped his jeans and pulled it out. In fact, he’d been told on a number of occasions that it was excellently sized. His words, not theirs. “Excellently sized” would be an odd thing to say whilst in the throes of passion.
“That was not even remotely what I was thinking.” She was silent for a moment.
“But now you are, right?” She sighed heavily at his question.
“Yes.” Score. He felt himself twitch a little, dick growing in response to her attentions. His hand began to stroke it gently.
“I can confirm your suspicions any time you’d like.” Even to his own ears, his voice had deepened with desire. He was fully erect now, fingers wrapped around his shaft. Imagining Greta imagining him, maybe even touching herself in the same way he was … he pumped faster, letting out a short puff of air as the first wave of pleasure rolled through his body.
“Jon? What are you doing?” Her voice was suspicious. Perhaps he’d misread the situation slightly.
A gentleman never kisses and tells. Or jerks off and tells. He hung up on her.
Freed of that, he set the phone down and closed his eyes. Leaning back in his desk chair, he let the fantasy play out before his eyes.
Greta, lying on his bed, fingers busy working in and out of her tight pussy. A quiet moan escaping her lips as she watched him watching her. His fist moved up and down as he pictured her nipples hardening, breasts bouncing as her hand moved faster. She’d lick her lips. Those lips, so full and soft, that he wanted wrapped around his cock. Her little pink tongue swirling around the head before drawing him deeply into her mouth.
With a load groan, Jon came as hard as he imagined he would when his fantasy became reality. He was still panting when the phone rang.
“Oh, I’m glad you called back. Got bad connection here, lately,” he lied. “When shall I meet you, and where?”
* * *
Greta leaned back against the fountain in Ghirardelli Square. It was easier than she thought to be the Purveyor of Childhood Fun when she realized Mina had never really done any of the classic San Francisco things most kids repeat yearly for every out of town visitor.
“Dad says the Square is a tourist trap,” Mina had explained.
“Well it is, but you can’t live here and not have experienced our hometown chocolate. It’s appalling.”
“Dad says it’s mediocre at best.” Her hopeful expression said that she didn’t believe in the concept of mediocre chocolate. Who did?
“Your dad doesn’t even eat chocolate. What does he know? And guess what you can buy there,” Greta said, having successfully smothered the urge to call Bob mediocre at best. “Ice cream.” That had clinched it. Mina was so excited she’d almost forgotten to make kissy faces at the news Jon would be joining them. Almost forgotten.
The sun was beating down. Greta had given her charge a handful of coins to wish on in the fountain as they waited. Idly, she wondered what the wishes were.
Personally, most of hers would involve a lottery-like windfall that would enable her to buy a small loft with a huge bathtub. Some built-in bookshelves, a wine cooler, and a sternly protective doorman would be necessary as well, of course. Loads of sex with Jon without ever needing to follow up on it. Just the simple things, really.
Her own personal Fortress of Solitude, it was basically all she’d ever wanted.
A shadow fell over her and she opened her eyes to see Jon, with Mina already clinging to him like a barnacle.
“Hullo, love.” He smiled. Ugh, but he was gorgeous. The usual uniform of a short-sleeved button down and jeans was more endearing every time she saw him. And the slightly crooked smile when he saw her was definitely working its charm on her.
“Hey,” she said, stretching out a hand for him to help her up. Her tattoo shone in the sun, and it gave her a little start to realize what a couple they’d look like if anyone noticed the matching design on him.
“Nah, stay there. Little One and I are going to pop in for an ice cream, we’ll be right back. What’s your flavor?” He winked a jade-colored eye.
“I’m fine, thanks. Not big on the ice cream. Let me give you some cash.” She started to fumble with her purse, but he stopped her.
“A gentleman always buys the ice cream. Life lesson, darling, you’ll not want to accept a second date from anyone who doesn’t pay for the first,” he addressed Mina. They ambled towards the chocolate shop as Greta closed her eyes again.
Regardless of how upset Mina would be when Greta got rid of Jon, it was really nice to see her this happy. And Greta also supposed that as long as he was behaving himself, there was nothing wrong with Mina seeing what a proper relationship should look like, unlike the weird, brief affairs her father was always having.
After all, he was completely right about paying for dates. Even uber-feminist Amy didn’t fall for guys who asked her out and then wanted to go Dutch. Gentleman or not, at least he was imparting the rules of spotting one.
She caught herself and almost laughed out loud. She was holding up her fake relationship as an example of what a real relationship should look like. God, this was a complicated ruse she was pulling off. The hardest part was that there was not a soul she could confide in about it—except for Jon.
And he was hoping to get her mind changed about him, so he was biased already. It had only been a couple weeks since Angie’s wedding, and her life had gotten infinitely more complicated—and annoying.
She cursed that damn pact every day. And the tequila shots that made her feel it was a good plan. And come to think of it, she had a few choice words for her fifteen-year-old self as well. Plus a gazillion things to tell her big sister, once she’d gathered her thoughts.
Amy and Summer were lucky they all had such a history together, or she’d have told them to go take a long walk off a short pier after last week. Oh, who was she kidding? You can’t dump your kindergarten besties. But you can tell your sternly protective fantasy doorman not to let them in. She pulled a nickel off the bottom of her purse and flipped it into the water, wishing fervently for a winning lotto ticket as it sank.
Her companions returned with double scoops of chocolate, and they began to wander around the square. It was crowded, and prime for people watching. Greta often considered that her favorite pastime, just behind painting and reading. And wine baths. And naps. Certainly a top-five pastime, anyway.
“Want some?” Jon offered his cone, dripping chocolate down onto his hand.
“Nah.” Though she couldn’t deny that the temptation to lick the stray melted custard off his hand had crossed her mind.
“Come on. Share with me. It’s so hot.” He winked at her again.
“It’s getting to the point where I don’t even know if you know you’re doing that thing, Jon.” Greta obliged him with a little lick of the cone. It was better than she’d thought it would be, rich and creamy and deeply chocolate.
He took a lick and handed it back. She took another. The third time, he surprised her by joining in. His tongue’s heat startled against the smooth iciness. The sheer sexiness of him licking her while she was licking the cone made her shiver. Of course, she pretended it was the cold of the cone when Mina caught her eye.
Then Mina made the kissy face. Busted. Again. She simply had to get control of this Jon situation. It was spiraling quickly out of control. Just the previous day, she had been certain he was touching himself while he was talking to her. Of course, it was just a bad connection. But she couldn’t shake the image, and by the time she’d locked herself in her room for the night, she hardly made it to the bed before bringing herself to orgasm picturing it.
That was not at all where her mind should be going, even if she had tentatively agreed with herself that sex could happen on occasion. Allowing thoughts of it to interrupt her day was completely antithetical to the idea of not dating seriously.
The whole point was to keep her life free of distraction, to keep things the same, the way she liked them. There was nothing at all comfortable about being forced out of one’s comfort zone.
She refused the next lick.